
The flight to Bangalore was a silent, suffocating journey through the clouds. Aman didn't touch the scotch. He didn't look at the financial reports. He just stared out the small window, his dark eyes fixed on the world below, a storm of violent jealousy and a desperate, agonizing hope raging in his soul.
A boy. Three years old. The words echoed in his mind, a relentless, torturous chant.




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