Srinagar, April 22 -- The room was still. The kind of stillness that seeps into your bones and lays down there quietly, without asking for permission. For three long months, I had been stitched into silence - not by choice, but by a plastered leg and a calendar that refused to fast-forward. And then, yesterday, the door creaked open. And with it came the voices of children. My students. Their laughter, unfiltered and free, danced through the air like dust caught in a golden shaft of sun. They came in groups of twos and threes, carrying with them the scent of chalk and crushed grass. Their backpacks swayed like pendulums, their cheeks flushed from running, their voices trembling with the weight of something important. They had news. Not th...