33 parte Ongoing In a quiet, misty district of Himachal Pradesh, in a small orphanage called Sparsh Ashram, lived a fragile, gentle girl named Ishara. Her eyes held a quiet innocence, untouched by the harshness of the world, yet shadowed with a deep, unspoken sorrow.
When she was only four, her stepfather-the one who had once called her his life-had left her. He discovered she was the product of her mother's betrayal, and in his heartbreak, he turned away. Since then, Ishara had grown up in the soft, lonely halls of the orphanage, her heart tender, her spirit delicate, carrying a pain that even time could not erase.
At fifteen, she was still small, almost like a fragile bird in a vast, unkind sky-beautiful, innocent, and quietly brave.
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