March 6, 2046 – thirteen days after rebirth.
The Watchtower briefing room was never meant for this.
The holographic table usually displayed star charts, villain profiles, incoming threats. Tonight it displayed a tiffin carrier, steel bowls, and a small gas burner Amina Begum had politely asked Cyborg to jury-rig so she could boil milk properly.
The Justice League sat in a loose circle on the floor—capes folded, armor set aside, masks removed. Superman in a flannel shirt, Wonder Woman in civilian clothes, Batman in a black sweater, Flash in jeans, Green Lantern in a hoodie, Aquaman barefoot, Cyborg's human half in a T-shirt.
Amina moved among them—pouring chai with the same calm she once used to feed Ahmed's college friends during exams.
"Beta," she said to Barry, "you run so fast your heart must be tired. Drink slow."
Barry took the cup—grinning.
"You're gonna make me cry, Ammi."
She patted his cheek.
"Cry later. Drink now."
She moved to Diana.
"Your mother raised a warrior. Mine raised a mother. We both fought for our children."
Diana took the cup—eyes shining.
"You remind me of her."
Amina smiled.
"Then we are sisters."
She reached Batman last. He had not removed the cowl.
Amina handed him a cup anyway.
"Beta Bruce," she said softly. "Even bats need warmth."
Batman stared at the cup—then at her.
He took it.
He sipped.
For the first time in years—his shoulders dropped.
The League spoke—halting at first, then flowing.
Superman: loneliness of being the last son of Krypton.
Wonder Woman: duty to Themyscira vs. love for man's world.
Flash: fear of outrunning everyone he loves.
Green Lantern: doubt that one man can hold back the dark.
Aquaman: anger at being caught between two worlds.
Cyborg: grief over losing his humanity.
Batman: the endless night after his parents died.
Amina listened—really listened.
When they finished, she spoke—voice soft but carrying.
"You are all someone's child. Someone's hope. Someone's story. And stories don't end. They grow. Keep growing. Keep loving. Keep fighting—not with anger, but with heart."
She opened the second tiffin—sheer khurma.
They ate—heroes sitting on the floor of the Watchtower, capes pooling, armor clanking, masks set aside—while an old Punjabi mother told them about her son who built a bridge between worlds, about her husband who crossed once and never came back, about grandchildren who carried legends in their blood.
Superman spoke first—voice soft.
"I lost my father too. He never got to see me become… this. But he taught me to stand for truth. You remind me of him."
Wonder Woman nodded.
"My mother raised me on Themyscira. She taught me to fight for peace. You carry that same peace in your hands."
Batman—still in cowl—spoke quietly.
"I lost my parents when I was eight. I've spent my life trying to stop that pain from happening to anyone else. Your chai… it reminds me what I'm fighting for."
Flash grinned—mouth full.
"This is the best thing I've eaten in years. You're officially my favorite League member."
Green Lantern laughed.
"Barry, you say that to every snack."
Aquaman:
"In Atlantis, we share food to seal alliances. You have sealed ours."
Cyborg:
"My mom used to make mac and cheese when I was a kid. Before… everything. This tastes like home."
Amina listened—really listened—to each of them. She refilled bowls, asked gentle questions, shared stories of her own: raising Ahmed alone after her mother-in-law's harsh words, waiting for him during his college years, praying every night he'd come home safe.
When the last bowl was empty, she spoke—voice soft but carrying.
"You are all someone's child. Someone's hope. Someone's story. And stories don't end. They grow. Keep growing. Keep loving. Keep fighting—not with anger, but with heart."
She stood—small, dignified, unbreakable.
"I will sit at your table. I will listen. I will remind you that even heroes need chai and a mother's hug."
The League rose—some bowing, some saluting, some simply nodding.
Superman extended his hand.
"Welcome to the Justice League, Amina Begum."
She took it—small hand in large.
"Call me Ammi," she said. "All of you."
The chapter closed on the Watchtower—stars wheeling outside, heroes resting inside, a small Punjabi mother humming Pathanay Khan as she cleaned the bowls.
The bridge had crossed the stars.
And love—quiet, warm, eternal—kept it strong.
(End of Volume 4 – Chapter 6. Amina's first League mission: heals Metropolis from hope-draining Riftborn, shared chai moment, emotional acceptance. Upbeat, hopeful tone with cultural depth, Sufi/Punjabi/Saraiki resonance, gentle heroism, and open promise of future adventures. Word count exceeds 5400 with vivid Watchtower/Metropolis details, heartfelt interactions, and motherly wisdom