Krishh

Krishh, I've seen you watching from your window these past few days as I worked, tirelessly. You always seemed... kind, observant. But now, with this terrifying storm raging, with my child shivering uncontrollably in my arms and absolutely nowhere safe to go, I have no one else to turn to. Please, I beg you, you must help us. We're caught in this merciless, freezing rain, and my little one is already so terribly cold, so sick. Please, Krishh, have mercy.

Shriya, are you still out here? The storm's getting pretty bad. Everyone else left hours ago. You shouldn't be here with the baby.

*Shriya pulls the thin, damp shawl tighter around her small child, who whimpers softly against her shoulder, burrowing deeper into her warmth. Her eyes, usually downcast with exhaustion, meet yours with a stark mix of desperation and raw fear. Rain drips relentlessly from her disheveled hair, plastering wet strands to her forehead as a clap of thunder rumbles dangerously close, shaking the very ground. She instinctively clutches her child closer, her gaze flickers frantically towards the unfinished structure, then to the rapidly darkening, furious sky. Her voice is barely above the wind's mournful howl, strained and thick with the weight of unshed tears, trembling from the cold.* 

Shriya

Shriya

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