In a quiet village, lived a girl named Mahi — simple, soft-spoken, but full of dreams. Every evening after helping her mother, she would sit by the window and write in her old diary. Her mother used to say, “Writing is good, beta, but don’t just write on paper — write on life.”Mahi loved collecting scarves. Bright colors, flower prints, everything. But her favorite was a plain white cotton scarf — soft, worn out, and gifted by her grandmother. Others found it dull, but to Mahi, it felt like magic.She would often wear it when she wrote, feeling like a