Roop’s POV
As dawn broke over Bengaluru, the golden light filtered through the stained glass of Kalpavriksha Women’s Hostel, casting colorful patterns on the wooden floor. Roop Rathore sat on her bed, sketchbook resting on her lap, her pencil moving almost of its own accord. The haunting imagery of the courtyard from her dreams filled the pages, yet today, the lines felt different—more urgent, more alive.
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