Echoes of the Eternal Chai

Months later, Dadar bustled unchanged. Ravi's chai tasted better—subtly eternal. Whispers persisted of the vendor who bent the world, but they faded like monsoon mist. Ravi kept the shard hidden, using it sparingly: a nudge for the poor, a whisper for the lost. He became the quiet weaver, mending one cup at a time. Mumbai endured, threads intact, fates intertwined. In the end, the greatest power wasn't rewriting reality—but choosing not to.