Unseen Horizons
It’s almost time. As I reminisce, nine months have ticked away in a flurry. I’ve lived, truly lived, and in the end, that’s all that matters. I’m proud, yet there's an ache in my heart, a whisper of time running out.
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A Quiet Awakening
That day, as dawn broke, I awoke to a peculiar sensation, like a persistent whisper in the depths of my soul. The light filtering through the blinds seemed different, as if it were charged with a message I had yet to decipher. In the stillness of my apartment in the USA, far from India's vibrant streets where my parents resided, I lay contemplating. My hand, resting on my chest, betrayed a brief moment of worry. I quickly dismissed it as I pondered the day ahead.
Beside me, my husband Aditya, slept soundly, his breathing forming a rhythmic lullaby in the morning calm. I watched him for a moment. My mind drifted across continents and oceans to my parents. There was a sudden, inexplicable longing to see them, to bridge the vast physical distance that separated us.
Deepa and Shaily, our children, slumbered peacefully, enveloped in innocent dreams. I thought of how little they knew of their grandparents, of the stories and wisdom that were waiting in the quiet corners of our family's history.
I got up, feeling the cool floor under my feet. I made my way to the kitchen. Over a brewing tea, my resolve crystallized. “Why not?” I mused, “Why not take that leap? One year is enough.” With pen in hand and thoughts meandering like ships in a fog, I jotted down:
- Spend four months with my parents.
- Open an old-age home.
- Own a house with a garden.