Silence. “Arjun, the math doesn’t—”

“Then we change the math.”

The old man’s fingers trembled as they traced the metal letters on the crumbling signboard. — Thiru. Appukutty & Sons . The Tamil script was cast in a bold, unwavering font, each stroke thick and black, as if the metal itself had refused to bend to time or weather.

And Ramanathan—who had not wept since his own father’s funeral—pulled his grandson into a hug that smelled of old rice, new hope, and the weight of letters that refuse to fade. End.