I heard a voice.
It was a child's voice.

"I won't go."

It kept saying that. Over and over. Again and again. 

It was, as if, parents were calling. 

He had been at the place of relatives for far too long. Maybe a month.

He was happy there. He used to go to comics shops. He used to play. 

When parents came to take him back. He refused.

He used to be at home wherever he was. 

They lured him by promising to buy new clothes.

Then they bought a golden colored bright shirt for him.

He continued to wear it joyfully for far too long.

Finally, his mother thought it was time to let go of that shirt which had become worn out.

He reluctantly let it go.

I heard the voice of that child. Maybe many decades later. 

It becokned me. 

But why?

Nostalgia?

I got up and decided to help myself with a tea.

Mother was coming along the gallery. I was filling the jug with water.

I asked her if any milk was left for making tea.

Her reply was an affirmative. I asked if there were any bananas remaining. She said yes.

I made a cup of tea using just one and half cup of milk, half teaspoonfuls of tea leaves and one teaspoon of sugar.

By the time tea was made mom was on a call, I saw her expression that she remembered that she had to get a banana for me. 

If she wasn't on call I might have asked for a few salty biscuits. 

I had tea after a glass of cold water.

When tea was finished mom knocked at my room's door. 

I got one banana and ate it.

The voice of the child had stopped by then.

I put the phone to charge.