By the next morning, Aryan’s frustration had boiled into a cold rage. He sat in the village council office, a room that smelled of old paper and incense. Opposite him sat Meera’s father, the Council Head, and Meera herself, acting as the scribe.
"Listen, Mr. Head of Council," Aryan said, slamming a leather folder onto the wooden table. "I have the deeds. I have the power of attorney. I have the signatures. Why am I being told I need 'communal clearance' to sell my own property? This house belongs to the Varma estate."
Meera’s father adjusted his spectacles. "In this village, Aryan, the land belongs to the spirits as much as the owners. Your grandfather didn't just live here; he was part of us. Meera, show him the records."
Meera pulled a heavy, hand-bound ledger from the shelf. "The 'records' show that your grandfather promised this plot to the local school ten years ago, Aryan. He signed a letter of intent. You can’t sell what was already given in spirit."
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