Arjun Malhotra stands alone, sipping espresso on his balcony. The city sprawls beneath him—cars weaving trails of gold, neon signs pulsing softly. Yet, in the hush between distant horns, the emptiness inside presses tighter. He moves through the vast apartment; every surface polished, every achievement on display, but a quiet ache lingers.
"Is this all there is?"
Arjun slows his sleek car, curiosity catching him. He steps out, expensive shoes splashing in shallow puddles, and approaches the old man whose hands move with patient precision, mending a fractured bangle.
"Why work this late?"
Elderly Craftsman, his voice gentle and eyes crinkling with warmth, looks up.
"Because someone will smile tomorrow when they wear this."
Arjun is struck silent, watching the craftsman's fingers dance beneath the lamplight, each motion purposeful.
Even as profits rise and accolades pour in, Arjun finds his mind drifting back to the craftsman’s words. He begins to stop by the street lamp after work, drawn to the rhythmic clink of tools and the quiet dignity of creation. The city’s chaos fades when he crouches beside the old man, learning how to coax beauty from what others discard.
"It’s not about the gold, beta. It’s about the hands that give it life,"
the craftsman murmurs one night as Arjun tries to repair a delicate clasp.
Arjun arrives, searching the shadows for a familiar silhouette, but the craftsman is gone. Neighbors, faces blurred in the rain, tell him the old man has fallen ill and left the city. The loss settles in Arjun’s chest, heavier than he expects; his steps home slow, the city’s lights suddenly colder.
"He just left... without a word,"
Arjun murmurs, gripping a stray, unfinished bangle.
Arjun gathers his staff, voice resonant with clarity.
"We’re launching a program to hire local artisans—real craftsmen, not just machines. Our jewellery must tell their stories,"
he declares, eyes shining. Soon, workshops buzz with new energy: weathered hands, young apprentices, traditional tools beside modern ones. Forgotten skills resurface, pride returns to tired faces, and customers begin to notice not just the shine, but the soul behind each piece.
A young artisan, nervous but proud, approaches Arjun and presents a meticulously repaired bracelet.
Young Artisan, voice trembling with emotion:
"Sir… this was my grandfather’s work. He taught me to fix what others throw away."
Arjun turns the bracelet in his hands, recognizing the familiar motif, the care in every joint. For the first time, the applause around him fades; instead, he feels the craftsman's spirit alive in the hands of a new generation. The showroom glows brighter—and so does something deep within him.
