"Politics isn't merely about power; it's about wielding influence with finesse, orchestrating the dance of nations on the world stage."
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Welcome to a tale that echoes through the luxurious enclaves of the capital to its very downtrodden streets.
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First thing first, I hope you've come here only after reading the Caution & Copyright page. If I see any sort of negative behaviour regarding what I've written I won't be responsible for it.
Here's the first chapter hopefully you all will like it!
And since this is the first chapter I won't set any target for Votes 🌟
For this chapter I would love to simply see how much you liked it and you can do it by voting by your choice.
That's the way to tell me that you have finished the chapter and liked it coz Views 👁only tells that someone visited, I won't know if they liked it, cursed at it or left it halfway. XD
But that doesn't mean there won't be any targets *wiggles eyebrows mischievously*
This chapter's task is to
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Pretty please drop your names in the comment section I wanna be friends! *joins palms*
I'm super lonely as an only daughter and have no one to talk to, hopefully we could become friends...?*hyperventilates*
Lastly, my chapters are unedited so if there are any grammatical mistakes then you can inform me quickly.
With that you can begin ~
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Delhi—A city of people of hearts. A place that takes you back in time, telling stories you've never listened before through every nook and cranny.
It's a city that has a soul of its own and once you put your foot in its soil, once you set your eyes on the old monuments, once you breathe its ancient air, you'll be left spell bounded.
Namaskar, it's Dilwalo ki Dilli.
It was scorching summer, the piercing light of the sun was shining in the hot afternoon.
Amidst the bustling streets, blaring horns, crowds, and shouts, there was a small two-storey building located in the heart of the city called Connaught Place.
Nanhe Kadam Anaathaalay was an orphanage, home to many children. Even though the building was old and worn out, life pulsed within its walls.
If you climb to the second floor and look through the partially open old wooden window, you will see more than a dozen children chanting alphabets in a sing-song voice while looking straight ahead, where, a petite, slender girl wearing a pair of dark jeans and black kurti could be seen pointing at the blackboard with a stick clutched in her pale hand as her back faced the class.
