The Faded Corners

The Faded Corners

Raindrops tapped on the window as he opened the old album.

Faces smiled from yellowed pages — his wife in her red saree, children small and wild with laughter.

He traced the edge of a photo, the ink fading where his thumb lingered most.
Outside, thunder rolled. Inside, time folded softly.

Sometimes, the past doesn’t age — it just waits to be remembered.

#instantstories