He stood waiting for the bus. Beside him stood her—hair adorned with a garland of blooming jasmine. A gentle drizzle had begun, the kind that softens the world into memory.
Suddenly—CRACK- lightning split the sky.
“*Aai ga!” she gasped, instinctively clutching his arm.
Just for a moment.
“Sorry!” she whispered, retreating as quickly as she had leaned in. Her bus arrived. She cast a single glance his way, then stepped aboard.
He stood frozen, eyes locked on her silhouette as it disappeared into the rain.
She was gone— But she had taken his heart with her. She left behind the warmth of her touch, the scent of her skin, And the lingering perfume of jasmine. The hands of his life’s clock stopped right there.
Even today, when thunder rumbles and the monsoon clouds gather,
At that same bus stop,
You’ll find an old man— Still waiting.
Still holding a jasmine garland in his hand.
...
“*Aai ga!” Oh! Mother
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