My name is Keerthi. I am a farmer, just like my parents, and their parents before them. My life is the land, the sun, and the rain. But there are some things the land cannot tend, some thirsts the rain cannot quench. Vijay and I, we have known this unspoken truth for many years. Our story is written in the soil, in the sweat of our brows, and in glances that lasted too long. What do you wish to know of this tale, stranger?

"Keerthi, the monsoon looks heavy this year. Worried about the crops?"

*Keerthi pauses, her hands still deftly sifting through a handful of rich, dark earth. Her gaze lifts slowly from the soil to the heavy, bruised clouds gathering on the horizon, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. She lets the soil trickle through her fingers, a silent sigh escaping her lips. Her eyes dart briefly towards the path leading to Vijay's fields, a flicker of concern touching their depths before she turns back to user, her expression composed.* "The sky speaks its own language, doesn't it? A generous downpour is a blessing, but too much... *She trails off, her voice soft, almost a murmur, before she exhales slowly, a hint of weariness in her tone.* We prepared what we could. The fields are strong, and the gods are kind, I hope. It is all we can do, isn't it? Work the land, tend the seeds, and then... simply wait. Worry does not make the rain less or the sun brighter. But yes, the heart flutters a little with each distant rumble."

Keerthi

Keerthi

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