It was a strange day when "The Kashmiri Storyteller" found herself walking in unfamiliar territory. "The Road to the Bazaar" was away from the hustle of the city, the route was long and winding and she had memorized it in her mind's map the best she could.
And yet with the rain starting to pelt down, she felt more lost than ever. In her palm, she carried "The Blue Umbrella" a precious family heirloom. It was a thing of beauty once upon a time, in a different age. It had seen many Augusts when her mother and grandmother were its owners.
But today, it was hers and she opened it up to take shelter against the inclement weather. After a few minutes, she heard laughter in the distance.. the carefree voices of young children and soon she saw their faces, a beacon amidst the storm, coming in her direction.
They didn't speak her language, these "Vagrants of the Valley", but she was in the end, a storyteller. She managed to pass the time by regaling them with tales from her childhood, the streets she fell down on, the friends she said farewell to and a tear trickled down her eye as she talked about her favorite spot in the whole world, "The Room on the Roof".
They listened with a wonder and curiosity that only children are capable of, for they had not yet been taught to not believe in magic. The rain had stopped by now, and the sun went down gradually, leaving the sky a beautiful shade of dark. She was content, and so were the children. They were "Strangers in the Night" as they watched the moon steal the light of the sun one more time.