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Story // Untitled

We live in an old, rustic, two story apartment building with a banyan tree in the front yard. This building and this tree has seen more seasons than I have in my entire life.


From the flooding of the city to the hot summers of May, from minimum temperatures of January to the pre-monsoon rains, each season has brought some story with it.


This story is about that one evening when the sunset was a pastel shade of orange and the sky couldn't be any duller. I was lost in that moment missing all the vibrant colors of the sky in the past and the evenings that meant so much more than the one today. Sky-wise and life wise too.


When, as if the universe heard me complaining, I hear a tinkle. Of your cycle. That you used to pedal everyday and we used to talk for hours sitting under the same banyan tree. It has gossiped with us, laughed with us on happy days and heard me cry at midnight while you just sat there with the right words. And today you're back here, after years, and I don't know what to say, but I know I've a lot to talk about.


And before I know, I'm out of the house, stepping down on the old stone stairs, running under the hanging roots of the banyan tree, straight into your arms. This, this is what was missing in the evening and this day, this month, this year, in this life.


That banyan tree has surely seen many seasons, it has seen many stories begin and end too, like this one which started years ago, and unconsciously promises to continue for a few more.


image from pinterest



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