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It was a quiet afternoon, the kind that hides its emotions behind soft clouds and warm sunlight. I was taking my little brother back to his hostel — the summer holidays had ended, and it was time for him to return.

He wore new clothes, walking beside me with a small, hesitant smile. The usually noisy streets felt unusually calm, as if nature itself knew what was about to happen.

After helping him settle in, I closed the hostel gate behind me. My feet moved forward, but something inside me held back.
And then I heard it…

“Anna!” (Brother!)

Startled, I looked around. No one.
Again, I heard it — louder this time, full of emotion. I turned back toward the building.

There he was… my little brother, standing at a largeg second-floor window, looking straight at me. His eyes weren’t just watching — they were pleading.
They silently said what his lips couldn’t:
“Don’t leave me here, Anna…”

I froze for a moment. My heart sank. That one look from him held more pain than a thousand words ever could.

My mother stood beside me, watching it all unfold. Her eyes, too, were heavy — with the quiet sorrow only a mother knows.
Looking up at her son, she softly called out:

“Be careful, dear…”
And in her voice was everything — care, worry, love, and helplessness.

From the window, my brother reached out with his tiny hand, tears welling in his eyes, and cried:
“Amma!” (Mom!)

That sound… it pierced through every layer of my heart.

Sometimes, it’s in the moment we walk away that we realize how deeply connected we are.
That day, I may have walked away from the hostel…
But my heart stayed behind — with him, on that terrace, at that window.

It wasn’t just a goodbye  it was a silent story of love, pain, and unbreakable bonds.
   

— SRISHANTH