In the bustling heart of Mumbai, where skyscrapers kissed the clouds and rickshaws zigzagged through crowded streets, there stood an ancient mango tree. This wasn’t just any mango tree – it was the last of its kind, a magical tree that had been watching over the city for centuries. Twelve-year-old Priya lived in a small apartment with her parents and younger brother, Rahul. Their balcony overlooked the mango tree, which grew in a tiny park squeezed between two office buildings. Priya often wondered why no one ever picked the golden, juicy mangoes that hung from its branches all year round. One scorching summer afternoon, as Priya sat on the balcony…