Months later, Meera stood in Mumbai, holding her scholarship letter. The city was loud, bright, and full of strangers.
She felt scared.
But then she remembered her rooftop.
She remembered painting with cheap colors.
She remembered doubting herself.
She remembered dreaming anyway.
That night, in her small hostel room, she opened her new canvas.
And once again, she began to paint.
Not because she wanted to win.
Not because she wanted fame.
But because painting was her way of breathing.
And no matter how big the world became—
She would always be the girl who painted the sky.