Aarav found a small wooden box on the windowsill. Inside was a photograph. He held it up to the light. "Amma."
Aarav walked through the house. He touched the sticky counter, the jasmine on the sill. He put the warm clay pot in his pocket and went outside.
Aarav dragged three planks from the shed. He hammered a nail — bonk! It bent. He pulled it out and hammered again — thunk! Straight.
Aarav carried the plank to the mango tree. A butterfly landed on his hammer and fluttered away.
Aarav climbed the tree and nailed the plank to a thick branch. The wall leaned — wobble, wobble — and fell with a clatter.
He sat on the ground and held the clay pot. The leaves whispered — shhh, shhh.
Aarav built again. This time the walls stood straight. He added a tiny door and a round window.
He placed the clay pot on the floor and sat inside. Aarav smiled.
Aarav looked out through the round window. The neighborhood slept under a warm sky.
The clay pot sat safe inside. Aarav rested his head and listened to the leaves.