Within a week, Ananya’s mornings had quietly changed. She now woke up earlier than usual. Not for work. Not for exercise. For the plant. Every morning, before even making tea, she stepped out onto the veranda and crouched beside the little Adenium pot. She would touch the soil gently with her fingers. Still damp. Good. Then she would check the leaves. No yellowing. No spots. No softness near the stem. Only after that would her day truly begin. One morning, her mother leaned against the kitchen doorway and watched her silently. “You care more about that plant than you care about us now.” Ananya laughed. “Let it survive first. Then I’ll become normal again.” But somewhere inside, she already knew something had shifted. The Adenium was no longer just a decorative plant sitting in a corner of the house. It had begun occupying space inside her mind. And strangely enough, she didn’t mind. A few days later, Meera visited again. The moment she saw the plant s...
 The monsoon arrived early that year. Rain tapped softly against the red oxide floor of the veranda, carrying the smell of wet earth into the house. Outside, the coconut trees bent and swayed beneath the darkening sky. Ananya sat curled beside a steel tumbler of tea, watching the rainwater gather along the edges of the courtyard. “Take the clothes inside before the rain gets worse,” her mother called from the kitchen. Ananya sighed but didn’t move immediately. There was something about rainy evenings that made the world feel slower. Quieter. As if time itself had softened. Then she heard the gate creak open. “Anu!” Meera hurried through the rain, laughing breathlessly, her hair damp from the storm. In her hands she carried a small black nursery pot pressed carefully against her chest. Ananya stood up. “What’s that?” “A gift.” Meera stepped onto the veranda and placed the pot gently on the floor between them. Inside stood a strange little plant. Its stem was swollen and pal...