The Stranger

“An old lady, I saw her amble everyday down the street I awaited for the bus at. The same sallow saree she would wear each day and gift me a smile as she passed by, which I would return curiously. The corrugations on her skin spoke of wisdom but her name, was oblivious. A week it had been, since, she was last seen and eeriely enough it perturbed me. “What if she had migrated or passed..”, but the musings and speculations were futile for I could never know what had become of her. Needles can’t prick wind, I’d assumed and yet it pricked me, the absence of a stranger I had known only the smile of.

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