His fingers, stained with decades of ink and chai, hovered over the laptop keyboard his grandson had left behind. The screen glowed accusingly. He adjusted his spectacles and painstakingly pecked each letter:
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He didn’t care. He made chai. He sat by the window as the rain started. And for the first time in years, he waited—not with impatience, but with the quiet joy of a man about to meet his old friends again. His fingers, stained with decades of ink and