The memory shifted, jumping forward like a heartbeat. The next day, Megha returned to the island, her spirit restless. The banyan tree stood empty. The silence of the island felt different today—heavy with anticipation.   A small squirrel darted across her path, its tiny paws clicking against the stones as it raced toward the sea. Instinctively, Megha followed.   Suddenly, a sharp thrum cut through the air. An arrow, fired with impossible precision, hissed past Megha’s cheek, the wind from its passage stinging her skin. It didn’t strike a target; instead, it sliced through the stems of three different fruit