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Supriya looked at his palm. It wasn't the hand of a winner anymore. It was the hand of a man who had washed dishes, paid bills, held her through a miscarriage, and clapped at her every small victory.
"We still won." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "By one vote. One audience vote."
"Dance with me?"
"Remember our finale performance?" Sachin asked, his voice softer now, touched by time.
The Last Spin