66

— H O O R —

. . .

As Zahir said, he took me to our next destination the very morning. It was a pleasant morning. I do not know why — surely not in excitement — I got up early and walked to the balcony where I looked out through there and sighed at the peaceful sight.

It was around four in the morning when I got up and looked out. The city was bathed in silence. There was no sound made except for the chirping birds.

The sun was rising as I looked to my side and the sky was gaining brightness back. It looked beautiful. It was, as if, the very heart of the city was beating slowly and lovingly. It soothed my nerves.

Zahir was still sleeping and I did not want to disturb him so I freshened up and got myself a cup of hot coffee.

In my mind was the poem of William Wordsworth, On The Westminster Bridge which I studied in my college days. Now I realized what was in William’s mind when he was writing the poem.

I behold the view until Zahir gets up and asks me to get ready. I do it. I get r