చిన్నప్పుడు మనసులు మచ్చలులేనివి
నవ్వుల్లో నిండిన చిత్రాలు మాత్రమే
కలలతో కూడిన కళ్ళు మెరుస్తూ
వెలుగులా వెలిగే వయసు అది
బాధలు తెలియని బాల్యం అది
ప్రతి క్షణం పండుగలా గడిచేది
అమాయకత్వం అలంకరించిన
ఆనందాలకు నిలయం అది
స్వర్గం వేరుగా వెతకనవసరం లేని
అందమైన అవస్థ అది బాల్యం
పవిత్రమైన పరిమళం వెదజల్లుతూ
పరమానంద క్షణాలే అవి

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Remember scraped knees, not broken hearts? When laughter echoed louder than doubt, and skies were crayon-blue? Our world was built of paper planes soaring with limitless dreams. Before stains of regret and worry colored our souls, pure joy painted our faces. Simplicity reigned, and hearts, untainted, knew only lightness. Oh, to return to that canvas, even for a moment.

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She is the storm,
unleashing power untold,
a force of nature,
brave, strong, and bold.
But within her roar,
a whisper soft and low,
a gentle kindness,
a nurturing, tender glow.
She is both the fire
and the soothing rain,
fierce in her convictions,
gentle in her pain.
A woman's heart,
a paradox divine,
fiercely gentle, forever shine.

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Saturday arrives, a sigh of relief.
Sleep in, slow coffee, the world on pause.Just breathe.

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A: "Oh? And why is that?"

B: "They're planning to build a shopping mall right there."

A: "Seriously? Blocking this entire vista?"

B: "Yep. Progress, they call it."

A: "Progress for whom? That's a travesty."

B: "Tell me about it. Enjoy it while it lasts, I guess."

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A muted reality. No soundtracks to our joy, no solace in sorrow. Love would lack its soaring melodies, heartbreak its mournful ballads. Memories would fade quicker, unanchored by familiar tunes. Rhythms would still exist – heartbeats, rain – but the human voice, raised in harmony, would be strangely silent. A world diminished, a spectrum of emotion lost.

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Isha, typical South Delhi girl, designer bags, daddy’s princess, but terminal. Cancer, man. Brutal reality check, right? So, she's got this list. “Things To Do Before I Kick The Bucket,” handwritten in glitter gel pen, obviously. And top of the list? Find her long-lost college sweetheart, Rohan.

Turns out, Rohan went off the grid after graduation. Isha's friend, Priya, being the super-efficient bestie, tracks him down. He's some organic farmer in Himachal, living a totally desi life. Priya gets Rohan to Delhi, and the reunion? Bollywood material.

Tears, awkward silences, then… that old spark. Isha's weak, but she's got this fierce light in her eyes. They spend the day together, reminiscing, laughing, sharing secrets. Rohan brings a little bit of Himachal to her sterile hospital room – a wildflower, some mountain air in a jar.

She holds his hand, smiles, says, “Finally, I can chill.” And then, just like that, poof. No drama, no OTT dialogues. Simple. She got her closure. Proves life, even when it's maaro-ing you left, right, and center, sometimes gives you exactly what you need, at the very last moment. It's not a happily ever after, but hey, it’s a happy ending for her story.

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She said,
'I choose to love,
not in the absence of fear,
but in spite of it.
I see the risks,
the potential for pain,
yet I leap forward,
trusting my heart
to guide me true.
For fearless love
is not reckless,
but a conscious choice
to embrace vulnerability
and believe
in the power of connection.'

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They held love, a fragile flame, cupped in their hands against the storm. Not a forceful grip, but a gentle embrace, guarding it from the winds of doubt and the rain of harsh words. They knew its delicate nature, its need for warmth and space, and protected it fiercely, a shared treasure in a world that often sought to extinguish it.

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tending a garden.planting seeds of trust, nurturing them with patience, and weeding out doubt. It's weathering storms together, sharing sunshine, and marveling at the unique bloom that unfolds. Love requires constant care, a willingness to prune, and the understanding that even in winter, spring will always return.

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