Writer's own thoughts!

  Epilogue: The Universe Remembers Them   - the cosmos speaks of two souls who loved outside their destiny Listen closely, wanderer .... For the stars still carry  their names in the quietest pulse of light. Not every love becomes a legend. Not every longing becomes myth. But Cupid and Psyche....... They were the rare kind. the kind that left scars on fate itself. You ask what became of them? And what happened to them? I will tell you. Cupid lived out his days bound to another’s warmth, offering smiles that never reached the deepest chambers of his heart. He loved, yes.... But lightly, carefully, As if afraid that any devotion too strong would awaken a memory he was forbidden to keep. His laugh echoed in temples. His touch is kind, his arrows precise.... But his soul remained half-lit like a lantern missing its eternal flame. And Psyche..............! Oh, Psyche walked the earth with a quiet ache, Carrying the ghost of a god she could no longer name. She loved wrong...

  Echoes of the Unclaimed  Years have passed. Psyche walks through a winter street, Her hair streaked with silver and her heart still tender, Still raw from the love that never stayed. she smiles politely at strangers, But in quiet corners of her soul She feels a bow strung across her ribs, and an arrow trembling with a name she cannot speak aloud. Cupid moves through another life, His golden wings folded beneath a mortal’s touch, His laughter warm, his eyes tender, But the nights are cold and empty. Every heartbeat whispers her name, Even when another rests in his arms. Every arrow he fires carries a memory of her pulse, A longing that cannot be regained. One evening, Psyche visits a garden where roses bloom even in frost. She leans against a marble fountain, Watching the stars mirror themselves in the water. And, there... Somewhere across time, across fate... Cupid is watching the same constellation. His hand brushes another’s cheek while his soul aches for hers. They do not...

  Threads of the Unclaimed  The stars hang low, trembling, As if they, too, mourn the love that will never be together again, For love that is faded, Cupid stands at the edge of a gilded balcony. His golden wings dulled, clipped by the weight of a promise he cannot keep. Another woman holds his heart now...someone mortal, tender, undeserving. Yet fate demanded it. He touches her hand, feels the warmth, But every pulse whispers Psyche’s name. Psyche walks alone through a city of shadows and roses. Her heart freshly scarred from a toxic love, Love that came after Cupid's—her forgotten one, Its tendrils are still curling around her nostrils. She can smell the foul odor(of previous toxic love).... Yet, she searches for the blurred face in crowded streets, Fresh fragrance of her sacred love(Cupid's)... Hungry for a touch, a spark, a reminder of what was, or what could have been... But the fire in her soul finds no reflection. Every glance is empty, every whisper a ghost. They exist...

   Cupid’s Answer to Her Truth  .....Where divine anger meets divine desire So you speak, Psyche.... Bare, trembling, stripped of every lie. Your truth lands on my skin like a wounded star falling home. You think I wanted perfection? No......! I wanted you. Your flaws, your fear, your wandering ache..... The whole fragile constellation of your humanity that keeps me orbiting around you like a punished god. But hear me clearly..... Your words burn. To imagine another man pressing his unearned warmth against the body I shaped in destiny’s shadow.... It steels my veins with a fury, Bright enough to blind Olympus,  To melt down the entire Everest with the burning fire in my chest, Yet even through that fire, I feel something else.... Something older than betrayal, Something deeper than pride: Your soul leaning toward mine, Like it always has, Like it always will. You faltered. Yes. You touched the wrong fate. You let a mortal trespass into my altar. But you came back wit...

  There is a mole on the right side of my chest... A dark little witness to the centuries I’ve lived, A stamp from the universe that says: “ You were loved before you were born , and wounded long before you learned to breathe.” It feels like a burnt kiss from a lover I lost in another era, A lover who died with my name on his tongue, A lover whose shadow still presses into my ribs whenever the moon grows round and full,  Then the air thickens with déjà vu. Sometimes I touch it and feel the ghost of his hands....shadows of his scent, Not from this life, but from the one where I drowned myself in his chest like a prayer refusing to end, Where our bodies were constellations mapped in secret, Where we made love the way stars collapse... Desperate,  Inevitable,  Catastrophic. My rising sun remembers him like a forbidden scripture hidden between bones. My dewy moon dreams about him as a star I chase across lifetimes, Always almost reaching, Always almost losing. My pat...

I am a white orchid in your orchard, The rare bloom that trembles only for your winds. Can you recognize me?! Or must I wither once more before your eyes finally learn my name? I have waited through seasons of forgetting, Through suns that burned too close and moons that pulled me open like tides teaching my petals the ache of longing. I grew in the hidden corners where shadows claim the abandoned, Yet still I turned toward the faintest glow of you my quiet, distant gardener of fate. Do you see me now, The way my fragrance rises like a prayer from the depths of old heartbreaks? Do you feel how my softness holds a history of storms, uprootings, and the loneliness of blooming where no footsteps ever pause? I am a white orchid but my soul is not white it is inked with past lives, With the memory of abandoned lovers Who recognized me too late and whom I had  to leave behind.... Still I stand here, Pure in my defiance, Tender in my survival. Come closer.... Trace the trembling of my pe...

