For days, Aman couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. Shadows lingered longer than they should have. Leaves rustled when the wind was still. And once, just before dawn, he found a sandalwood bead placed carefully on the Suryansh sapling's lowest branch.
Then came the visitor.
A woman in a white kurta arrived unannounced at the grove's edge. She introduced herself as Meera, a researcher of ancient agricultural rituals. But there was something in her eyes—like she already knew more than she let on. She asked no questions about the mangoes. Instead, she simply said, "You've planted a key. Now you must find the door."
Intrigued and unsettled, Aman let her walk the grove. She paused under the constellation tree, knelt, and whispered something in Sanskrit. The leaves above shimmered, and for a brief moment, the wind carried a distant song—old and haunting.
That night, Aman found another entry in his grandfather's journal, one that hadn't
been there before. In fresh ink, it read:
"Meera will come. Trust her. But not yet."
He couldn't sleep. He wandered back into the grove and found Meera still there, sitting beneath the Suryansh. She looked up at him and said, "There are more seeds like this. Scattered. Hidden. Guarded. Your grove is just the beginning."
As she stood to leave, she handed him a carved wooden pendant shaped like a mango leaf. Inside was a chip—a digital map with blinking red points stretching across India and beyond.
The grove had called him. But the world?
The world was about to answer.