“The memory was sensory. Nikhil felt his grandfather's hands — not his own, his grandfather's, the hands of an eighty-year-old vaidya, bony and warm and trembling slightly, pressed against bark that had been pressed by those same hands since childhood. He felt the old man's heartbeat — slow, steady, the heartbeat of a person who measured time in monsoons rather than minutes. He felt — and this was the thing that broke him — he felt his grandfather's love for the tree. Not sentiment. Not abstraction. A chemical-electrical bond, forged over decades of contact, a connection so deep that the tree could not distinguish between the man's biochemistry and its own.”