The short story “The Bond” that helped me secure #43rd position in National writing contest “National LitStar Summit” among 500 top winning writers/authors. And here is the short story I promised to share after the contest results are announced.

The Bond
A Short Story by Vasu Gangapalli

A bolt of lightning split the night sky, jolting Rajesh awake. Moments later, a deep thud echoed through the darkness—as if something enormous had fallen. He rushed to the window. It was raining heavily.

Grabbing his umbrella, he stepped into the backyard. What he saw made his heart sink.
“Oh God…” he whispered, dropping the umbrella into a puddle.

The mango tree—the one behind the compound wall near the old well—had been uprooted.

He fell to his knees, rain mixing with his tears. A gentle hand pressed his shoulder. It was Neelima, his daughter-in-law, holding the fallen umbrella.

“Papa, let’s go inside,” she said softly.

Back in the warmth of the house, he wiped his face. “Neelu, you know… my grandfather planted that tree. It’s been with me my whole life.”

“I know, Papa,” she said, her voice laced with sympathy. “Please, try to sleep.”

But Rajesh couldn’t. His mind wandered to sun-drenched afternoons when his grandfather would tell stories under that tree. To childhood games of hide-and-seek. To summer days when ripe mangoes brought friends home. He had even hung a swing for his daughter Nirmala on its branches.

“Son,” his grandfather had once said, “be as selfless as this tree. It gives everything—fruit, shade, wood—and expects nothing in return. The joy of giving is greater than the joy of receiving.”

Rajesh had promised never to let the tree fall.

Now, it was gone.

In the days that followed, he couldn’t bear to step into the backyard. Instead, he flipped through old photo albums. Nearly every picture had the tree in the background. It was more than just a tree—it was the soul of their home.

“Please don’t dwell in the past,” Neelima said gently, handing him coffee.

“But our lives are made of those past moments,” he replied with a faint smile.

“You shared a bond with that tree—the same bond you had with your grandfather.”

“Yes,” Rajesh nodded. “When Grandpa died, I was too young to understand. But through that tree, he never really left me. Losing it felt like losing him all over again.”

A week later, Rajesh’s granddaughter Priyanka arrived. Seeing his sadness, she came up with a plan. With help from her mother Nirmala, aunt Neelima, and uncle Suresh, she secretly planted a new mango sapling in the same spot.

The next morning, she invited Rajesh to play hide-and-seek. Blindfolded, he followed her voice into the backyard until he stumbled gently against something.

Removing the blindfold, he gasped.

There, in the rain-washed earth, stood a tiny mango sapling, shielded by a makeshift fence.

His eyes welled with joy. Dropping to his knees, he opened his arms. Priyanka rushed in, and he embraced her, a wide smile blooming on his face.

The bond lived on.

The End