Aiyo, physics wallahs say it's because light slows down. But I've seen it through my own hands, cutting glass for forty monsoons. Light doesn't just bend; it lingers. The thicker the colour, the more it hesitates, like a shy child at a festival. My reds, heavy with iron, pull the sunlight deeper into the pattern than my pale yellows. The bend tells a story of what the glass has carried.
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