I rarely carry my umbrella and today, it was almost about to rain, the weather felt moody. The kind where the sky feels heavy, and every slanted drop taps a rhythm in the streets. I took the micro home for the first time in months, trying to break my ridesharing habit. About fifteen minutes prior my stop, the rain started pounding, and the droplets sneaked its way to my seat through window. I quickly slid the glass shut and noticed a familiar building through the foggy pane, light raindrops tapping against it. Not just familiar, I knew the building a little too well.
It was my friend’s house.
It still is.
It always felt like mine too, my unclaimed stop. The kind where you never need to plan, sometimes never even call ahead. I’ve cried there, laughed until I lost my breath, overstayed my welcome. I’ve cooked in her kitchen, been fed the best handmade chickenअचार, and even camped out with friends after an accident on my birthday. I’ve lived so many little lives there.
I could have stopped and stayed in her house till the rain passed or borrowed her umbrella to walk back home. The walls were the same, the cement hasn’t changed, that same purple-pink paint and the chain gate still wide open, as if inviting me in. It’s not like no one lives there now. Her parents still do.
But she doesn’t. She left for Australia chasing freedom, better structure, opportunity. Something our country struggles to provide. And I am proud of her. We’re still in touch, sending memes, giving updates. But it isn’t the same.
The house hasn’t been torn down in the name of progress. It isn’t physically changed much either. Something heavier shifted emotionally. My casual stop disappeared. My second home lost its soul.
I’ve passed by countless times since she left. But today, for the first time I felt it. That subtle emptiness. That realization, Places may survive but not the memories you built in with people who gave it life. We talk about land, institutions and buildings lost to development, but rarely think about losing connection to something “unliving” like our memories.
The conductor दाई glanced at me. I smiled and stayed seated as it moved on, but my eyes lingered on the house, heavy with emotions I couldn’t name. The rain thickened.
Maybe it’s time I start carrying an umbrella.