Aaradhya walked through the schoolyard just after sunrise. The air smelled of earth and charcoal. Children were still arriving, backpacks slung over one shoulder, laughter rising in uneven bursts.
The village felt awake in the kind of way that had nothing to do with alarms or routines. It felt alive in the way presence makes things real.
She carried Nishanth's notebook in her bag.
Every page still felt like a whisper. His sketches. His system traces. His quiet philosophies written in between lines of supply chain flow charts. But the more she read it, the clearer one truth became:
He never gave her a manual.
He gave her a mirror.
She paused by the gate, watching a group of girls build a water filter prototype using leftover bottles and sand. No one had instructed them. They weren't doing it for a grade. They were doing it because someone had shown them what was possible.
