Hero Pen

TK Rafeeq, Vaniyambadi

And way back, when the world was painted in hues of nostalgia, the Hero pen reigned supreme. Its sleek design, the golden crown, and the effortless ink-filling mechanism were the epitome of elegance and efficiency. It was more than just a writing instrument; it was a symbol of aspiration.

This story was actually a comment made to the post of Chiya Kaleemullah about hero pen in schooldaysschooldays.

A fateful day at the Blue Bird Theatre, when I was thirteen, forever etched the loss of my beloved Hero pen into my memory. The weight of the loss was immense, a void that cast a somber shadow over my days. The gentle reprimands and stern scoldings from elders only deepened the sorrow.

Months later, I returned to the theatre, accompanied by the familiar faces of brothers and cousins. A glimmer of hope ignited within me as I secured the same seat. However, the ensuing two hours were spent not on the silver screen, but in a desperate search for my lost treasure. The darkness of the theater mirrored the emptiness in my heart.

For all sad words of tongue and pen, The saddest are these, 'It might have been'.

Such was the allure of the Hero pen, a testament to the simple joys and profound losses of youth. See even now what had done the memories to me, made me write another story so profoundly.