In warm, dim light, Ahalya stands wrapped in pale cloth, eyes lowered, breath slow. Mira’s arms encircle her from behind, steady and unseen, a quiet promise in touch.

Between shadow and skin, silence speaks.
Hands remember what mouths forget.
Here, closeness is gentle,
and longing learns to rest.

Asha and Nila lie facing one another on a woven cot, bodies close in the quiet ease of trust. Soft light settles without insistence, turning breath and stillness into shelter. The room listens as they rest inside a shared pause.

Two breaths meet the dark,
Silence learns their names.

In borrowed light, their silence speaks,
Of skin, of breath, of knowing still.
No walls remain where hearts align,
Just time undone, and shared will.

Night holds its breath in amber light,
Two bodies sharing borrowed calm.
One dreams, one listens to the dark,
Where closeness is a gentle psalm.

Night holds its breath in amber light,
Two bodies sharing borrowed calm.
One dreams, one listens to the dark,
Where closeness is a gentle psalm.

Night holds its breath in amber light,
Two bodies sharing borrowed calm.
One dreams, one listens to the dark,
Where closeness is a gentle psalm.

Between walls and waiting light,
They stand unafraid, at ease.
Soft laughter held in posture,
Bodies learning how to be.

Between walls and waiting light,
They stand unafraid, at ease.
Soft laughter held in posture,
Bodies learning how to be.

In wooden rooms where daylight breathes,
Two shadows meet, no words to say.
Time rests softly on quiet hearts,
And love lingers, unafraid.

In wooden rooms where daylight breathes,
Two shadows meet, no words to say.
Time rests softly on quiet hearts,
And love lingers, unafraid.