05

4.

The mountain air outside was biting, a sharp contrast to the climate-controlled sterile scent of the hub.

She moved toward the parking enclosure and stopped. Abhimanyu was leaning against his car, the cold wind whipping the collar of his jacket.

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Kathawrts

I write the stories that live between the heartbeats. My worlds blur the lines between hero and villain, where love is pain and the softest moments are built on dark foundations. Every character has a voice, and every story has a purpose.