The Bicycle I Left in the Monsoon
As a child, I loved the rains. The first drops meant freedom—the chance to run outside barefoot, splash in puddles, and most of all, ride my bicycle through the empty streets. The rain didn’t slow me down; it made the world feel alive. Every drop that hit my skin felt like laughter from the sky, and every puddle was an adventure waiting to happen. But now, when the monsoon arrives, the excitement doesn’t come with it. Instead, I find myself retreating indoors, watching the rain from behind a window. My bicycle waits quietly in the corner, and I hesitate to ride it out. What if the roads are too slippery? What if I fall? What if the joy I’m searching for doesn’t come back? The same rain that once pulled me out into the world now feels like a weight keeping me inside. As children, we live less in fear of consequences. The rain was just rain—something to enjoy, not something to measure against risks. As adults, we carry a sharper awareness. We think of dangers, responsibilities, and every...