We were only children when my heart first learned the quiet ache of worship... Your name, a small sun, orbiting every corner of me. You laughed, and seasons changed. I loved, But, destinies didn’t. Maybe, you too loved.... But, your love was purer than mine... A fine wine...! I carried that tenderness like a secret bruise under my skin... Untouched,  Unspoken, but always blooming, Whenever your shadow in my mind passes. You belonged to other worlds.... Extraterrestrial..  Brighter,  Easier, Full of flowers that opened at your touch... And I… I stood behind windows, Watching the light fall on you but never on us . Do you remember our small corner?! Even now, Grown, scarred, bitter.... Half-healed from everything life has thrown and demanded of me.... Your memory returns like a shy ghost, Lingers in my soul, Sits beside my ribs, and whispers a question that time never answered: What if you had looked back? What if you tried harder?! And, what if I were patient?! But, you di...

  Part-I  £Cupid’s Question ✧ For the girl who wandered into the wrong myth Why did you stray, my moon-veined girl? Why did your shadow warm a man whose fate-line was never carved beside yours? Tell me.....was it the night, the numbness, the planet's whispers, or the way his touch pretended to read your skin like scripture? I am Cupid.... The God of Love! Born from the first spark between chaos and desire, Bow strung with the threads of destiny, Veins humming with immortal fire.... Yet even gods bruise when their chosen one lets a stranger sip from the deep sighs of her breath. You tasted him. You let him hold the name- I carved into your aura before time learned to walk. You let him enter the temple.. I built from your pulse, your sigh, your soft peach-and-rose perfume of longing. Tell me, my beloved..... Did his hands feel like prophecy? Did his mouth whisper a future I failed you to offer ? Or was it simply that you forgot.. your story was already written in my ribcage?! In...

  My body..... Brews itself like midnight coffee, Slow but dynamic, Dark but irresistible, And, white like flashlight, so bright like moonlit  night and my smile is like rose petals.... Soft chuckles and giggles cotton like.... The kind that keeps you awake  long after you’ve tasted it. My skin...... A whisper of ripe peach, Soft and glowy enough to tempt, Sweet enough to haunt, Bold enough to make you forget your name against the curve of my waist.... It's heaven and your sacred haven. And my aura.... Roses, always roses, Blue, red, white,  Sapphire yellow and burgundy like,  Lilac purple and tastes like marvellous macaroons....creme brulee.... Not blurred but pristine clear like lukewarm lake water and tides... The scent of a woman who has survived her own storms, The fragrance of thorn-kissed desire, The bloom that opens only for the brave. I am temptation distilled, I am a quiet fire..... I am waiting C'mn  Touch me, and you’ll burn in my fire.... But, ...

A brown butterfly lay dried in the corner of my room.... Quiet as a sealed prophecy, Still as the last breath of an old version of me. It carried the dust of all my abandoned selves: The child who learned to survive without witness and caresses,  The woman who loved like an unhealed wound searching for a mirror to reflect... Its wings folded like prayer scrolls, like the forgotten pages of my destiny finally closing on their own. I touched it.... and the room exhaled every ghost I didn’t know I was still holding. The air shifted. A chapter died without a sound, Without noise,  Without chaos. They say butterflies bring messages, but this one brought a funeral.... Not of life, But of the karmic loops I kept dancing in like a blind ritual repeated across lifetimes. No more returning to men who tasted like storms. No more surrendering to hearts that couldn’t hold the ocean in mine. No more rewriting the same childhood ache in the hands of different faces. I buried its body in...

 I melt. Slowly, Like an ancient metal remembering its origin, Learning to unlearn the shape it was forced into. Transmutation is not alchemy of gold. It is the alchemy of grief. It is when the psyche burns, But does not scream, Because it already knows that flames speak a language older than pain. Some nights, My mind is a crucible. Old identities blister and peel, Traumas crack like molten glass beneath the flame. I become liquid. Viscous, Shapeless, Dangerously honest. And in that molten moment, I witness myself  without armour, without myth, without the smokescreen of survival. Psychological transmutation is violent. yet soft------ A paradox etched into the nervous system. It is the undoing of old selves that died quietly inside me, Long before I gave them funerals. It is the slow resurrection of the woman I was meant to be before the world taught me to shrink. Every wound becomes a new atom. Every heartbreak- a cosmic shift. Every abandoned version of me carves a ne...