THE BENCH I saw her again today… same time, same spot, same quiet smile. She sat on the old wooden bench, under that mango tree near the roadside. No makeup, no filters—just peace in human form. I walked past, pretending to scroll through my phone. She looked up, smiled. I nodded. She said, "You always pass here like you own the road." I laughed, "Maybe I just like the view." She smiled again. The bench isn't just wood anymore—it's history in the making. Maybe tomorrow, I’ll sit.