THEN AND THERE AGAIN.

The air bit with a familiar chill, below 10 degrees, the kind that promised a Christmas night.
Dew clung to leaves like tiny, misplaced diamonds, and a smoky blanket draped the urban sky, muffling the stars. Inside the car, heading towards the city, the GPS glowed, counting down the last sixteen kilometers. It was just 8 PM, yet the roads felt deserted, a strange quiet before the storm of festivity.
This wasn't just any night; it was Christmas Eve, a jubilant gathering where the city transformed, adorned with colored lights and glittering trinkets. Pubs pulsed, malls advertised, and concerts buzzed. It was a metropolis caught in a fever of euphoria, defying the biting cold. "Saheb, aisa kya khaas baat hai, jo aap yahan Christmas ko har saal atein hai?" Baburao, my driver, asked, his voice cutting through the festive hum. I smiled, looking out at the familiar streets. "Yeh bekhudi ka dasstoor hai yaar, jo mujhe yahan khinch lati hai." He looked confused. "Chodo Baburao, tum nahi samjhoge," I murmured, losing myself in the city's embrace, and in the memories it held.
