🏸 LAST MATCH

 Some memories always win — even if the people fade away..."

She used to live just a few houses down from mine — Sanaya.

There was peace in her name itself,

and her smile...

as if it could erase every sorrow in the world.

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We played badminton every evening.

She held her racket like a princess would draw her sword —

grace and confidence in equal parts.

After every shot, she’d look at me and smile,

and I… I would lose myself in that smile —

Even if I won the match.

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🕊️ Lanes of our neighborhood, secrets of our hearts

Her house was just two streets away from mine.

Sometimes, I could hear sounds from her terrace —

qawwali, Urdu poetry, or soft music…

I’d shut my notebook,

and just sit there, staring in her direction, thinking:

> "She is my entire world…

But am I even a part of hers?"

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🧕 An age gap… a wall of faith

She was a few years older.

She was Muslim.

I was Hindu.

But that never stopped our friendship…

Only our hearts hesitated —

because we both knew we couldn’t say it out loud.

She didn’t say goodbye either…

But when her badminton racket was left abandoned on the terrace,

I understood —

She was never coming back.

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🥀 Even today…

Even today, when a shuttlecock soars through the air,

or I hear a name that sounds like Sanaya —

My heart…

it pauses for a moment.

People call badminton a game.

But for me, those evenings…

They were the silent court of my hidden love.

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A boy she taught how to play badminton…

but never taught how to confess love.