Every night at exactly 10:17P.M Aashi climbed to the roof of her house
Not 10:15. Not 10:20. 10:17.
Because that was the time her father used to come home.
He had been gone for three years.
The rooftop was the only place in the crowded city where the sky still felt big. Below, the streets shouted with traffic, vendors, and people rushing like life was a race. But above it was quite. Just the moon , some stubborn stars and Aashi.
She sat on the old water tank, hugging her knees.
"Papa", she whispered to the sky," I got 78 in pharmacology today. You would've said I could do better."
The wind brushed her hair across her face, like a reply.
Aashi didn't believe in ghosts.
She believed in memories that refused to leave.