The Empty Swing

Meera was seven years old. She lived in a quiet house at the end of a narrow lane. Her parents went to work early and came home late. The housekeeper cooked and cleaned, but didn’t talk much.

Meera had no one to wait for at the gate after school. Every evening, she walked to the park alone and sat on the swing—the one that creaked every time it moved.

She watched other children laugh, run, and shout. She wanted to join them, but no one ever asked her name.

Sometimes, she brought her teddy bear along. She talked to it like it was her best friend. “Did you see that cloud, Teddy? It looks like a ship.” But Teddy never replied.

Her favourite part of the day was when the sky turned orange. She would close her eyes and pretend someone was pushing her on the swing—gently, slowly. Someone who cared.

One day, she drew a chalk heart on the ground under the swing. She wrote her name inside it. The next morning, it was gone—washed away by the night’s rain.

No one noticed. No one asked.

And the swing kept creaking.....