He opened his workbook. Question 14 was no longer blank. In his own handwriting—but older, firmer—were the words: The Silk Road was not a road but a conversation. It turned strangers into neighbors and goods into stories. Without it, no great empire stands alone.
He was back in his bedroom. The workbook was closed. And in the margin of page 47, Ms. Varma’s red arrow now pointed to a single, perfect sentence—his sentence.
The dust swirled. The lamp flickered.
