Every picture has a hidden story

We stood in the balcony. There were cracks running through the wall and the wooden floor started turning into this moldish shade of yello . My son stood by my side, his tiny hands gripping my thumb. His face was the most innocent and pure thing I’ve ever saw and my wife stood at the doorstep of the balcony. Her eyes looked dreamy and wandering. Only I knew how she loved us, she often wondered what our son will grow to be. It was something I wondered about too. I carried my son and placed him on the balcony reil and our thoughts wandered as we looked at the palm trees and the streets in front of us.

“Its a beautiful world,” I thought.

“Dad! When am I going to grow up?” I tried to cover my smile as he asked me so he wouldn’t think I was mocking him.

“When time flies my son, like the bird up there,” I pointed at the white pigeon flying just above our heads. His eyes widened as he took everything in. My wife stood in front of us with a camera in her hand. She lifted the camera ,

“Smile!” And ‘click’. The sound of the camera never left my ears since then. My son jumped off holding the camera.

“Maybe when I grow uo, I’ll show this to my friends dad!”

I smiled again, “yes. Maybe you will.”


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