by Ananya Agarwal
“There is a house that only appears through this one, specific window. You can catch a glimpse of it only when the zeros line up on the 24-hour clock. It’s a vision so fleeting you might think you imagined it, before it fades back into nothing but the lake and trees. The lake seems to be made of outer space. You can dip your fingers in, feel the stars, taste the galaxies, and travel interstellar. Take a dip to shelter yourself from reality, to feel nothing for a moment. But stare into the galaxies too long, and they might catch you in a daze, tapping into your mind and soul until you're no longer sure what's real. They say the house was once inhabited by an old couple, now long gone. Since then, only rodents and insects remain; not as pests, but as caretakers. They picnic, play, and light a single warm lamp that glows in the dark. Inside, it smells of honey and firewood—cozy and dry. Two willow trees sway in the wind. A gramophone hums softly, crickets chirp. The house isn’t abandoned. It chooses to be alone, determined to let no one else be its owner. And if you listen closely, the wind giggles, egging you to come closer, knowing you can never arrive.”
“Prof took us on a heritage walk in Shahjahanabad which was very interesting—I learned a lot about noticing decay and architecture in a critical light. Loved the in-class activities where we had to think out of the box and create something new.”
