Golden Hour at the Old Corner

Sometimes silence speaks louder than words ever could. Standing at that exact corner where

we used to wait after class, the sunset hits different now. Every passing motorbike,

every street vendor's call, every gust of wind carries a piece of what we used

to be. My acting professor once said the hardest scenes aren't the ones with dialogue,

they're the ones where your eyes have to tell the entire story. Three years ago,

this street was just a street. Today, it's a museum of moments I can visit

but never return to. The golden hour doesn't just light up the city,

it illuminates every memory I've been trying to forget. This is what coming home feels like