The mountains are asleep. The stars watch over like a guard on stroll. River Beas hums the Earth's lullaby. I am on the roof, embracing the cold as if it were an oversized sweater, my hands clenching the sleeves from inside. I look at the faraway hillock where we would sit on those mornings after a short hike, holding hands, talking about the what-ifs and what-nots, counting apple trees. The hillock is pitch black, a blanket of its shadow over it.

I wait, wish, wait. Slowly, a familiar face comes to light, gleaming in the dim light of your phone. Your eyes twinkle just like the stars. You stay for one moment and then, you're gone, leaving me with another wish.
I wish for another shooting star.

- हर्ष स्नेहांशु