The wind whispered through the empty corridors of his past. Arjun sat beneath an ancient banyan tree, his fingers tracing patterns in the dust. The world had once seemed vast, filled with opportunities, ambition, and unfulfilled longing. Now, it was small—contained within the quiet rise and fall of his breath.
There was a time when his desires had defined him. He had chased them like a man running after his own shadow, always grasping, never holding. Wealth, recognition, love—each had promised completion, yet left him emptier than before.
He remembered the nights spent staring at the ceiling, the weight of his wants pressing down on his chest. He had wanted to be seen, to be admired, to carve his name into something lasting. But even in moments of triumph, something remained just out of reach.
Then, the shift had come—not all at once, but like mist lifting from a valley. A simple question had cracked the foundation of his restless seeking: Who is the one that desires?
He had watched his thoughts like a distant observer, seen how they rose and fell, how they clung to ideas of identity, ownership, longing. And in that watching, something loosened. The desperation to be someone began to fade. The idea of lack, of incompleteness, dissolved like a mirage in the desert heat.
Desires that once burned fiercely turned to ash. He did not renounce them—they simply lost their meaning. What was there to gain, and who was there to gain it? The chase had ended, and with it came a stillness he had never known.
Arjun opened his eyes. The banyan tree stood as it always had—silent, unmoving, unconcerned with the world’s rush. He smiled, not because he had reached something, but because there was nothing left to reach.
The weight was gone. The wind carried away the last whispers of his past self. He was here. He was free.
And that was enough.
Post a Comment