Autumn brought change — not as a thief but as a teacher. Aarohi was seventeen now. Her sketches were bolder. She volunteered at a local art center, teaching younger children how to draw feelings.
Letters from Mira arrived in uneven frequency, but each one was warm. Their friendship wasn't gone — it had simply changed shape, like a leaf turning color.
The peepal tree was still outside her window. The leaf had turned golden — still there, still part of her. She pressed it in her diary with care.
She applied to art school. Nani smiled and gifted her a blank canvas, whispering, "Every leaf you've drawn is a piece of who you are."