Some people are love
March evenings in Ranchi have a quiet kind of softness. Not dramatic, not the kind that demands attention — just a gentle easing of the day. The heat of the afternoon loosens its grip, and the breeze begins to wander through half-open windows as if it belongs there. Curtains move lazily, lifting and settling again. Somewhere outside, a scooter passes, a dog barks once and then loses interest, utensils clink faintly from a distant kitchen where dinner is being prepared. The sky slowly trades its sharp daylight for a diffused amber, the kind that makes ordinary buildings look almost thoughtful. Inside the room, a Bollywood playlist moves from one familiar song to another. Old lyrics, half remembered, half hummed. The kind of music that doesn’t insist on being heard but quietly fills the air between thoughts. Lying here, watching the fan carve circles in the ceiling, it becomes noticeable how much of life happens in these unnoticed in-between hours. Nothing particularly signif...
