Cann sighed, lying down on his bed, but sleep wouldn't come. His thoughts were consumed by Ritika. He couldn't stop wondering-should he tell her about Delitz? Should he tell Delitz about Ritika? But why? Ritika was just his neighbor, his friend. He...
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On a winter evening, the soft chirping of sparrows filled the air, their small forms nestled in the branches of a large tree opposite an old, weathered house.
Inside, by the window, a girl sat, her tears falling like precious pearls from her deep, black eyes—eyes that seemed to have been carved with the care and precision of a master craftsman.
The tears traced their way down her rosy cheeks, past her delicate nose adorned with a gold piercing on the left side, before slipping over her red lips, sweet like strawberries.
A small, black mole rested on the right side of her lips, adding to her natural beauty.
The tears fell onto an old photograph frame in her lap, a picture of a happy couple seated on a bench beneath a tree much like the one outside.
Between them, a little girl smiled with her milk teeth shining, full of joy and innocence. That little girl was Ritika, and the couple in the photo were her parents.
Now 22, Ritika had blossomed into a young woman, standing at 5’5” and resembling her mother in both beauty and grace. She had lost her parents two years ago in a tragic car accident, and though time had passed, her heart still ached for them.
Memories of their happy family of three haunted her, drawing her back to this old house where she had spent her childhood. Whenever the pain of missing them became too much to bear, she would return here, to the place where she once felt safe and loved.
The memories of her childhood were vivid: painted walls, climbing the trees outside, playing hide and seek with her father, and savoring the sweets her mother lovingly made. Every corner of the house held a story, a fragment of joy. She missed them deeply.
Her parents, both engineers, had encouraged her to pursue her dreams, and now Ritika was a medical student, working under a cardiothoracic surgeon. They had moved to a new house in Delhi when she was fifteen, but this old home still held the essence of her youth, of the times before life changed forever.
Placing the photograph gently on the table, Ritika wiped her tears and let a small smile creep onto her lips as she gazed at the familiar walls. Slowly, she walked over to the old wooden bed with its white cover, lay down, and rested her head on the pillow. With her eyes closed, she allowed herself to relive the beautiful memories—laughing with her parents, building toys with her father, playing games, and sharing moments of joy. The bittersweet happiness brought her closer to sleep, but just as she was about to drift off, her eyes shot open.
“I wish there was someone to love me again,” she whispered softly to herself. “To make me believe this world is magical... I wish.”
She rose from the bed and walked toward an old cupboard, its surface coated in a thick layer of dust. Ritika wiped the dust away and, after struggling for nearly fifteen minutes, managed to pry the rusted door open. Inside, she found a pile of old newspapers, and among them, a photograph of her parents caught her eye.
