Asha’s POVI sat in my father’s office, the familiar scent of his presence filling the air—aged wood, leather, and a faint trace of his cologne. It was both comforting and painful. My eyes, red and puffy from crying, wandered across the room, lingering on the little things that made it undeniably his. The neatly stacked books on the shelf, the way his chair was slightly tilted as if he’d just left it moments ago, and the faint indentations on the desk where his hands often rested.Father. The word hung in my heart, heavy and aching. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to hold onto the essence of him, even as it felt like he was slipping further away with each passing moment.My gaze dropped to the book on the desk. Its worn, ancient cover seemed unassuming, but I now knew better. I had finished reading it moments ago, and its secrets still swirled in my mind, unsettling and confusing.I looked around the room again, my father’s memory woven into every corner, every object
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