The morning mist curled in soft ribbons through the banyan's roots, as if the forest itself were breathing. Dew hung from every leaf, catching the pale light of dawn. Somewhere in the distance, a stream whispered over stones, its voice carried on the still, cool air.
Aarav sat cross-legged across from the guide. The man's face was still drawn from weakness, yet his eyes held the same unshaken depth — a gaze that could pierce through noise and silence alike. They had shared this space for days, speaking in fragments, resting in long pauses.
But this morning felt different.
Aarav's thoughts were loud. The memory of his failures in the trials — the faltering steps at the root chakra, the wavering will at the throat — returned like old shadows. He thought of the people he had left behind, the voices he could not silence, and the gnawing sense that his journey was drifting without anchor.
At last, he spoke. "Why me?" His voice cracked more than he expected. "Why here, why now? I don't even know if I'm moving forward or… just circling back to where I began."
The guide's lips curved faintly, not in mockery, but in recognition. "A seed does not ask the rain why it falls," he said quietly. "It waits in the dark, softens in the damp, and breaks itself open before it grows."
Aarav clenched his hands. "Then make me grow. Take me as your student."
The guide's head shook ever so slightly. "Not every tree can take root where it stands. Sometimes the soil is wrong, sometimes the season. Sometimes… the gardener will not stay."
The words landed with a weight that tightened Aarav's chest. "You're saying you won't stay?"
The man's gaze shifted upward, following the slow drift of a single banyan leaf detaching from its branch. "I cannot. My path moves differently than yours. There is… a reason I cannot bind myself to this place or to you."
Aarav felt the urge to protest, to demand answers, but something in the guide's tone stopped him. The stillness between them grew heavy, like the pause before a storm.
The guide leaned forward, his voice low and deliberate. "Carry this with you — in every step, in every trial: 'Strength without stillness is only noise.' When you stand before what frightens you, do not meet it with force first. Meet it with stillness, and you will know if force is needed at all."
The line struck deep, and Aarav knew it would echo in him for years to come.
"I don't understand all of this," Aarav admitted.
"You aren't meant to. Not yet." The man's eyes softened. "But you will, when your roots find the right ground."
They fell into silence. The leaf finally touched the earth between them, curling inward as it settled.
The guide leaned back against the banyan's trunk, eyes closing as though for rest. His breathing was steady, but something in his stillness told Aarav the moment was fragile — a thread that could break without warning.
Aarav wanted to speak again, to stretch this moment into something permanent. But the space between words was full enough.
The forest held its breath.
🌌 End of Chapter..
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