food
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The first spoonful of biryani tasted like comfort and sunlight — warm, spicy, filling in a way hospital food never could. He stayed by the door, leaning casually against the frame, hands stuffed deep in his pockets like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to step closer. Neither of us spoke much.The room hummed
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“Sore legs, sweet lassi, and a text from a guy who still won’t tell me his real name 😌💃🏽🫖 Healing looks like tea instead of coffee and laughter instead of overthinking. Chapter 2 feels kinda cute.”
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The last parting—our final goodbye. He had agreed to meet during daylight, and as luck would have it, the next morning, there he was. His driver pulled up beside me as I stood on the pathway, rolling down the window with a practiced ease before saying, “I’m here for the boss.” I simply nodded, my
Insight of a Kenyan Girl 