Ground doesn't stay neutral once it proves useful.
The moment something works—really works—someone decides it needs a name, a boundary, a signature at the bottom of a page. Growth invites claim the way light invites shadow.
I felt it before the city admitted it.
Not pressure.
Interest.
The folding chairs were gone when we returned to the clinic street the next morning. Not removed—replaced. Neater benches, bolted down. A small metal plaque gleamed on the side:
COMMUNITY WAITING AREA – PILOT PROGRAM
Arjun stared at it.
"They branded it."
"Yes," I said.
"And fixed it in place."
The girl touched the bench lightly.
"It's colder."
Aaryan nodded.
"Ownership always is."
✦
The chalk arrows were still there—but faded beneath fresh paint. Clean lines. Official color. A directional flow that made sense on paper and failed quietly in practice.
People followed it once.
Then drifted back to old paths.
A facilitator stood nearby, watching the drift with tight lips.
