Finally I got my break. A much awaited one. Last
day at the hostel. I would be flying tomorrow back to my parents. Others have
already left. As I sat down to pack my bags, I knew it was going to be a tough
job. But I didn’t know it was also going to be a nostalgic journey down the
memory lane. As I started collecting my clothes from the wardrobe, those things
started popping out, which I had once tried to put away in one of the darkest
corners. Of my heart and of the wardrobe. As I took each one out and laid bare
on the bed, I had in front of me, a collection, museums around the world would
compete for. For its antiquity, for its history. Every little thing narrated a
story, each torn picture rebuild the scene it was clicked at. The ink on that
loveletter may have faded, but not the feelings; the perfume on that
handkerchief may have diffused but not his scent. As I caressed each object, I
realized I would hold on to those memories forever. And ever.
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