Wifi And The Wind

By Riya Yadav

The Wind sighed, scrolling through the city,

her fingers brushing over heads bowed to glowing screens.

No one looked up. Not even the kites.

The sky felt like a forgotten inbox — unread.

“Remember me?” she whispered to a jogger,

but his earbuds hummed louder than her breath.

She tugged at his hair in protest —

he called it ‘bad weather’.

Once, she was applause for trees,

a lullaby for tired curtains,

a messenger for rain-soaked lovers.

Now she’s just interference in your video call.

She tried to connect —

but WiFi got there first.

Every signal tower stood like a metallic tree

with no shade, no song, no soul.

She laughed then —

a gust of rebellion across high-rise glass.

“You scroll for connection,” she said,

“but I’ve been touching you all along.”

She slipped into an open window,

ruffled a child’s drawing, kissed a candle flame —

and for a fleeting second,

the world felt logged in again.

By Riya Yadav