Suddenly, the village chief paused mid-breath, like he'd just been hit with a ghost. His brows knitted in deep confusion.
"Wait… what the hell is a two-ward orphan?" he asked, genuinely disturbed, like the phrase had personally offended his ancestors.
Divya blinked, then raised a finger like she was about to deliver a great philosophical truth. "You know… like a door with two sides. One door here, one door there. But the rest? Gone with the wind."
The chief stared. "What?"
"I mean," Divya clarified with a huff, "when I was a child, the house I lived in only had two doors left. That's it. The roof? Gone. The walls? Ghosted. Just me and two doors holding onto each other for emotional support."
Now the chief was just blinking like a broken lantern.
"I used one door to sleep under and the other to block the wind," Divya added dramatically, wiping an invisible tear. "Very open concept. Minimalist. Mother Nature was our landlord."
