Years passed.
One rainy afternoon, now in her thirties, Amanat returned to her childhood home in Patiala. Her parents had grown frail. The library where she first found Persepolis had shut down. But in her old room, the sketches still hung like echoes.
One morning, a small girl from the neighborhood knocked on her door.
"Are you the one who made the story where the brother flies into the sky like a kite?"
Amanat nodded.
"I read it every time I miss my papa," the girl said, clutching the book. "It makes me feel… not alone."
Amanat smiled for the first time in days.