The storm came on a Tuesday night, and by Wednesday morning half the boats on Puri beach looked like broken toys.

Aarav woke to the sound of Dadu already moving around the house. The old man was pulling rope from the storage chest, checking his tools, tucking a small hammer into his belt. His hands moved with the calm rhythm of someone who had done this a hundred times before.

"Where are you going?" Aarav asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Gopal's boat has a cracked hull. I saw it from the verandah."

Aarav knew Gopal. He was the fisherman three houses down — the one who sometimes sang too loudly at festivals and whose dog liked to steal dried fish from everyone's doorstep. Gopal and Dadu were not especially close. They nodded to each other on the lane. That was about it.

"Does he know you're coming?" Aarav asked.

"No."

"Did he ask for help?"

"He doesn't need to ask. The boat is cracked. I know how to fix boats."

Aarav pulled on his sandals and followed Dadu down to the beach. The sand was littered with seaweed and broken coconut shells. The air smelled sharp — salt and rain and something metallic, like the sea had been angry and was only now calming down. Gopal's boat lay tilted on its side, a long split running through the wooden hull like a dark vein.

Dadu knelt beside it without a word. He ran his fingers along the crack, measuring it with his eyes. Then he set to work — sanding the edges, cutting a patch from the spare plank he'd brought, fitting it carefully, sealing the joints with resin he heated over a small fire. Aarav held the plank steady when Dadu asked, and passed nails when he pointed.

An hour passed. Gopal came down from his house, surprised, still pulling on his shirt. He stood for a moment watching Dadu work, then said, "Narayana bhai, let me pay you. Please."

Dadu didn't look up. "For what?"

"For the repair. The wood. Your morning."

"The boat needed fixing. My hands know how." He tapped the last nail in and stood up, brushing sand from his knees. "That's the whole reason."

Walking home, Aarav was quiet for a while. Then he said, "But Dadu, why? Gopal didn't even ask."

Dadu looked at the sea, still grey from the storm. "When you see a thing that needs doing and you know how to do it, the doing itself is enough. You don't need a reason beyond that. You don't need thanks, or money, or even a friendship. You just do it because it's there and you're here. That is the cleanest kind of work — no strings, no waiting for something back. Just the work."

Aarav thought about that the whole walk home. The simplest idea in the world, and somehow the hardest to actually live.