Poverty teaches silence. Arjun learned not to complain when his stomach burned. He learned to smile when shopkeepers turned him away. He learned to count rice grains like prayers.
Meera used to laugh once. Now her laughter came rarely, like a guest afraid to stay too long. She woke screaming some nights, holding her head, saying she saw shadows standing near her bed.
"They watch me," she said.
Arjun worked all day—loading sacks, cleaning floors, fixing broken things no one wanted to fix. At night, he sat beside her, pretending strength.
But peace never came to their house.