Sara walked past the rusted iron gate with trepidation. As soon as she stepped foot on the vast grounds flanking the decaying building, the majestic colonial structure loomed in front of her like a frayed painting. So many stories of love, belongingness, and separation these mossed walls must have witnessed, she wondered. Sara entered the hallway and slowly made her way to the reception. ‘Sacred Heart Care Centre’ was written in bold on the register. She worked for a local NGO, and it was her first day as a volunteer in the town’s Old Age Home.
As she was waiting for her joining formalities to begin, she felt a light tap on the shoulder. She wheeled around—standing in front of her was a woman in her seventies, with the most gentle eyes she had ever seen. They were brimming with kindness and warmth.
“You’ve got a beautiful smile,” the frail voice said. Sara couldn’t help but feel an instant attachment to the lady. She looked perfectly healthy and happy, but there was an air of melancholy around her. The young volunteer got up to greet her, and was surprised when she got pulled into a tight hug. The woman smelled of withered jasmine and old age.
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