Happiness rarely disappears.
It changes shape.
One afternoon Asha came home quieter than usual. No stories spilled out of her mouth. No paint on her hands. She dropped her bag and sat on the couch like the day had drained her.
Mira knelt in front of her.
"What happened?"
Asha shrugged.
"Nothing."
The most dangerous word in a child's vocabulary.
It surfaced three days later in a phone call from school.
Concern lived in the teacher's voice.
"She's been sitting alone," she said gently.
"She doesn't talk much during class anymore."
Mira felt her stomach drop.
Asha had always been sunlight. Silence didn't suit her.
That night they sat beside her bed.
"Talk to us," Arjun whispered.
Asha stared at the blanket.
"They said I'm weird," she murmured.
The word barely audible.
Mira's chest tightened.
"Who said that?"
Asha shook her head.
"It doesn't matter," she whispered.
"They said my family is broken."
The room went still.
Cruelty learned from adults always sounds older than children.
Arjun took a slow breath.
"Look at me," he said softly.
Asha hesitated, then met his eyes.
"Families aren't broken," he said.
"They're different shapes."
Tears filled her eyes.
"But they said—"
"They don't get to define us," Mira interrupted gently.
"We do."
Asha's voice cracked.
"Why are we different?"
Because we fought.
Because we chose truth.
Because love is complicated.
None of those answers fit a child's heart.
So Mira pulled her close and said the only thing that mattered:
"Because we're brave."
Asha clung to her like she was holding onto meaning itself.
The weeks that followed were careful.
Meetings with teachers. Long talks after dinner. Extra hugs in the morning.
Healing is repetition.
Reassurance spoken until it becomes bone.
One afternoon Asha ran out of school smiling again.
"I told them," she announced proudly.
"Told them what?" Arjun asked.
"That my family is strong," she said.
"And they're boring."
Mira laughed so hard she cried.
Children don't just heal.
They evolve.
That night, watching Asha sleep, Arjun whispered:
"She's tougher than we were."
Mira smiled.
"She didn't have to fight alone."
And that was the difference.
Love had built her armor.
Not against the world—
but for it.