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The Light That Waited

By Roshan Tara


I sat in my car, wanting to run. Or die. Work, family, my own skin crushed me. Then I looked up. An old man stood by the vegetable stall with a child. The vendor dumped scraps—spoiled, unwanted. The man crouched, smiling, picking through. The child held a bent tomato, laughing like it was gold. They had nothing, yet joy spilled free. The air felt lighter, their warmth cutting my fog. My chest eased. Maybe the world isn’t kind. But it waits—in bent tomatoes, quiet laughs—for us to look up. And I did. I saw light.


By Roshan Tara


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