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Rutvik knows Nahella really loves white flowers.
In the prison garden outside the Mandir, Prisoner 704 knelt in the dirt, his muscles stiff and aching after the relentless 24-hour standing punishment from the day before. His legs had gone numb hours ago, but he forced himself to move, to dig, to plant.
His hands, one flesh and one cold metal, were caked in damp soil as he carefully nestled delicate white flowers into the ground. For his Ella.
11 years ago, when he was just a boy with nothing to his name but a flute and a hunger in his empty stomach. She was a stranger who had left behind more than just kindness. She had left behind a name, that he will carry till Eternity.
He exhaled slowly and look down at his prosthetic right hand. This was the hand she had once held. Her small hand curling around his little wrist.
She had been the first person in his life who touch him without cruelty.
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