Romeohhh
Newbie
More of my own..: what do we call that old version of ticket machine where it is teared not printedHaha that’s so cute… like you had your own little KSRTC inside a pencil box.![]()
More of my own..: what do we call that old version of ticket machine where it is teared not printedHaha that’s so cute… like you had your own little KSRTC inside a pencil box.![]()
Ohh u mean the ticket punching machine ryt?More of my own..: what do we call that old version of ticket machine where it is teared not printed
AdipwlliView attachment 367222This one to be exact. But later i decided to be the driver and leave back my ticket dreams.
Adipoli life it was, if i just wanted to be a bus driver and the dream never changed. Bigger dreams and the stress behind just makes the reality to rewire…Adipwlli![]()
Hmm true… life always rewires in its own way!Adipoli life it was, if i just wanted to be a bus driver and the dream never changed. Bigger dreams and the stress behind just makes the reality to rewire…
Thank you dear. Nostalgia. Reading your article , back inside my mind ,there was movie running of my childhood days . Honestly it was very hard to stop my tears coming out of my eyes. Obviously tears of joy. Whatever you achieve in life , you can keep it everything on stake to live only one day of those days evenif it was fight with close friend , but those innocence, so precious , hard to describe in words. One can just feel it . Thank you dear.When Rhea opened the old wooden box in the attic, dust rose like tiny ghosts of the past. Inside were small things she had almost forgotten.. things that, at the time, felt too ordinary to matter.
There was a bus ticket from her school days, faded and fragile, the numbers barely visible. She remembered clutching it nervously on the first day she traveled alone, staring out the window as the town rolled past.
Next to it lay a pen that had stopped mid-sentence in her diary. She recalled how the ink dried just as she was writing about her first heartbreak, leaving the story unfinished just like that love.
A photograph curled with age slipped out of a notebook. In it, she and her friends were laughing, eyes shining brighter than the sun. Some of those faces she still saw.. others had become just names in her memory.
She sat quietly, holding these little relics, realizing that life isn’t only carried forward by the things we keep, but also by the things we leave behind. They were not debris, not useless scraps of the past. They were whispers of who she once was, fragments that stitched together the person she had become.
And in that moment, Rhea smiled. Because sometimes, the things we leave behind are the ones that remind us most of how far we’ve come.
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Glad it resonated with you, those little moments are truly priceless and stay with us forever.Thank you dear. Nostalgia. Reading your article , back inside my mind ,there was movie running of my childhood days . Honestly it was very hard to stop my tears coming out of my eyes. Obviously tears of joy. Whatever you achieve in life , you can keep it everything on stake to live only one day of those days evenif it was fight with close friend , but those innocence, so precious , hard to describe in words. One can just feel it . Thank you dear.![]()