Jugni’s Quiet Strength

Jugni sat on the creaky wooden chair, her fingers moving slowly over the keyboard of her old laptop. The fan whirred loudly, struggling against the summer heat. The house—her parents’ house—was quiet except for the occasional rustle of leaves outside the window.

At thirty-two, she was alone. Her mother had passed last winter, her father just six months before that. The grief still sat heavy in her chest, but life didn’t stop for sorrow. She had bills to pay, a roof to keep over her head.

The notification on her screen blinked—another completed assignment. 8,000 rupees this month, barely enough for food and electricity. The remote work was unstable, and payments were often delayed. But it was all she had.

She walked to the small kitchen, the tiles cold under her bare feet. The shelves were nearly empty—some rice, a few lentils, half an onion. She measured each grain carefully. Outside, the neighbour’s children laughed, their voices bright and carefree. Jugni watched them through the window, a faint smile touching her lips before fading.

That evening, rain began to fall. A leak in the roof dripped steadily into a dented metal bucket. Jugni placed it under the spot, the rhythmic plink of water filling the silence. She picked up her father’s old harmonica from the shelf, turning it over in her hands. He used to play for her when she was a child, silly little tunes that made her giggle. She lifted it to her lips, blew softly—but no sound came.

A knock at the door startled her.

“Jugni?” It was Meena, her neighbour. “Power’s out in the whole lane. Brought you a candle.”

Jugni opened the door, the warm yellow glow of the candle flickering between them. For the first time that day, she didn’t feel so alone.

The next morning, as she walked to the market, a little girl ran up to her, pressing a small blue flower into her palm before darting away. Jugni held it gently, the delicate petals soft against her skin.

That night, an email arrived—a new project, with an advance. Enough to fix the roof. Enough to breathe.

She picked up the harmonica again. This time, when she blew, a clear, trembling note filled the room.

And for a moment, life felt a little lighter.