RETURNING TO HER ROOTS

The morning was gray when Jyoti and her father set out for Enugu. The sky hung moo, overwhelming with the guarantee of rain, and the fragrance of soggy soil filled the discuss. The streets extended unendingly ahead of them, winding through towns and towns where life bustled in calm rhythms—market ladies adjusting plate of products on their heads, children running unshod along the roadside, the periodic herder directing his cattle over the black-top.

Jyoti sat within the traveler situate, gazing out of the window, her considerations tangled within the past and the dubious street ahead. She had never been to Enugu some time recently, in spite of the fact that she had listened endless stories around it from her mother.

Veronica had continuously talked of Enugu with a delicate wistfulness in her voice, her eyes lighting up at whatever point she portrayed the rolling green slopes that kissed the sky or the active advertise slows down flooding with ready mangoes and fiery peppers. She had painted pictures of the bustling boulevards, where merchants sold broiled corn that filled the discuss with its smoky sweetness.

Enugu had been her domestic.

A put her mother had cherished profoundly.

And however, Jyoti had never envisioned coming here without her.

She clutched the little collapsed paper crane in her hand, running her thumb over its fragile wings. It was the same one she had taken from her mother's box some time recently they cleared out. A update. A chunk of Veronica to hold onto.

The quiet within the car was thick, extending between her and her father like an undetectable divider. He centered on the street, his expression unreadable, his hands holding the directing wheel as in spite of the fact that it was the as it were thing securing him.

They had never been especially near. Her mother had continuously been the bridge between them—the one who knew how to turn hush into giggling, how to relax the sharp edges of their contrasts. Presently, without her, the remove between them felt more extensive than ever.

After a whereas, Jyoti cleared her throat. "Did you visit Enugu often?"

Her father looked at her, his expression flashing with something incoherent. "Not as much as your mother would have liked."

She gestured gradually. There was so much approximately her mother's life that she had never inquired approximately, so much she had taken for allowed.

"She needed to require you there one day," he included after a delay.

Jyoti swallowed the lump around her neck. The idea that Veronica is planning a journey that left her hurting her breasts. A quiet moment passed before she spoke again. "Please tell me the first time you meet."

Her father hesitated, as if his memory had been hidden by too long. Then a weak smile appeared on his face due to her surprise.

"It was in Nuska when we were in college," he said. His voice was soft, and for the first time in a long time he looked like a young man in love once. "She was in the bookstore and was completely lost in the novel. I stood there for a long time, and saw her for a long time before I could raise the courage to speak to her.

" Jyoti looked at him and captivated him. "What did you say?"

He laughed and shook his head. "Maybe stupid. I think she asked if she believed in fate.

"

Jyoti raised an eyebrow. "And what did she say?"

"She said no," he admitted with a short laugh. "But then she smiled and told me that maybe she believed in a good story."

A slightly smile was pulled onto Jyotis' lips. It sounded like her mother said.

"She loved the story," tweeted Jyoti and tempted her fingers onto the folded paper in her knees.

Her father nodded. "She did that. She believed that she had a story to tell everywhere, everyone, and everyone.

" Jyoti let out a breath. That's why she was here – the story her mother left behind. When they arrived at Enugu, the sky became dark and threw the city with a soft golden glow. The streets pulsate with the weaving of energy cars and motorcycles, travelling over traffic, pulsating goods, and pedestrians travelling the chaos at their normal lightness.

It felt strange to be here in these living places while he was wearing the weight of his sadness.

Her father turned the quiet streets that had become smaller and more dump houses. Soon he moved in front of a modest bungalow with faded blue walls and a small overgrown garden. The house once seemed full of life, despite time indicating its edge.

Jyotis Heart Pock.

"It was your home," her father said quietly.

She cut off her seat belt and got out of the car and placed warm air around her. The scent of the earth and flowers filled her senses, as she approached the house, her fingers grazing the broken colour of the wooden door.

I felt that was surreal.

Here, Veronica spent her childhood. She laughed, dreamed, and the woman came, and Jyoti knew and loved him.

She took a deep air and intervened.

Depending on your age and memories, the house smelled.

Dust is hovered by bright waves flowing through the windows. The wooden furniture was covered in white leaves that had not been touched for years. Despite the silence, Jyoti was able to hear most of the echoes of the past – the laughter of young Veronica, the rattle of the kitchen pot, and the deleted total of the old radio playing high-life music.

Her father led her into a small living room, where framed photos lined up on the wall.

She climbed up close, her fingers floating in one of the pictures. It was a black and white photo of a young Veronica not under the age of 16 standing barefoot on a hill, smiling with her arms stretched out on the camera.

"She always loved the hill," said her father behind her.

Jyoti nodded and recalled the first point on her mother's list: Look at the sunrise at the

Mountain Summit.

She turned to her father. "Has she ever climbed a hill here?"

He nodded. "Many times. She said she felt a sense of touching heaven.

" Jyoti swallowed hard.

She turned to the photo and decided on her breasts.

Let's start here.

Tomorrow morning she climbed the same hill that her mother once loved. She stood where Veronica was standing, watching the sunrise, feeling the same breeze on her skin.

It was just the first step, but it felt like something bigger - how to grab time to capture a part of her mother's heart.

Jyoti pulled out the folded paper crane from his pocket and placed it on a wooden shelf next to the photo.

Homage.

Promises.

And she knew - her journey really began.