The village of Sundarpur looked peaceful from far away.
Green fields stretched endlessly, and large houses of wealthy landlords stood proudly in the center of the village. But behind that beauty lived many people whose lives were filled with struggle.
At the edge of the village stood a small mud house with a broken roof.
That house belonged to Maya and her father.
Maya was only nineteen, but her eyes carried a maturity far beyond her age. She was known in the village for her quiet kindness and her strange habit of staring at the night sky.
Her father, Raghav, was a farmer who worked day and night in the fields owned by rich landlords.
Even though they were poor, he always encouraged Maya to study.
"Maya," he would say while eating their simple dinner, "one day you will become someone important."
Maya would laugh softly.
"Baba, how can a poor girl from this village become important?"
Her father always looked at the stars before answering.
"Because dreams are stronger than poverty."
But one evening everything changed.
Raghav returned home from the fields looking weak and exhausted.
His breathing was heavy.
Maya ran to him.
"Baba! What happened?"
He tried to smile, but his body trembled.
"I'm just tired."
That night his fever became worse.
Maya ran from house to house asking for help.
But the villagers only shook their heads.
"Doctors cost money," someone said.
"Poor people must accept their fate," another whispered.
Maya sat beside her father the whole night, holding his hand.
Outside, thunder roared in the sky.
Before sunrise, her father slowly opened his eyes.
"Maya…"
She leaned closer.
"Yes, Baba?"
His voice was weak but gentle.
"Promise me something."
"What?"
"No matter how hard life becomes… never stop dreaming."
Tears rolled down Maya's cheeks.
"I promise."
Raghav smiled faintly.
Then his hand slowly slipped from hers.
The storm outside suddenly became silent.
Maya's world had just shattered.