The day boredom stopped by... 🤠

It was a Sunday that felt like a Monday pretending to nap.

Ayu lay sprawled on the floor of his room, staring at the ceiling fan as it turned with the same rhythm as his thoughts — slow, pointless, and tired of itself. His phone battery was dead. The Wi-Fi was out. Even the lizard on the wall had moved on to more exciting corners.

“I’m bored,” he whispered to no one in particular, hoping the universe might send help.

Just then, there was a knock.

Not on the door. Not on the window. But somewhere inside his mind. A soft, peculiar knock — like the sound of a raindrop tapping on memory.

“Hello?” he blinked.

“I’m Boredom,” said a voice, clear and calm. “Mind if I stay for a while?”

Ayu sat up. “You’re already here.”

Boredom shrugged — a tall figure in beige, with socks that didn’t match and a book half-read. “I’m often misunderstood, you know. People think I’m useless. But I carry hidden doors.”

“Doors?” Ayu raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Boredom smiled. “To imagination. To curiosity. To the parts of you that you only meet when everything else falls silent.”

The room stayed still. Ayu tilted his head, suddenly remembering the half-filled diary under his bed. The book he hadn’t touched in months. The tiny bonsai on his window sill that had quietly grown three new leaves.

Boredom leaned in. “You see, I’m not here to annoy you. I’m just a mirror… showing you all the corners you’ve forgotten to visit.”

By evening, Ayu had written a page of poetry, solved word puzzles and found a story in the pattern of raindrops on his window.

And when night came, Boredom stood to leave.

“Leaving so soon?” Ayu smiled.

“Only for now,” said Boredom, fading into the shadows. “Call me when the noise gets too loud again.”

Whom does the heart choose?

When I was just six months old, life quietly shifted around me.

My mother, fragile with illness, made a heartbreaking decision — to send me to my aunt’s home.Not far away, but far enough that I couldn’t feel my mother’s gentle touch.

My parents visited me every other day, their faces full of love and worry. But I was growing up in the arms of my aunt, my favorite aunt — a young woman of only nineteen, who embraced the heavy burden of raising me. For three years, she became my world,my comfort, my guide, my guardian. She gave up dreams, studies, and time, to care for a little girl she had grown to love fiercely.

Then came the day my parents came to take me home.

I was just learning to speak, to run, to explore — but that night, feverish and frightened, I cried for my aunt. I couldn’t bring myself to call my mother mummy or my father papa. The warmth I had known was suddenly torn away, and my small heart was confused and aching.

So whom should we feel for?

• The mother, whose illness stole precious time and moments, yet whose love never wavered?

• The young aunt, who gave up so much, who loved without limits, only to lose what she held most dear?

• Or the child, lost between two worlds, caught in the quiet confusion of love divided and hearts stretched thin?

Perhaps the truth is this: life is hard for everyone.
Pain wears many faces, and love wears many forms. 

In this silent struggle, all three hearts carry a quiet sorrow —
a mother’s pain of absence,
an aunt’s heartbreak of loss,
and a child’s lonely ache for belonging. 

Maybe the greatest kindness we can offer is to step into each other’s shoes — to feel the weight of every heart, and to understand that sometimes, there are no easy answers. May we all find the grace to understand every heart’s silent story. 

To my sister, my forever friend

From childhood days of whispered schemes,

Through shared adventures, hopes, and dreams.

Side by side in school we grew,

Karate kicks and shopping too.

You, the one who laughs so free,

At every joke I share with glee.

A heart so warm, a mind so bright,

Guiding all with steady light.

Through law books thick, you found your way,

Yet love and kindness led your stay.

Handling storms with grace and might,

Turning darkness into light.

Oh, wanderer with wings so wide,

With every journey, hearts abide.

Yet soon you'll walk another lane,

A new chapter, joy untamed.

But though the roads may twist and bend,

You'll always be my dearest friend.

For bonds like ours, strong and true,

Stay unshaken, ever new.

Baisakhii...

It was the kind of day when even the dogs in the village were lying down under the shade, their tongues hanging out as if they’d surrendered to the heat. The sun blazed down relentlessly, and the earth seemed to be sizzling beneath the scorching rays. Every step outside felt like walking into an oven.

