Yet the kite body still clung to a high oak bough. Branches clawed the sky, daring him. Arjun swallowed. “I’ll climb.” Mum inspected the trunk. “Strong and knobbly—good holds. I’ll spot you.”

Arjun’s trainers gripped bark. Up he went: left foot, right hand, breathe, repeat. Wind hummed a low song. Near the top, he hooked the broken string and freed the kite.

SNAP! A twig cracked. Arjun wobbled. “Stay calm,” Mum called. He pressed his chest to the trunk, counted to five, then climbed down slow as a snail sliding home.

Both feet landed safely. Mum hugged him so tight he almost squeaked. “Courage with caution—perfect blend,” she said. Arjun examined the kite. A tear zig-zagged across the paper.