By Ananya Banerjee
The first day of December brought with it the chill of winter. He walked to the Banyan tree and knelt. They were supposed to meet here, on this very spot.
This was a promise made five years ago.
Now, he was here but she was not. He could feel her in the air: the echoed image of her face. She was smiling at him. This was his last memory of her.
He whispered her name and laid a Gardenia under the tree. It was his final vow to never come back again.
The promise was left unfulfilled and the love, unrequited.
A nice, bitter-sweet little tale of unfulfilled love. Liked it!
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