The Park Story

He was 24. Wore headphones but nothing was playing. Just wanted to look unapproachable.

Notebook in hand, sitting near a lake that looked like it had seen more breakups than fish.

That’s when she sat beside him. An old woman, maybe 80-something. Hair in a tight bun. A shawl that looked older than him. And eyes sharp enough to see through all his emotional “I’m fine” energy.

Without asking, she said,

“You writing sad poetry or love letters to girls who ghosted you?”

He chuckled. “Just… observing.”

She smirked. “Good. Observe me, then. I’ve got a story better than your Gen Z drama.”

Her name was Shanta.

She had been coming to this lake since 1976. Same bench. Same view. Back then it was cleaner, quieter, and had fewer couples pretending to read books.

She started talking like he had already asked.

“I met Mohan right there,” she pointed to a patch of grass.

“He tripped over a dog, spilled tea on my saree, and then blamed me for standing wrong. I married him six months later.”

Matthew blinked. “That's how love worked in the 70s?”

“That’s how good tea and stupid men worked.” She smiled.

.............................

They were married for 60 years.

No kids, not by choice, but by fate.

She called it their “peaceful chaos.”

They traveled, fought, cooked, danced terribly, and every Sunday sat by this lake, feeding imaginary ducks.

Then two years ago, he passed away. Quietly. Like the ending of an old radio song.

---

“But I still come here,” she said, adjusting her shawl. “Every week. Same time.”

Neil asked, “Do you miss him a lot?”

She stared at the lake. “Every day.

Sometimes I imagine he’s just late.

Stuck in traffic. Or forgot his slippers. Again", She said.

She laughed at her own joke. A laugh that cracked a little but still carried strength.

Neil asked softly, “Do you think he’ll ever come back?”

She winked.

“Darling, if ghosts exist—he’ll show up right here, holding cold tea and blaming the clouds for something."

---

They sat in silence for a while.

Then she said, “You know… I may not have had children, but today I’ll adopt you for exactly one hour.”

Matthew smiled. “Cool. Do I get snacks?”

“No, but you get free wisdom. That’s priceless.”

Love doesn’t always give you what you want.

But it gives you stories. And stories outlive people.

Also, never trust a man who blames you for his tea spills. Lol!!

---

She got up slowly and said,

“Alright, poet boy. Go write something useless about this moment. Make it sound deep.”

And just like that, she walked off.

Leaving behind the scent of nostalgia, cold tea, and one very full notebook.

Matthew called out from behind, his voice a mix of laughter and something deeper,

"I’ll meet you right here again, okay? And next time, I’ll bring my own story, just like you told yours. But you better bring snacks! I’m ready to be adopted.

...Honestly, I don’t have parents either.

Take care, alright? Bye for now!"

To be continued!!