"Have I seen you somewhere? I feel like I've. That's why I've been looking at you whenever I cross this Street. " 

" I felt the same too. Come in, take a look. "

He invited me to his antique shop. 

Beautiful! I thought. Everything in that shop had a secret story to tell, including him. 

The shop was under a huge banyan tree, opposite of the ghat. Everyday from the day I reached this village, when I take walks to the ghat, or I go for chai , I see him , sitting infront of his shop. The shades of banyan leaves drew pictures on his face and curly long hair. We exchange this few seconds of gaze at each other, as if we're trying to remember where we know eachother from. Today I'm leaving this place. I gotta greet this person, I thought. 

He and I stood in the shop , having nothing new to speak. He went out and got us two chai.

In summers, when the deserted outskirts start heating up, this village reemerges as a pile of dust, sort of like a tiny tornado, a storm. The banyan tree was moving hysterically. Every nearby shop shut their shops halfway. People covered their faces completely. 

He told me that he never went out of the village. It's his father's shop, after the pandemic, even if there are no visitors, he keeps the shop open. The antique jewellery with their dull coating and faded yet beautiful stones are still still waiting for appreciating eyes. I kept wondering how it would be to just stay in one place, this place. Near the ghat, surrounded by hills, in extreme cold and extreme heat. He asked me to take a look at the jwellery collection. 

" I'm not buying " I said 

" And I'm not selling" he said "come on, take a look! see if you like something" 

I took a ring. He packed it and gave it to me. He didn't take money. Even after I insisted repeatedly. 

"It's just for the memory"

What is happening? I thought. I don't even know his name, he doesn't know mine either. I'm one among the thousands of visitors in this village. He is one among the hundreds of friendly people of this village! 

Or is it so ? 

I went to room, Packed everything and walked to the bus station. By then all the shops were completely closed. 

The storm was at the nose tip of the hills.  I reached near the Banyan tree. His shop is closed too. I stood there for few seconds as if it had become a ritual to do so. The leaves of the Banyan tree trembled and welcomed the first drops of the storm.