She was born in loss.
Her first cry was an echo of her mother's last breath.
From that moment, Adhira Seghal was not the daughter of a home-
she was its burden, its curse, its unspoken wound.
A father who should have been her shield,
turned his face...
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My heels clicked softly against the marble floor as I walked downstairs carefully, one hand lightly holding the railing.
For once-
I wasn't wearing a suit.
Or a soft pastel kurti.
Today-
I looked different.
The deep wine-colored formal top wrapped perfectly around me, fitting neatly against my waist, paired with high-waisted cream trousers that fell elegantly till my heels. My hair was left open, soft waves flowing down my back while the front sections were clipped neatly behind, leaving a few curtain bangs framing my face naturally.
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A slightly brown nude lipstick rested on my lips.
Minimal makeup.
Sharp.
Clean.
Professional.
And honestly?
I looked good.
Very good.
Music boomed softly through my earbuds as I descended the stairs, completely lost in my own little world for once.
