Supriya sat alone in the municipal waiting hall. It was early—too early. The sun hadn't reached the windows yet. A broken fan rattled somewhere above her. The chairs around her were empty. No one was scheduled to arrive for at least thirty minutes.
She liked it this way.She had come to submit a funding transfer request. Not for Echo Seeds. Not for any pilot initiative or youth node. For something simpler:
A new hand-pump in a forgotten village where last month's water project had been delayed due to an oversight.
Most people would have asked an assistant.
Most people in her position wouldn't even know the form code.
But Supriya did.She knew the code and the clerk's name and the history of the broken supply chain that had failed that village for three years.
So she sat there. Paperwork in hand. Waiting.There were no photos. No press. No one watching and still, her posture was straight.
Like the work mattered more than the witness.
