August brought heavy rains — and silence. Mira was gone. Moved overnight to another state, her father transferred suddenly. No goodbye. No note.
Aarohi stared at the empty bench under the peepal tree. The leaf she loved had darkened, its edges torn. It clung on, silent in the wind. Just like her.
Her sketchbook filled with darker strokes. Her voice retreated. The art club faded.
Then came the state art competition. Her teacher had secretly submitted one of her sketches — the peepal leaf, golden and whole. It won second place.
She almost didn't go to the award ceremony. But Nani said, "Aarohi beta, a leaf that dances in storms learns more than one that never leaves the branch."
Aarohi read a poem on stage. Her hands shook. But her voice didn't break. "I am a leaf. I sway. I stay. I don't break that easy."