The morning sun painted the skies of Meenangadi in a soft orange glow as Aryan stepped out into the quiet backyard. The village was waking up—birds chirping, cows lowing faintly in the distance, and the clinking of kettles as women started their morning chores. The air was fresh and cool, carrying with it the faint scent of earth and jasmine.
Smith emerged a few minutes later, rubbing his eyes and yawning dramatically. "You know," he muttered, stretching his arms over his head, "I used to think waking up at 6 a.m. was reserved for lunatics and monks. Now I'm living with someone who's both."
Aryan chuckled as he grabbed his shoes. "You need some fresh air, Smith. It's good for your brain. Besides, you complain every morning, yet you still wake up."
"I'm starting to think your routine is contagious," Smith smirked, pulling on his sandals. "Where are we heading today? You've already shown me every tree in this place."
"Let's go down to the river," Aryan said. "It's quiet there."
The two set off, Aryan taking the lead along narrow, winding paths shaded by rows of tall coconut palms. The morning mist still lingered in patches over the paddy fields, giving the world an almost dreamlike quality. Smith grumbled about mud on his shoes, but Aryan ignored him, walking steadily toward the riverbank.
---
As they approached the river, Aryan heard it first—a faint, distressed cry cutting through the silence. He stopped abruptly.
Smith frowned. "What is it?"
Aryan held up a hand. "Listen."
The sound came again, weak and pained. Aryan turned toward a cluster of trees at the edge of the water. "Something's over there."
Smith sighed. "You and your rescuer instincts. It's probably just some bird. Let it be."
But Aryan was already moving, his steps quick and purposeful. "Stay here if you want."
"Yeah, right." Smith followed, muttering to himself.
Pushing through some low-hanging branches, Aryan spotted the source of the sound—a young eagle tangled in the thin branches of a small tree, its golden-brown wings pinned awkwardly. Its cries were faint, and the bird looked weak, but its sharp eyes remained open, fixed on Aryan.
"There's your bird," Smith said, peering over Aryan's shoulder. "And here I thought you'd found buried treasure. Be careful—it'll claw your face off."
Aryan ignored him, stepping closer with deliberate calm. The eagle flinched but didn't struggle further. Aryan crouched, his voice low and steady. "Easy there… I'm not going to hurt you."
Moving gently, he untangled the bird, careful not to pull at its feathers or hurt its delicate wings. The eagle's talons twitched, but its gaze never wavered from Aryan, as if studying him. Finally freed, the bird sagged slightly in his hands, too weak to resist.
Smith raised an eyebrow. "I can't believe you're holding that thing. You really are something else."
Aryan looked down at the eagle, its beak slightly open, its breath steady but faint. "It's hurt. I need to help it."
"Of course you do," Smith said, shaking his head with a small smile. "If this keeps up, you're going to have a zoo by the time we leave this place."
---
Aryan carried the eagle carefully back to his grandfather's house, his mind focused. Govindan Menon was sitting on the veranda, reading an old newspaper when Aryan and Smith walked up with their unusual find.
"What have you brought home this time?" Govindan asked, setting the paper aside.
"A young eagle," Aryan said, placing the bird gently on a soft cloth on the veranda. "It was tangled up near the river."
Govindan stood and inspected the eagle with a practiced eye. "A strong creature, Arya. Eagles don't usually trust humans. If it let you carry it, there's something about you it recognizes." He glanced at Aryan meaningfully before adding, "Give it time and care. It'll heal."
Smith leaned against a pillar, smirking. "Leave it to Aryan to find the world's most judgmental bird. It's been staring at him like he owes it money."
Aryan chuckled softly, kneeling beside the eagle. "It'll need a name."
"A name?" Smith threw his hands up. "It's a wild animal, Arya, not a pet."
Aryan ignored him, looking into the bird's piercing golden eyes. "Timmy," he said quietly. "That's what I'll call you."
Smith groaned. "Timmy? You're naming an eagle Timmy?"
Aryan smiled faintly. "Simple names are the best."
Govindan laughed warmly from his chair. "Well, Timmy it is, then. Eagles are symbols of freedom and strength, Arya. You've done well bringing it here."
Aryan spent some time setting up a small nest for Timmy in the backyard, using soft hay and cloth to ensure the eagle was comfortable. He placed the makeshift shelter in a shaded spot, where the bird could rest safely.
Jimmy, the family dog, padded up curiously, sniffing at Timmy's shelter. The eagle shifted slightly, its gaze flicking to the dog, but it made no move to resist. Jimmy barked softly, then lay down nearby as if sensing the bird was under Aryan's protection.
"Great," Smith said, gesturing dramatically. "Now the dog's in on this, too. We've got an army forming."
---
That evening, Aryan sat quietly on the veranda, watching Timmy rest in its small shelter. Smith had long since retreated inside, joking about not wanting to "catch eagle flu." Jimmy remained close by, a silent guardian.
As Aryan closed his eyes to meditate, he felt a faint warmth—not his own—stirring in the air around him. When he opened his eyes, Timmy was watching him again, its gaze sharp and unyielding. For a moment, Aryan thought he saw the faintest flicker of energy ripple around the bird, like a shimmer in the light.
His chest tightened, but he pushed the thought aside. *It's just a bird,* he told himself. *A strong, beautiful bird.*
But deep down, Aryan knew it was something more.