Author’s POV
Kabir Raichand was not a man used to waiting. Patience, to him, was a currency for the weak. Yet here he sat—alone in his office, lights dim, fingers drumming against the glass table—thinking of her.
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Author’s POV
Kabir Raichand was not a man used to waiting. Patience, to him, was a currency for the weak. Yet here he sat—alone in his office, lights dim, fingers drumming against the glass table—thinking of her.
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