image


image

I'm still here

DEEPA RAM BHAGAT "DEEPAM" & R.B.KUSHWAHA
GENERAL LITERARY
Report this story
Found something off? Report this story for review.

Submitted to Contest #4 in response to the prompt: 'Past follows you when you move to a new city for a fresh start'

When Rakesh came to Delhi, he only had one bag and two dreams. He wanted to have a job, and a little peace in life.

Though he found both, but not fully.

His job was at a small publishing house in Lajpat Nagar in Delhi , one of the prominent places in the city of Delhi,the city of “Dilwalon ki.”

But peace, came and went like the Delhi weather, just like how the city experiences its weather every day.

He rented a small room on the roof of an old building in the colony near Lajpat Nagar, and the owner of the flat was an old man named Mr. Kunal Sharma, who lived with his wife and a cat named Rosy.

Though the room was not that good as it had a broken fan, a window grill, and a view of a noisy street, but for Rakesh, it had the freedom and peace he was searching for.

The days passed in routine , morning schedules, office work, TV, books, sleep, etc.

He used to wash clothes, clean the room, and look at the empty space on the wall where a photo frame should’ve been.

His old life in Bhopal was something he normally avoided talking about.

Rakesh was feeling caged there, and this made him leave in search of something new, something exciting, something great, and some purpose in his life.

One evening, it was raining heavily. He returned from office wet.Mr. Kunal Sharma, the owner of the flat, was standing near the stairs, holding a small cup of hot coffee.

“Coffee?” he asked.

He smiled and nodded, as it was actually needed as he was shivering due to cold.

For the first time, the owner and Rakesh sat together, exchanged a few words, shared tea, and had a casual discussion.

Mr. Sharma didn’t ask questions. Rakesh didn’t offer answers. But that evening, Rakesh felt something new, or some shift like a silence breaking, like something whispering, either from his home or he didn’t know what, but it was saying, “I’m still here.”

Time was flying. Days turned into weeks. Mr. Sharma sometimes left fruits at the door.
Rakesh also helped him and his wife with small things like opening a jammed door, offering help with a gas refill, fixing a radio, or setting its frequency.

One morning, Rakesh got a phone call from Bhopal and on the other side, it was his younger brother, Suresh.

Suresh said very calmly, “Maa wants to see you. She hasn’t spoken in weeks, but yesterday, she said your name.”

Rakesh stayed silent. He whispered something, but no words came out, and he thought he had left that life behind.
But it is also true that some ties, even when loose, don’t break.

That night, he didn’t sleep. In the morning, he knocked on Mr. Sharma’s door.

“I have to go to Kanpur,” he said.

He just nodded and said,
“Don’t worry. Your room is safe and will wait.”

When he reached Kanpur, the house where he had spent all his childhood felt smaller.
But everything else and mainly his mother’s eyes were still the same.

They didn’t talk much.
They just sat together. And when Rakesh left two days later for Delhi, his mother placed a faded photo in his hand.

It was a picture of Rakesh on his first day of school.

“I had kept this for your wall,” she said.

After coming back to Delhi, he cleaned his room.

He fixed some old frames he had bought from the Sunday market in the nearby locality.
Then he placed the photo of himself inside it and hung it on the wall.

The room was still the same, but now it was no longer empty.
Something had changed. The past he had once tried to leave behind had quietly found its way back, not to trouble him, but to remind him who he really was and where he belonged.

Rakesh realised that no matter how far you go, wherever you shift, some parts of your life always remain with you and travel with you.

It may be old memories, or unfinished talks with someone, or the smell of home-cooked food that mom used to serve with love.

One can change city, job, even name but the past will always find a soft way to knock on your door.

Many people try to leave their past behind, thinking distance or shifting places can erase it. But the past is not just a place or a memory, it is something we have lived, felt inside us. It shapes our thoughts, our fears, and even the choices we make without realising. You may change cities but the past walks quietly with you. It doesn’t always return to hurt but sometimes it returns to remind you of who you were.
Past always remains within us , it may be in any form or in any shape but it remains....

It may be in the form of a photo, or a quiet voice saying very silently that....

“I’m still here.”

Share this story
image
LET'S TALK image
User profile
Author of the Story
Thank you for reading my story! I'd love to hear your thoughts
User profile
(Minimum 30 characters)

I have awarded points to your well written story! Please vote for my story as well “ I just entered a writing contest! Read, vote, and share your thoughts.! https://notionpress.com/write_contest/details/5320/when-words-turn-worlds”.

0 reactions
React React
👍 ❤️ 👏 💡 🎉

Deepa and R.B., I\'m Still Here is a deeply moving and beautifully crafted story that captures the quiet weight of the past with such tenderness — I gave it a full 50 points. If you get a moment, I’d be grateful if you could read my story, “The Room Without Windows.” I’d love to hear what you think: https://notionpress.com/write_contest/details/5371/the-room-without-windows

0 reactions
React React
👍 ❤️ 👏 💡 🎉

i vote full for your story vote for my story \nI found this amazing story on Notion Press. You should check it out! https://notionpress.com/write_contest/details/5873/dead-love-\n

0 reactions
React React
👍 ❤️ 👏 💡 🎉

Emotional

❤️ 1 reactions
React React
👍 ❤️ 👏 💡 🎉