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The bench by the lake
<p><br></p><p>---</p><p>"The Bench by the Lake"</p><p><br></p><p>There was an old bench by a quiet lake, worn down by years of wind, rain, and sun. Every morning, a man named Arun sat on it, sipping his tea, watching the still water reflect the changing sky.</p><p><br></p><p>Arun had once been a schoolteacher, full of dreams and ambition. He taught generations of children to read, to ask questions, to imagine. But life, as it often does, didn’t go as planned. He lost his wife young. His only son moved abroad. And slowly, his house became quieter.</p><p><br></p><p>But Arun never stopped coming to the lake.</p><p><br></p><p>One morning, a little girl approached him. She had a sketchbook and curious eyes. “Can I sit?” she asked.</p><p><br></p><p>He smiled. “Of course.”</p><p><br></p><p>Day after day, she returned, drawing the lake, the trees, the birds. Sometimes, she’d ask questions: “Why do leaves fall?” “Do birds get tired?” “Do you ever feel lonely?”</p><p><br></p><p>And he answered, with stories more than facts. Stories about seasons, about waiting, about hope.</p><p><br></p><p>Years passed. The girl grew. The old bench creaked more. One morning, the bench was empty. Arun had passed quietly in his sleep.</p><p><br></p><p>But now, every morning, the girl—now a young artist—sat there. Drawing. Remembering. And sometimes, answering children’s questions with stories.</p><p><br></p><p>Life had passed on, but so had wisdom. So had kindness.</p><p><br></p><p><br></p><p>---</p><p><br></p><p><br></p>
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