A Walk Through Time

I sat by the window, a cup of chai in hand, as the evening breeze played with the curtains. An old photo album lay open before me, its pages filled with sepia-tinted memories. As I turned the pages, I found myself slipping into the past—into a time when life was simpler, happiness was found in the smallest of things, and the world felt limitless.

There was a picture of my childhood home, its walls echoing with laughter and stories. Another one of me in my school uniform, grinning despite my crookedly tied tie. I could almost hear the morning chaos—Ma packing my lunch, Baba reminding me not to forget my water bottle, and my hurried footsteps running to catch the school bus.

Vacations were a different kind of magic. Summers spent at my grandparents’ house, where afternoons stretched lazily under mango trees, and the scent of fresh pickles filled the air. Monsoons meant paper boats in puddles, the thrill of getting drenched, and the warmth of a hot cup of milk waiting at home.

Each photograph held a story—of friendships that felt like forever, of family gatherings where everyone squeezed into a single frame, of festivals that lit up not just our home but our hearts too.

Looking at these pictures, I realized how fleeting time is. The moments we once took for granted now feel like treasures locked in the past. And yet, they remain with us, stitched into the fabric of who we are.

As I close the album, I smile. The years may have passed, but these memories? They will always live on, tucked safely in my heart.