Priya kicked something soft on the bedroom floor. She froze. A scrap of deep red cloth lay near her sleeping mat, still as a secret. Her fingers hovered above it, trembling. She whistled sharply for her grandmother.
Grandmother appeared in the doorway and scooped Priya onto her lap on the charpai. From a shelf she brought down a carved wooden box, its lid clicking open to reveal three folded cloths — maroon, magenta, and ruby — each stitched with tiny gold flowers.
'This is not trouble, betii,' Grandmother said, tapping the brightest cloth. 'This is your body keeping a secret garden.' Priya frowned, looking past the window where the jasmine vine climbed the wooden trellis, green leaves thick with unopened buds.
Grandmother walked to the window and pressed a warm rose petal into Priya's palm. 'Once a month, your body waters the garden so you can grow taller and stronger. Like the jasmine — it sleeps, then blooms.'
Priya's eyes grew wide. Through the window, a jasmine flower had just opened, its white petals curling open like a yawn. 'It really does sleep,' she whispered. 'And then it blooms.'
Grandmother reached behind the brass diary on the windowsill and pressed a fresh blank page into Priya's hand along with a paintbrush. 'Every woman in our family has this garden,' she said softly. Priya dipped the brush in watercolor and painted a single red lotus.
Priya's brush moved with careful strokes — a crimson lotus blooming on the page. She looked up and smiled. The secret garden was hers now, and she had never felt more grown-up.
That afternoon, Priya hung the red embroidered cloth on a clothesline inside her room. It fluttered like a small flag in the breeze. She tucked the brass diary into her bag and hummed as she headed to the kitchen.
The red cloth caught the light — deep maroon threads, tiny gold flowers shimmering with every gust. Priya ran her fingers along its embroidered border, then stepped back to watch it dance.
She walked to the kitchen with light steps, the brass diary safe in her bag. Through the window behind her, the jasmine vine caught the last of the sun, its white petals glowing against the deepening blue sky.