鈥淭urn the page, little one,鈥� whispered a voice like wind chimes. It came from the book.
Baba was watching him, a knowing smile on his face. 鈥淵ou found the second chapter, didn鈥檛 you?鈥� chandoba book
Aarav blinked. He was back on the veranda. The power had returned, but he didn鈥檛 notice. The Chandoba book lay closed in his lap. Outside his window, the real moon hung like a silver coin, brighter than he had ever seen it. 鈥淭urn the page, little one,鈥� whispered a voice
鈥淔ine,鈥� Aarav grumbled, picking it up. The cloth felt warm, like skin. He opened it. 鈥淵ou found the second chapter, didn鈥檛 you
And gasped.
Aarav, the boy who hated books, found himself stepping into the story. He helped Rani search for the flute鈥攏ot by reading, but by feeling . He ran his fingers over the coarse sand (the book鈥檚 page turned rough). He listened to the silence (the book鈥檚 spine hummed a low, sad note). He smelled the wet earth after a phantom rain (the book鈥檚 pages released the scent of petrichor).
