Yesterday, after seven long years, I walked back into my old college. It was a holiday, so the whole campus was empty. No chatter, no footsteps, no laughter—just silence. At first, it felt strange, but slowly that silence started speaking to me, carrying all the memories I once lived there.
I stood at the front gate, the same one I had passed through thousands of times. I remembered rushing in on exam days, or hanging around with friends when we had nothing to do. The playground was still the same. I could almost hear the sound of our cricket matches, the cheers when someone hit a six, the playful fights, and the joy of winning after hours under the sun.
Walking through the garden, I noticed the flowers blooming just like before. They seemed to welcome me back with the same colors and fragrance. I smiled, because those flowers had seen me laugh, dream, and even worry about the future.
The canteen felt like a frozen moment from the past. I remembered sitting there with my best friends, sharing plates of snacks we could barely afford, and endless talks about life. The benches might be empty now, but they still carried the warmth of those memories.
After graduation, life pulled me to another city for work, and I hardly had time to return. Yesterday, as I clicked photos around the campus—the front gate, the mart, the classrooms—I realized how much this place shaped me. It was not just a college; it was a part of my story.
Leaving the campus again, I felt a mix of happiness and sadness. Happiness, because I was lucky to have lived those golden days. Sadness, because time flies, and we can’t go back to live them again.
But I also learned something yesterday—memories don’t die. They stay in places, in walls, in gardens, waiting for us to return. And when we do, they greet us like old friends.
So here’s my little reminder: if you ever miss your roots, go visit them. The silence there might tell you more than words ever can.
