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I arrived too late for the best light—so I thought. But the galleries were wrapped in hush, and the stone breathed differently. I turned, and there they were: two apsaras leaning into each other in a closeness that defied time.

One smiled.

It wasn’t a smile for me. It was a memory carried through centuries, surfacing quietly in the warmth of fading sun. They glowed—not from without, but from something held between them, as if their closeness had gathered the gold into its own form of devotion.

I waited. Not to photograph, but to listen.

gold in the silence—
she leaned into the stillness
that once had been sun


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