Meera’s fascination with the orbs grew stronger each night. She noticed that when she mirrored their movements, something changed inside her—she felt calmer, lighter, and more connected. It was as though the lights were teaching her a language, one not spoken in words but felt in the heart and body.
One evening, as she practiced the movements alone by the lake, a group of children from the village approached her. “What are you doing, Meera?” they asked, curious but cautious.
“I’m learning to speak their language,” Meera replied, gesturing toward the orbs. “They’re showing me how to feel what they’re saying.”
The children watched the orbs flicker and glide in intricate patterns. Meera began to demonstrate the flowing movements, encouraging the children to join her. At first, they giggled and stumbled, but soon their movements became more natural. The more they moved, the closer the lights seemed to drift, pulsing gently as if in approval.
Later that night, Meera heard whispers in the village. Some of the adults were uneasy. “Why are these lights here?” they murmured. “Are they a sign of danger?”
Meera didn’t know how to answer, but she felt in her heart that the lights carried no harm. “They are here to remind us of something we’ve forgotten,” she told the children, who were beginning to trust her more than the ones who feared.
