Charles, a man in his 50s, had everything—a successful career, a loving family, and a comfortable home. On his way back from work, he noticed a small, unassuming café. It had no grand decor, just a pendulum clock, dim lights, and a cozy bar with cushioned stools. On a whim, he stepped inside and ordered pancakes and coffee.
As he waited, the quiet ambiance felt strangely familiar. The sight of the peaceful street outside, the scent of warm pancakes—it all tugged at something deep within him. When he took his first bite, a forgotten memory surfaced.
Suddenly, he was young again, laughing with friends in a bustling cafeteria, sharing dreams over late-night conversations, singing with abandon. That was the Charles who had once lived fully, before life reshaped him into the composed, successful man he was now.
His eyes welled up. How could a pancake make him cry? But it wasn’t the pancake—it was the weight of time, the loss of faces and places that had once defined him.
The waiter approached. "Sir, are you all right?"
Charles couldn't speak. He wiped his tears, paid the bill without looking up, and stepped out into the night—carrying with him the bittersweet ache of the man he used to be.
Sidratul Muntaha
Poster Credit: বিষণ্ণতার কবি
