Aastha: In The Prison Of Spring //top\\ -

“It was my mother’s,” she said. “She planted it the year I was born.”

But this spring was different.

“Faith,” he translated, and his smile softened. “That’s a good name for someone who keeps a dying garden alive.” aastha: in the prison of spring

That was the beginning.

Her name was faith. And faith, she finally learned, is not the absence of walls. It is the courage to bloom on the other side. “It was my mother’s,” she said