Skip to main content

Between Goodbye and Moving On


The room didn’t say goodbye.

It just stood there… quietly watching.

The walls that once echoed with laughter now held their breath. The curtains didn’t move. The fan kept spinning, but even that sound felt distant..like it no longer belonged to me.

I stood at the door, keys in my hand, staring at a space that was once my world in Bhubaneswar. A place where I wasn’t just studying..I was living. Growing. Becoming someone new. And I wasn’t alone.

My sister was there.

Not just as family, but as comfort. As home. Late-night talks, shared meals, silent understanding… everything that made a strange city feel like it chose me.

And now, she had flown away to a different country, chasing her dreams.

And I… I was packing mine into boxes.

Packing is a strange kind of pain.

You don’t realize how attached you are to things until you have to put them away. Every book I picked up carried a memory. Every corner I cleaned whispered something I wasn’t ready to hear.

That small crack near the window? I remember laughing about it.

That chair? Countless nights of studying… and sometimes just sitting, doing nothing.

And the bed… where I had cried quietly, smiled secretly, and dreamt endlessly.

I folded my clothes, but I couldn’t fold the memories.

And the window…
That window that opened to the world outside but mostly, to that tree.

A purplish-pink flower tree.

Every morning, it stood there, blooming without fail, as if it knew I needed something beautiful to begin my day with. Some days, when the breeze was soft, a few petals would fall and dance in the air..slow, gentle, almost like they were trying to say something.

I don’t know its name.
But I knew its presence.
It had watched me on my busiest days and my quietest nights. It had been there when I studied, when I stared into nothing, when I just needed a moment to breathe.

And now…
I was leaving it too.
I wondered...would it still bloom the same way tomorrow?
Would someone else notice it the way I did?

Or would it just stand there, unnoticed, holding memories that no one would ever ask about?

I sealed the boxes, but something inside me remained open… and aching.

The room slowly emptied.

First the shelves. Then the table. Then the walls.

And finally… me.

When everything was taken out, the room looked bigger.

But emptier.

Colder.

Unfamiliar.

It no longer looked like mine.

And maybe that was the hardest part ..realizing that a place you once belonged to can forget you so quickly.

"Some rooms don’t become empty… they just become full of memories you can no longer touch."

The door closed with a soft click.

No dramatic ending.
No music.
Just silence.
I didn’t look back immediately. Because I knew if I did… I might not be able to leave.

But when I finally turned
it wasn’t just a room I saw.
It was a version of myself… staying behind.

The journey back to Balangir felt longer than usual.

The roads stretched endlessly, but my thoughts stretched even further.

Outside, everything kept moving-trees, people, life.

Inside, everything felt… still.
Heavy.
Empty.

There was no one beside me to talk to. No familiar voice. No shared glance.

Just me.

And the quiet realization that something had ended.

People say home is where your family is.

And yes… Balangir is my home.

But Bhubaneswar… that was my becoming.

That was where I learned independence, where I found pieces of myself I didn’t know existed.

And leaving it behind didn’t feel like shifting cities.

It felt like leaving a part of my heart… in a room that no longer had my name on it.

But somewhere between the silence and the tears…
a truth slowly settled in.

Change doesn’t ask for permission.

It doesn’t wait for you to be ready.

It comes anyway.

And maybe… it’s not here to take things away.

Maybe it’s here to make space.

For new rooms.
New memories.
New versions of ourselves.

I reached Balangir.

People welcomed me.

Life continued.

But sometimes, in the middle of a normal day, I still think about that empty room.

And I wonder
did it miss me, even for a second?
Maybe not.

But I know this...
I will always carry it with me.

Because some places don’t exist only on maps.

They exist inside us.

I left. But I didn’t fully arrive anywhere else.

Comments

  1. S.S10 April 2026 at 10:11

    Beautifully described ❤️

    ReplyDelete
  2. Priti priyanka sarangi24 April 2026 at 10:25

    Incredible,just magics of words and emotions 💗 really can felt the feeling of yours in it 🧿

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Silence Is Not Weakness

Today evening, I went to Maa Samlei Mandir in Balangir to witness the Navratri celebrations. The temple was glowing with lights, the air filled with the chants of “Jai Maa Samlei, Jai Maa Durga”, and hundreds of devotees stood in long queues with folded hands, waiting for their turn to bow before the goddess. The idol looked majestic. Her eyes fierce, posture divine, radiating power. But just outside the temple, I saw something that shook me more than anything else today.  A group of men leaned casually near the entrance. Each time a woman or group of girls walked by, their eyes followed shamelessly. Some smirked, some whispered, and a few threw words that were too filthy to repeat. I saw one young woman, dressed in a simple salwar, clutch her dupatta tightly and hurry past, her face turning pale with discomfort. The men laughed louder at her silence, as if her unease was their triumph. Another girl, with her father (maybe a student returning from tuition), froze for a moment, star...
1 comment
Read more

Unspoken, Yet Seen...

I have always felt that I am not good with words. Whenever emotions rise in my heart, they often get stuck in my throat. By the time I find the right sentence, the moment has already passed. But I believe eyes never lie. They hold a language of their own-silent, deep, and impossible to fake. I once heard a story of a boy named Ayu. He too struggled with words. Whenever he was happy, his eyes lit up like morning sunlight. Whenever he was hurt, they carried storms no one else noticed. And when he cared for someone, his eyes softened in a way that silence itself felt warmer. Most people didn’t notice. They were too busy listening for voices, not gazes. Ayu often wondered if he would always remain unseen. But one day, someone looked into his eyes long enough. She didn’t ask for words. She simply understood the quiet messages he carried—the shy laughter, the hidden fears, the unspoken affection. For the first time, Ayu realized he wasn’t bad at expressing. He had just been speaking a differ...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Market's Unintended Hearth

The sun rose over Balangir, but it brought no warmth. The winter air, already heavy with the December chill, was now thick with the bitter, coppery smell of yesterday’s ruin. The fruit market, once a vibrant riot of color, argument, and sweetness where mangoes were bartered and guavas stacked high was gone. All that remained was a landscape of charred wood, buckled tin, and sodden ash. It was a monument to loss, wrapped in the cold, sorrowful mist of the morning. Humans came and went wringing their hands, arguing with officials, mourning their livelihood. For them, the fire was the end of prosperity. But for the animals of the street, the destruction was, paradoxically, a kind of beginning. Motii, the street dog, moved cautiously across the black, slippery ground. She was thin and weary, but her focus was absolute. She had a litter of four blind, tumbling puppies who had spent the night shivering beneath a defunct vegetable cart near the railway tracks. They needed three things: shelte...
Post a Comment
Read more