On a rainy afternoon, a young boy, Arjun, stood by the edge of a swollen stream, folding a small paper boat from an old, tattered sheet. His grandmother's delicate handwriting covered the page, remnants of a letter she had written to his late grandfather.
"Why do you always use her letters?" his friend Mia asked, watching him crease the corners.
"Because they carry her love," he replied simply, placing the boat into the water. It wobbled for a moment, then steadied, gliding smoothly downstream.
Mia frowned. "But they'll get ruined."
Arjun smiled faintly. "Not ruined—shared. The river carries them far, maybe to someone who needs her words."
They watched as the boat drifted away, disappearing into the horizon. Arjun imagined his grandmother’s love traveling, finding lost souls in need of comfort, much as her stories had once comforted him.
That evening, when his grandmother saw the empty letter pile, she simply smiled. "Your grandfather always said love is meant to flow, not stay confined," she said, ruffling his hair.
As the rain continued, so did Arjun’s paper boats, carrying unseen whispers of love into the world.
