CANVAS OF COURAGE [Ongoing]

Double update India won the match itna toh banta haina.😊💗

Hope you are all are doing well. 🌷

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"Even those who appear the strongest need solace sometimes—like the deepest blues of the ocean, seemingly calm and unwavering on the surface, yet silently yearning for the warmth of light from above."

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Sanvi Pov

The thought lingered with me, soft and unassuming yet somehow vivid, like a watercolor stroke spreading across a blank canvas. Strength, I realized, wasn't confined to bold reds and imposing blacks. It wasn't the loud, vibrant confidence of yellows or the rigid certainty of steel gray. Sometimes, it was softer—a deep, grounding blue or the fragile, flickering warmth of amber. Sometimes, strength was about quiet resilience rather than roaring defiance.

As I sat there, Siddarth's peaceful yet pale face came to mind. He had always struck me as unbreakable—a towering presence painted in commanding strokes of iron and gold, with no room for cracks or faltering hues. But tonight had shown me something different. Beneath that polished exterior, there were softer shades: tentative greens of uncertainty, aching violets of pain, and fleeting whites of vulnerability. It wasn't weakness; it was human.

And just like a painting, strength was never monochrome. It was layered, textured, and infinitely complex. You could only see its beauty when you looked closely enough to see the mingling shades—the contradictions, the flaws, the hidden streaks of light in the shadow.

Tonight, I had seen his painting. And it struck me—perhaps strength wasn't just about bearing the weight of the world alone.  Perhaps true strength lay in the courage to let someone else into your landscape, to share those colors you kept hidden for so long.

 And perhaps I, too, had yet to find the courage to share mine.

The canvas wasn't finished, and maybe, just maybe, the next brushstroke was mine to take.

I stayed there in the living room, alone now, as Arya and Eshan busied themselves in the kitchen. Arya had stepped away briefly to check on Siddarth, leaving me with the soft hum of the apartment. The muffled clinks of cups and the faint sound of water pouring carried through the doorway, a quiet reminder of their presence. Yet the space felt still, wrapped in a kind of reflective silence that made my thoughts louder than ever.

The air smelled faintly of masala chai—the sharp warmth of ginger mingling with the earthy undertones of cardamom and cloves. The aroma curled through the room like an invisible thread, grounding me despite the chaotic rush of emotions swirling within. Through the windows, the amber glow of a nearby Diwali lamp caught my eye, its warm flicker almost hypnotic as it danced against the deep indigo of the evening sky.

I glanced around the room, noticing little things I hadn't before—the neatly arranged books on a shelf, a photograph of Siddarth and Arya smiling from maybe years ago, a potted plant drooping slightly in the corner as though it had gone too long without water. These small, personal touches gave the space a quiet intimacy, a reminder of the life Siddarth lived beyond the sharp professionalism he projected at work.

Though I noticed none of them featured his parents. A pang of curiosity struck me, fleeting but insistent. Had I missed something? Or maybe... there was something not meant to be displayed, something tucked away where it wouldn't surface too easily. I wondered briefly but let the thought slide.