The first light of dawn spread over Meenangadi, painting the sky in soft hues of orange and pink. The air was crisp, carrying the earthy scent of dewy grass and distant smoke from morning fires. Aryan stood barefoot in the backyard, the ancient mango tree standing tall behind him like a silent sentinel. His breaths came slow and steady as he settled into his stance, the rhythm of Kalari moving through his body.
Each movement was sharper than before—his strikes precise, his balance unshakable. For the first time, Aryan truly felt in sync with himself. His body, newly transformed, moved effortlessly, every motion feeling natural and controlled. Jimmy sat a short distance away, his sharp eyes following Aryan's every move, almost as though he was learning alongside him.
When Aryan finally stopped, sweat glistened on his brow, but there was no exhaustion. His breathing slowed, and for a fleeting moment, he let his mind wander—to his father, to the day everything changed. The ache of loss still lingered, though dulled by the peace of this place.
Jimmy barked softly, snapping Aryan from his thoughts. The dog bounded toward him, wagging his tail, nudging Aryan's leg with his snout. Aryan let out a faint smile and scratched Jimmy behind the ears.
"You're always watching me, aren't you?" Aryan muttered quietly. Jimmy barked again in reply, his tail wagging furiously.
---
After a simple breakfast with his grandfather, Aryan set off to explore the village. Meenangadi felt almost frozen in time. The narrow roads were still shaded by rows of coconut trees, and the familiar earthy scent of the village brought a wave of nostalgia. Every corner reminded him of childhood—the cricket matches in open fields, the swims in the village pond, and the innocent laughter that had once echoed through these streets.
As Aryan strolled past the old pond, the ripples of water sparkled in the sunlight. Memories surfaced—he and his father diving into the cool water on lazy summer afternoons. A faint smile tugged at his lips before a familiar voice broke his reverie.
"Oye, Arya! Lost in your dreams again?"
Aryan turned to see a man standing at the edge of the path. **Ravi** grinned broadly, his playful demeanor unchanged despite the years. His round face beamed with excitement, and his eyes danced with mischief.
"Ravi," Aryan said, a genuine smile breaking through.
"Look at you! You've become a serious fellow, huh? City life got to you?" Ravi teased as he approached, throwing an arm around Aryan's shoulder.
"It's not like that," Aryan replied, shaking his head.
"Not like that, my foot," Ravi shot back. "You look like you're carrying the weight of the world! Smile a little. The fish in the pond are scared you'll frown them to death."
Before Aryan could reply, another familiar voice called from behind. **Deepa** stood a few feet away, her calm presence a contrast to Ravi's boisterous energy. Her dark hair was tied back neatly, and her expression softened when she saw Aryan.
"Ravi, don't tease him," she said gently as she walked up to join them.
Aryan smiled at Deepa. "It's been a long time."
"It has," she said, her voice steady but warm. "We're all really sorry about your father, Aryan. He was a good man."
Aryan nodded, his smile fading slightly. Deepa's words carried sincerity, but there was no pity in her tone—only quiet encouragement.
Ravi quickly broke the somber moment. "Enough with the serious talk! Arya's back home now. We'll make sure he doesn't spend the whole day brooding under a tree."
Deepa smiled faintly, shaking her head. "Some things never change with you, Ravi."
---
By afternoon, Aryan found himself at the small tea shop at the center of the village. The place hadn't changed at all—rickety wooden benches, a charcoal stove in the corner, and the constant buzz of conversation. **Kuttan Chettan**, the tea shop owner, greeted Aryan with a grin as he poured steaming chai into two glasses.
"Aryan! I heard you were back. Good to see you, son," Kuttan said, his voice rich with warmth.
Aryan smiled faintly. "It's good to be back, Kuttan Chettan."
"Your Appuppan told me you're here to clear your head," Kuttan said, handing him a glass of tea. "Your father used to sit in that same spot—quiet, but always listening. You remind me of him."
Aryan nodded, taking a sip of the strong chai. The villagers around the shop acknowledged him with quiet nods and smiles, their respect for his father evident in their glances. Though unspoken, the understanding was there—they knew his grief, and they wanted to lift him up without forcing the words.
"Take care of yourself, Aryan," Kuttan added softly. "Your father would want that."
---
The sun was beginning to set when Aryan returned home. The sight of someone standing at the gate made him pause. The figure leaned casually against the fence, his head tilted back as though admiring the sky. When he noticed Aryan approaching, he broke into a grin.
"You took your time, Arya," the man said with mock indignation. "I've been waiting here forever."
Aryan blinked in surprise. "Smith?"
**Smith**, Aryan's childhood friend, pushed himself off the fence and strode forward, his confident demeanor unchanged. His short black hair was neatly combed, and his jeans and casual shirt gave him the air of someone who had just stepped out of city life.
"In the flesh," Smith said, pulling Aryan into a tight hug. "You didn't think I'd let you mope around here all alone, did you?"
Aryan chuckled faintly. "What are you doing here? I thought you were in Pune, studying."
"I was," Smith said, waving a hand dismissively. "But I heard you were back, and let's be honest—studying alone is boring. I figured we could prepare together. Like old times."
Aryan stared at him for a moment, a mixture of surprise and gratitude in his eyes. Smith had always been the one to bring lightness into any room, and his arrival felt like a fresh breeze cutting through the weight Aryan carried.
"You're serious about the exams?" Aryan asked.
"Dead serious," Smith replied. "And if you're studying, then so am I. Two heads are better than one, right?"
Aryan nodded slowly, a small smile breaking through. "Right."
Smith clapped Aryan on the back. "Good. Now let's get started tomorrow—after you show me where the tea shop is. I've missed Kuttan Chettan's chai."
Aryan let out a faint laugh, the sound surprising even himself. For the first time in days, he felt a little lighter, as though the world had paused just long enough for him to breathe again.
---
That night, as Aryan sat on the veranda with Jimmy curled at his feet, he looked up at the dark sky scattered with stars. The day had felt different—a small step forward, perhaps, but a step nonetheless.
He closed his eyes, his mind calmer than it had been in weeks.
*Tomorrow,* Aryan thought. *I'll begin again.*