𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊
In a world where love can be both a breathtaking beauty and a destructive force, the Raghuvanshi brothers find themselves entangled in a web of tangled emotions.
The eldest, a dynamic business tycoon, hides behind a cold facad...
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Viraj Raghuvanshi's heart beats for art in a way that goes beyond his everyday life of business and family. His soul finds a special connection with vases, sculptures, and other artistic creations
In the broken pieces of these art forms, he discovers a unique beauty that speaks to the very core of his being. It's as if each crack, each shattered fragment, tells a story he knows all too well. These imperfections mirror the brokenness he has felt in his own life, creating a silent understanding between him and the art.
He does't see these breaks as flaws to be mourned. Instead, he welcomes them like old friends, embracing them as vital chapters in the story of each piece - and in his own life story. Where others might see ruin, he sees beauty waiting to be reborn.
He love fixing these broken art pieces. He likes to put the pieces back together and fill in the gaps.
This process means a lot to him. It's not just about fixing art, but also about healing himself. it's like he's also putting himself back together.
He finds peace in this work. It helps him deal with his own feelings of being broken, he feels like he's also fixing parts of himself loving a broken part of himself.
He sees himself in those uneven cracks.
And if there is someone who touched his pride position they have bare the wrath of Viraj Raghuvanshi himself and now someone who just barged into his brother's life broke one of the expensive vase on which he spent. Forty-two lakhs. Just on that blue White Dragon Phoenix Vase.
The time seemed to stand still and emotions ran deep. As the shards of that exquisite blue and white Vase lay scattered on the ground, the air was heavy with a mixture of shock, disbelief, and with anger anger.
The room held its breath, and Viraj Raghuvanshi's piercing gaze fell upon the broken masterpiece. His eyes, like flames dancing in the darkness, bore into the shattered glass, reflecting a whirlwind of emotions within his soul. The clenching of his fist by his side spoke volumes of the turmoil brewing within him.
I stood there, fidgeting with my dupatta, my heart pounding with nervous anticipation, waiting for his reaction. It felt as though his eyes were not only fixed on the shattered vase but also me as if searching for answers or perhaps seeking solace in the face of this unexpected loss.
