Avinash entered his room and collapsed onto the couch, running a hand over his face as if trying to scrub away the storm inside him. His fingers tangled in his hair, restless, and then his gaze fell on the marks, scratches deep and raw. Small traces of blood glistened in the light.
“She endured so much…” he whispered, his voice barely audible, almost swallowed by the room’s silence. He traced the marks with his thumb, an aching tenderness in the gesture.
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