रात-डायरी 🔖

The night had settled deep, and the room was drenched in a strange silence. A faint yellow light seeped through the window and fell softly on the bed—the bed we had once shared. The crumpled sheet, marked with countless wrinkles, lay like a silent witness to all that had been said and unsaid between us. Each wrinkle carried a story—some completed, some left unfinished. After you left, I tried countless times to straighten the sheet. Yet, every time I smoothed it out, deeper wrinkles appeared, as though mocking my efforts. That sheet, that bed, those wrinkles... they weren’t just objects anymore; they were our history etched in fabric. “Every wrinkle tells a story, not of age but of experience,” I once read somewhere. And this sheet seemed to carry our entire journey. Do you remember the first time we sat on this bed, sharing our thoughts and dreams? It was a rainy evening. You extended your damp hands toward me, raindrops still clinging to your fingertips. Water dripped from your hair...