That night, Rohan dreamt differently.

In his sleep, the house was alive again — the smell of agarbatti in the air, Aaji’s voice calling him for breakfast, the clink of Nana’s cup against the saucer. Light poured into the courtyard as children ran barefoot across it, laughing. Meera sat under the mango tree, her red bangles catching sunlight, reading to a group of kids. And he, older but smiling, stood near the doorway — not a guest, not a stranger, but part of it all.

He woke up with a start. The room was still dark, but the dream lingered — not like a memory, but like a choice.

He stepped outside quietly, barefoot, walking slowly through the courtyard that was still damp from last night’s rain. The mango tree stood like a quiet guardian, heavy with fruit. A breeze moved through its branches, and in the silence, it almost felt like someone was speaking.

Later that morning, he walked down to the school where Meera taught. It was a small, faded building with cracked windows and uneven benches, but the laughter coming from it was strong and full.

She looked surprised to see him, but smiled.

“Come to judge my teaching skills?” she teased.

“Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe I came to ask something important.”

She raised an eyebrow, folding her dupatta neatly.

They sat on the low wall behind the school, where the banyan roots hung low and the sunlight filtered through the leaves.

“I had a dream,” he began. “The house was full again. You were there. Nana. Kids. Laughter. It felt right.”

Meera listened quietly, the way she always had — with her eyes.

“I was ready to sell the house,” he admitted. “I thought it made sense. What would I even do with it? But now… it feels like I’d be cutting away something that still wants to grow.”

She nodded slowly. “Sometimes we inherit more than just land. We inherit responsibility. Memory. Legacy.”

“I don’t want to turn it into a museum,” he said. “But maybe… maybe it doesn’t have to be empty either.”

She looked at him carefully. “What are you thinking?”

He took a deep breath. “Maybe I stay. Not forever — but long enough to make something here. A reading space for kids. A little community spot. Something to keep it alive.”

Meera smiled. “That mango tree will love you for that.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I think Nana would too.”

For the first time since he arrived, the weight on his chest lifted. It wasn’t just about nostalgia anymore. It was about meaning. About choosing to root himself, even if only for a while.

He looked up at the sky, now bright and open, and for the first time in years, the future didn’t feel like something far away. It felt like something growing — quietly, gently — right here in his own courtyard.