In a small village near the river, a boy named Ayuu sat on the cool cement floor of his house, gazing at the mango trees that looked like they were about to faint from the heat. His mother was inside, busy preparing pakhala, while his sister waved a patta lazily, trying to keep the sweat at bay. The whole village felt like it was in slow motion.

Then, something changed.

At first, it was just a light breeze, barely enough to move the dusty air. But then the wind picked up, growing stronger and faster, as if the earth had remembered the dance of the clouds. The trees began to sway, their branches shaking like they were trying to escape the heat. The leaves whispered to each other, and Ayuu felt the change in the air.

Suddenly, he jumped to his feet.

“Barsha asila, Barsha asila!” Ayuu shouted, running out of the house without a second thought. He didn’t wait for his mother’s warning. He could already see it—the Kalbaisakhi storm was on its way.

The wind howled, the clouds gathered, and before anyone could blink, the sky split open with a loud crack of thunder. The first raindrop hit Ayuu's cheek, and he laughed in delight.

The rain didn’t come softly. It came in torrents, pounding the earth as if it had been waiting to burst free. The wind was playful, tossing everything in its path—banana leaves, clothes on the line, even a few stray dogs that hurried to find shelter.

Ayuu ran into the field, arms wide, feeling the rain soak him through. He spun around in circles, laughing as the wind tried to knock him over. The village, usually quiet and still, had come alive. People rushed out of their homes, their faces lit up with joy, even though their clothes were soaked.

“Ayuu! Come inside!” his mother called from the door, but Ayuu was already lost in the storm. He didn’t want to miss a moment of it. He danced through the rain, his bare feet splashing in the puddles, his hair a mess of wet curls.

The storm wasn’t just rain—it was a celebration, a reminder of the earth’s power and beauty. Ayuu could hear his neighbors calling out to each other, laughing, and shouting in the wind. For once, the village felt full of life.

As the rain began to slow, Ayuu stopped and stood still, taking a deep breath. The air had changed. The earth smelled fresh and alive, like it had taken a long, deep sigh of relief. The trees stood tall, their branches still swaying in the last whispers of the wind.

Ayuu looked up at the sky, which was clearing, revealing a soft blue that promised more rain tomorrow. He grinned, already looking forward to the next Kalbaisakhi, knowing that the storm always brought the village together.

And next time, Ayuu promised himself, he’d catch that flying leaf.

The backyard's joy...

The mango sighed, the guava swayed,

The coconut leaves gently played.

The tulsi laughed in drops so sweet,

As rain kissed every thirsty leaf.

Each droplet danced on earth so dry,

A gift from the forgiving sky.

The garden sighed, “We've waited long,”

Then whispered thanks in rustling song. 

The breeze grew soft, the light turned gold,

As stories in the silence told.

The backyard bloomed in calm delight,

Bathed in the grace of fading light.

A daughter's journey.

From the moment I opened my eyes to the world, my father was my constant. He was the one who carried me in his arms, dropped me off at school, polished my shoes, and made sure my socks were neatly pulled up. He helped me with math and science, patiently guiding me through every formula and equation. But more than that, he shaped me into who I am today—with his kindness, his strength, and his unwavering love.

Growing up, I always saw him as invincible. A simple man with the most generous heart, he never put himself first. He lived for his family, for us.

When he retired in February 2023, I was happy for him. Finally, after years of hard work, he would rest. He would enjoy time with us, free from responsibilities. But life had a different plan.

September 6, 2023—A day that changed everything.

It started with just a numbness in his fingers. He brushed it off at first, but soon, that numbness spread, creeping through his body like an unseen force. Within hours, he couldn’t move. Our world turned upside down.

The hospital became our second home. Machines beeped around him, doctors spoke in hushed tones, and we—his family—stood helpless, watching the strongest man in our lives become completely paralyzed. The diagnosis was Guillain-Barré Syndrome (GBS)—a rare condition where the body attacks its own nerves.

I had never felt fear like that before. The man who once held my tiny hands to teach me how to walk could not even lift his own finger. It felt like the world had stopped spinning, like all light had disappeared.

