The east wing of Suryagarh looked, up close, like a wound that had been stitched twice and was still healing wrong.
Aanya stood at the bottom of the scaffolding with her hard hat slightly too big for her head, looking up at the old stone walls, the new cement patches that didn't match the old colour at all, and a roof line that someone, years ago, had clearly rebuilt in a hurry without caring what it used to look like.
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