The morning was unforgiving, casting a harsh light through the window and illuminating the cluttered mess around Arjun. Empty bottles littered the floor, and he lay sprawled on the couch, barely stirring as the morning sun hit his face. The knock on the door was loud, persistent. Arjun groaned, turning over, hoping it would go away. But it didn’t. The door swung open, and there stood Shiva, his face drawn and solemn.
“Arjun,” he called, his voice both firm and subdued.
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