"Yahan ki har cheez apni kahani rakhti hai," Almeida said suddenly, rising to his feet and circling the table. His eyes landed on something that looked ancient—made of walnut wood, with chinar leaves intricately carved along its surface. He walked toward a shelf brimming with aged, aesthetic treasures. His fingers brushed against the rough surface of a cuboidal stone object.
"Qalam daan," he whispered with a soft smile. "This belonged to my great-grandfather. He had named it so. I never saw him, but he loved my father dearly. My father received more warmth from him than from his own parents. And even though I never saw him… I love that man. He passed away just days before I was born. He always wished to see the children of my father, he adored."
He paused, gently holding the Qalam daan.
"When I first entered this library, I just knew—this is where it belongs. After all, Qalam daan itself is no less than a jewel of memory and time."
He turned around, his eyes now carrying a glint that hadn't existed a moment ago. A warm, deep smile formed on his face as he looked at Ahad—as if something in the him mirrored the man he once was.
He holds the Qalam daan of a man he's never saw, yet speaks of him with such love…
A true gentleman, I thought.
Ahad turned slowly, observing the aged walls, the shelves full of silence and dust. He spun in his place, arms slightly out, closing his eyes. He inhaled deeply, drawing in every air molecule steeped in a thousand stories… then exhaled.
"This place… is old itself?"
It was more of a question than a statement. He opened his eyes and met Almeida's gaze—challenging him quietly to reveal what he had, so far, held back.