Meera looked up from the glowing screen. The temple attic was dark, the last sliver of sunset bleeding through a broken window. Tomorrow, the bulldozers would come. Her body would sleep on the street. Her phone’s battery was at 3%.
She pressed play.
She pressed record on her phone—for the last time.
She could have felt despair. Instead, she laughed—a cracked, joyful sound.
The Last Bhajan