But he did not give up. And neither did we.

We prayed, we cried, we hoped. Then, a miracle happened—not suddenly, but in small, beautiful steps. A kind doctor took his case with dedication. A physiotherapist worked with him tirelessly. And Papa fought—with every ounce of strength he had left.

First, he twitched a finger. Then, he moved his hand. Every tiny progress felt like a victory, a step closer to bringing him back to us.

Through this battle, I grew up in ways I never imagined. The girl who once ran to her father for help was now standing beside him, holding his hand, whispering, “You’ve got this, Papa.”

Months passed, and my father—my hero—proved that strength is not just in muscles but in the heart. He learned to sit again, then to stand, and finally to walk. His determination showed me that miracles exist. That no matter how slowly we move, as long as we don’t stop, we will get there.

Today, he is a proud GBS survivor. And I am a proud daughter.

This journey changed me forever. It taught me that life can shift in an instant, but love, courage, and resilience can bring us back from even the darkest depths.

More than anything, it made me realize the importance of awareness—because rare diseases like GBS should never be ignored or misdiagnosed.

Papa’s battle was not just his—it was ours. And as we move forward, we carry his strength in our hearts, knowing that no matter what life throws at us, we will face it. Together.

Lily, My Guiding Light

🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕

In the garden of life, so gentle and true,
There blossoms a flower, in radiant hue.
Not just in name, but in heart and in grace,
A mother so kind, love lights up her face.

She lifts me up when I feel small,
Sees my light when I see none at all.
No shadow of doubt, no line in her love,
She holds us all like the sky holds the dove.

A teacher by trade, but a mother at heart,
Guiding young souls, playing her part.
With wisdom so deep and kindness so wide,
She nurtures with warmth, like the sun at her side.

December she shines, a candle so bright,
November I came, in her soft, loving light.
Forever her child, forever her grace,
Forever she stands, my safest place.

The library of lost stories...

𝐁𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝, 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞’𝐬 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞,

𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞.

𝐀 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞,

𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧, 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐞,
𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐠𝐞.
𝐎𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐲 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝,
𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝.

𝐀 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧,
𝐀 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧.
𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞,
𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞.

𝐘𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧, 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐞,
𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫.
𝐀 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞,
𝐀 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞’𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐲.

𝐒𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤, 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞,
𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞.
𝐍𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐧𝐨 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐞,
𝐀𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐲.

Memories of Yahooo

Memories of your every happy bark,

Memories of us walking together in the dark.

Your echoing paws once ruled the earth,

A spirit untamed, a soul of mirth.

Loyal sentry with eyes so wise,

A love unwavering, no goodbyes.

The wind still hums your joyful song,

Yet silence reminds me you've been gone.

But in my heart, your spirit stays,

A beacon of love through endless days.

IF DREAMS WERE REAL..

If dreams were real and stars could speak,

I’d chase the echoes, soft and sleek.

I'd walk on clouds, embrace the night,

Dance with the moon in silver light.

If dreams were real, I'd paint the skies,

With whispered hopes and firefly eyes.

Mountains would move at my command,

Oceans would rise to kiss the sand.

If dreams were real, no tears would fall,

Lost voices would answer to every call.

Love would bloom in an endless hue,

And hearts would never break in two.

But dreams are fleeting, shadows bright,

They fade like mist in morning light.

Yet in my soul, they still ignite,

A world unseen, but burning white.

For dreams may vanish, slip, and stray,

Yet deep within, they light the way.

Changing seasons, changing souls

The autumn leaves drift, gold and bright,

Whispers of change in fading light.

Like rustling winds that call my name,

I shed my past, no soul the same.

Winter wraps the world in white,

A frozen hush, a silent night.

Yet in the cold, I start to see,

Even in loss, there’s growth in me.

Spring arrives on petals light,

Hope reborn in colors bright.

With every bloom, my heart revives,

A spirit waking, dreams alive.

Then summer sings in golden hue,

The sunlit days, the skies so blue.

Yet warmth won’t last, the tides will turn,

And once again, my soul will learn.

For time moves on, the old must fade,

And in its place, new selves are made.

Like seasons shift, so do we grow,

Through sun and storm, through joy and woe.