04/05/2025
There was once a boy named Arjun who lived in a small village surrounded by fields, rivers, and endless skies. His house had a backyard with an old mango tree that became the heart of his childhood.
Every summer, the tree would bloom with golden mangoes. Arjun and his friends would gather under its shade, laughing, playing, and waiting for the ripe fruits to fall. Sometimes, theyβd climb its branches and pretend it was a pirate ship, sailing through clouds of imagination.
His grandfather often sat beneath the tree, telling stories of how he had planted it as a boy. Arjun listened with wide eyes, his heart full of wonder. The tree became more than just a plantβit was his playground, his secret hideout, his storyteller.
One monsoon evening, a strong storm broke a large branch of the tree. Arjun cried, not just for the branch, but for the memories that seemed to hang from it. His grandfather smiled and said, βMemories donβt break, Arjun. They grow with us, like the roots of this tree.β
Years passed. Arjun grew up, moved to the city, and built a new life. But whenever he visited home, he still walked to the backyard, touched the treeβs rough bark, and remembered the laughter, the games, and the magic of his childhood.
And each time, he smiledβbecause the mango tree still stood, holding the roots of his sweetest memories.
