Pravin Chapagain

The Moonflower Shawl. AI-Generated.

Muna sat before her wooden loom in the pale glow of the full‑moon festival. Outside, the women of Khetpani village sang Teej songs in low, lilting harmonies, their anklets tinkling like distant bells. But inside her small hut, only the steady click‑clack of shuttle on thread broke the silence.