When I miss your voice

I miss the ordinary sound of you. Not only the big words. Not only the deep talks.
I miss the way you said small things — a name, a suggestion, a sudden plan, a gentle scolding,
a laugh that could change the whole room.

The word “Trilok” is small, but when it came from you, it carried home. It was not just a name.
It was a place where I belonged.

Sometimes I read my name and hear it in your voice. For a moment, the distance feels smaller.