After the long day, I will leave my bag by the door. Wrapped in crinkled paper, a shonpapdi and a taste of kuler achaar—I will walk home with you. To the place I have never returned. My red-bricked floor, the attic room, the pond brimming with water lilies, the mango orchard dappled in light and shadow. The math book marked with stickers, my first Pilot fountain pen.  N one will call me back. I won't need to return to anyone else.