“Never try to become a poet, Pri,” Sima said. She’d spent the day tending to the running of the mahal and was about as tired as Priya, but mellowed by liquor. She smiled a little. “I was a poet to her,” Priya said quietly, letting the confession slip free. “I… I wrote to her, you know.”
😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
