a sound almost drowned out by the distant hum of city life. The air enveloped her like a thick blanket, heavy not only with humidity but also with unmade memories-a collage of hopes and drea

ed away just a month ago, leaving behind a legacy that Zara never anti

ife unfolded differently-her dream job slipped through her fingers, elusive and unattainable, while her savings dwindled more rapidly than she could have anticipated. And now, here she

t particles danced in the rays of sunlight that poured through the window, and the faint scent of camphor mixed with the mustiness of

captured in the throes of seriousness, devoid of smiles or warmth. Each frame seemed to hold a story, but the silence between them was deafening, frozen in time. As she ventured deeper int

untouched by time. Books lay scattered in chaotic piles, some having toppled and lay open with fragile pages

floor beneath her feet sounded uneven. Rising, she tapped her foot gently-tap, tap, thunk. There it was again-an echoing, hollow sound. Kneeling down, she traced her fingers across the wooden planks until she found one that felt slightly looser tha

ory intertwined with unspoken words. Sinking back onto the dusty floor, the diary resting in her lap felt alive, like a heartbeat she could almos

he leather cracked with age, as though it had borne the weight of too many untold stories. She wondered-how had her aunt come to

ch word had been etched with a heavy heart. She blinked, trying to adjust to the ink that seemed to fade in and out of clarity, the writing shifting as if it

st few entries were innocuous, filled with youthful wonder-descriptions of a garden in full bloom, the hum of summer afternoons, the laug

tions pressed down on her with an unbearable force. She had felt everything deeply-the joy of a bird's song, the sadness of a fleeting cloud. It wasn't that

on. The outside world-a world so loud and cruel-was something she was not allowed to touch. Her life had been carefully controlled, each mistake punished wi