I have visited the Taj Mahal countless times, but this trip was different. Kabir made me slow down and notice details I had overlooked before—the calligraphy on the walls, the story behind the guest house, even the Clock Tower we passed on the way.
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At dawn, Rahul stood beneath the glowing sandstone arch of India Gate, the crisp morning air alive with the footsteps of early joggers and the gentle clink of tea cups from nearby stalls. Pausing at the eternal flame of the Amar Jawan Jyoti, he ran his fingers over the engraved names of fallen soldiers, each letter a poignant reminder of their sacrifice. By sunset, as families picnicked on the lawns and kite flyers painted the sky, Rahul felt the memorial’s quiet majesty pulse with the living heartbeat of Delhi
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