The village began with a dusty road, flanked by an irrigation canal, leading towards an old culvert. Single-story houses stood on either side, their tin sheet walls acting as protective barriers. The village itself had a sense of history, like a forgotten picture from the past.
In this village, lived a young girl named Roshni. Her story, though seemingly ordinary, yearned to be shared. It was a tale of bitter experiences, like a tear drop suspended on eyelids of time. True to her name, she brought light to the neighborhood. Her infectious laughter and endless energy made her a cherished visitor in our home. Every day, she would arrive with her joyful presence, filling our humble abode with happiness. A special bond formed between her and my mother, as if they shared a deep connection. As Roshni's laughter echoed through the village, she unknowingly became the heart and soul of the community. Her kind nature and willingness to help others endeared her to everyone she encountered. In every household, she would lend a helping hand, easing burdens and spreading smiles wherever she went. Yet, amidst the laughter and camaraderie, Roshni carried a secret burden. She had fallen deeply in love with a young man from the village, a love that blossomed quietly on dusty roads and beneath the starlit sky. Their moments together were like stolen fragments of paradise, hidden from prying eyes.
However, the village, steeped in traditions and the weight of societal expectations, could not tolerate such love that dared to defy its conventions. The very air became infused with whispers and disapproving glances, threatening to expose Roshni's forbidden affection. Fear flickered in Roshni's eyes whenever she and her beloved stole fleeting glances or exchanged shy smiles. They were acutely aware of the precariousness of their love, knowing that the discovery of their secret would unleash a storm they were ill-prepared to weather. But Roshni's...