☀️ The Shirt with a Smell

Amma was folding Appa’s old shirt.
It smelled like warm sun and old soap.

Mukshi tied his shoelaces slowly.

Daksh blinked twice from the windowsill.
That meant: Yes.

“That means yes?” Mukshi asked.

Daksh blinked again. That meant: Still yes.

Amma handed him the bag.

⸻

🚲 The Empty Road

The forest road looked empty today.
No people. No sounds. No lost things.

Just light—soft, like milk through trees.

Daksh flew low beside the handlebar.
No message. No blinking.

Just flying.

⸻

🍂 The Leaf That Flew

A big yellow leaf—curled and light—fell from above.
It landed right on Mukshi’s head.

He stopped. It stayed there.

Daksh looked at him.

“What?” Mukshi asked.

Daksh tilted his head. Like a smile.

Mukshi started to laugh.
A little at first. Then more. Then louder.

He didn’t know why.
But it felt good.

⸻

🧒 Just Joy

No reason.
No plan.
Just something soft in his chest. Like a bubble.

Daksh flapped once.
The leaf flew off.

Mukshi smiled. “That’s okay,” he said.
“It did its job.”

⸻

🏡 Amma and the Shirt

At home, Amma was still folding.

“You look like you did something,” she said.

“Not really,” Mukshi replied.

“But you’re smiling.”

“I think the wind made me laugh.”

Amma looked out the window.
“It does that,” she said. “If you let it.”

⸻

Some joy doesn’t come from anything.
It just arrives—like wind,
if you’re still enough to notice.