The children began joining Meera at the lake each evening, their laughter filling the air as they played near the shimmering water. At first, they came out of curiosity, drawn by the orbs and Meera’s graceful movements. But over time, they started to sense something more—a quiet peace and joy that came with following the flowing patterns Meera had learned from the lights.
One evening, as the children moved with Meera, a new thing happened. The orbs pulsed brightly, then began forming shapes in the air—loops, spirals, and sweeping arcs. Meera paused, watching intently. “They’re teaching us more,” she said softly, gesturing for the children to follow her lead. The group began mirroring the orbs, their movements flowing like water, their breaths syncing as if guided by the same unseen rhythm. The air grew warm, and the lake seemed to shimmer brighter. Some of the children closed their eyes, their faces serene as they moved instinctively, as if remembering something long forgotten.
But in the village, the whispers grew louder. Some of the adults were frightened by the growing closeness between the children and the lights. “This is unnatural,” they said. “Meera is leading them into danger.” Hearing this, Meera felt a pang of sadness but didn’t let it stop her. She gathered the children and spoke to them gently. “Sometimes, people are afraid of what they don’t understand,” she said. “But fear is like a shadow—it disappears when you shine your light on it.”
The children nodded, their eyes wide with trust. “We’re not afraid,” one of them said. “The lights make us feel happy.”
“Then let’s keep dancing,” Meera said with a smile. “Our light will help them see.”
