The Mela is bustling. Stalls, bagpipers, merchandise. I hold your hand so my little girl isn’t lost. You frequently wriggle out of my clasp, skip and join the crowd to explore anew, return laughing. The more time you’re away, more I learn to let go. Like flowing water, like time.

Mandira Pattnaik’s work has appeared in over a hundred journals around the world. Follow her at MandiraPattnaik.