Later that evening, Rudra parked his sleek black car a short distance from her house. He stepped out, a small velvet box tucked in his pocket. The night was quiet, save for the chirping of crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves. He made his way to the garden where she often spent her evenings.

She was there, sitting on the swing, lost in thought. Her silhouette was bathed in the soft glow of the garden lights, her delicate features accentuated by the moonlight. Rudra paused for a moment, taking in the sight of her, before clearing his throat.