Healing happened slowly. Leela visited her grandmother each week, listening to old songs and forgotten stories. Amit reconciled with his brother, finding ways to forgive both of them for the past. Together, they started small rituals: lighting candles at night, walking quietly under the banyan, planting wildflowers where the ground was bare.Sometimes trauma felt like a shadow, but sometimes it was only a memory—a faded bruise, not a living wound. Leela and Amit learned that cycles could be interrupted. They chose honesty, kindness, and presence over shame. Their family was stitched together by loss but also by moments of grace—a gradual replanting of hope.One monsoon afternoon, Leela stood beneath the tree, rain streaming down her face. She closed her eyes, listening for echoes. Amidst the thunder, she heard not only pain, but laughter—her grandmother's, Amit's, her own. She smiled, understanding at last that survival, like the banyan, meant roots tangled with scars, but reaching always for the light.
