Chapter 15 · free to read
Eight years old. Chipped front tooth, red thread in her braids, and a set of wet footprints that started at her own doorstep.
Two steps from the water. Meera got her at two steps, and spent the rest of the night sitting in the lane holding her, shaking so hard she could not hold the lamp.
The village did not thank her. Interfering, they said, is how you make the water angry — and the water had been so generous lately.
Her aunt had not spoken in six weeks. She spoke that morning, without waking, and what she said was arithmetic.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.