<h3>Change</h3>

Beneath a sun cloaked in the ashes of a faded love for humanity, Dhaka stirs. Rain falls sparingly, clouds a constant annoyance against the city's relentless rhythm. A cold breeze dances amidst the cacophony, carrying the early chirps of birds that haven't yet witnessed dawn. Crows caw, one leading the chorus with a mocking hump. Car horns blare, drivers sour-faced as they navigate the May Day chaos.

Back in the room, an avalanche of books awaits. Medical and non-medical tomes stacked precariously, their bumps a testament to a quiet quest for knowledge. A Sutra, draped in an orange scarf, whispers the wisdom of long-gone Buddhist masters. A large fan hangs uselessly from the ceiling, a relic of a warmer season. On the wall, an old calendar declares 2014 a distant memory. Yet, a deafening silence prevails.

The closet, five bars of soap, the study table, even the badminton rackets - all stand frozen in a silent tableau. Only the rhythmic tick of the quartz clock breaks the stillness, a stark reminder of time's relentless march.

Nature, too, reveals its impermanence. The tempestuous line of change, each second crossing another, oblivious to my own aging. Life unfolds in a myriad of unexpected twists, reshaping aspirations. Everything is subject to flux, including my own stance, position, and past actions. The only constant, the steady tick-tock, a metronome to the ever-changing symphony.

Looking back, I see a life lived mostly for others, plain, ordinary, and unremarkable. But do I truly remain unchanged, forever bound to my past? Perhaps, like the city outside, I too am capable of transformation, shedding the ashes of the old and embracing the possibilities of a new dawn.