The Lost Pages
Chapter 2: The Old Man’s Reflections
Loneliness is the silent companion of age
Mr. Subramanian, the old man seated alone at his usual table, stirs his tea slowly, his eyes drifting between the other diners in the restaurant. He’s been coming here for years, watching life pass by through the lens of other people’s stories. Tonight is no different. As the warmth of the restaurant hums around him, his mind begins its familiar conversation with his inner voice — his only true companion since his wife passed away.
Subramanian (inner voice): Another evening alone. But what do I expect? At this age, solitude becomes your shadow.
His gaze settles on Yazhini and Naveen, the young pair at the corner table. They intrigue him, though he doesn’t know why. There’s something in their posture, in the way they sit together yet apart, that stirs his curiosity. He’s spent enough time observing people to sense that their story is not a simple one. As he sips his tea, he imagines their conversation, filling in the gaps with his own narrative.
Subramanian (inner voice): She looks troubled, doesn’t she? And him… he seems distant. Are they fighting? Or perhaps this is something else entirely. Love is complicated at that age — full of hopes, disappointments, and unfinished words.
He smiles softly to himself, recalling his own early days of marriage. Those were different times — quieter, perhaps simpler, but not without their own complexities. His wife, Saroja, had been his closest friend, his confidante. Her absence now feels like a weight he carries every day, though he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he watches others live their lives, as if through them he can still feel connected to the world.
His thoughts drift back to Yazhini and Naveen. He begins to imagine various scenarios, as if trying to solve a puzzle.
Subramanian (inner voice): Maybe they’re old friends who lost touch and are meeting again after years. There’s a distance between them, but not the kind that exists between strangers. Or perhaps they were once in love, but something happened, and now they’re trying to find their way back to each other.
His mind weaves stories effortlessly — stories of loss, reconciliation, or the quiet ache of unresolved feelings. He knows that real life is rarely so neat, but in the silence of his own thoughts, he enjoys the freedom to imagine different outcomes. It’s a habit he’s developed over the years, this quiet storytelling, a way to fill the emptiness that sometimes creeps in during these long, solitary evenings.
As he continues to observe, he reflects on his own life as a widower, though the memories come slowly, like pages turning in an old book. His life with Saroja had been filled with small joys and shared routines. They were not perfect, but they had understood each other in a way that only comes after years of marriage. Now, without her, he feels untethered, as if his anchor has slipped away and he’s been left to drift through the remaining years.
Subramanian (inner voice): She would have known what to say to them, to that couple over there. She always knew how to fix things with just a word or a look.
His heart tightens at the thought of her. Even after all these years, her absence feels like a fresh wound some days. But he’s learned to live with it, to carry it as part of himself. Loneliness, after all, is not something to be cured. It’s something to be understood, accepted.
He watches as the waiter approaches Yazhini and Naveen’s table, refilling their water. The two of them barely notice, lost in their own world, a world that seems to exist in fragments, like broken pieces trying to find their place. He recognizes the quiet tension in their faces, the unsaid words that linger in the air between them. It reminds him of moments he had shared with his wife — moments of silence that were more revealing than any conversation.
Around him, the restaurant continues to buzz with life. The college friends are laughing at their table, the father and daughter are deep in conversation, and the arranged marriage couple is still navigating their careful dialogue. Mr. Subramanian feels a quiet detachment from it all, as if watching a play unfold on a stage. He is a spectator in a world that he no longer fully belongs to. And yet, these brief glimpses into other people’s lives offer him a strange comfort. They remind him that life, in all its forms, continues — even if his own has slowed to a quiet, reflective pace.
Subramanian (inner voice): It’s funny, isn’t it? How we can be surrounded by people and still feel so utterly alone. But I suppose that’s what life becomes as you age. You drift further from others, even as you try to hold on.
He finishes his tea, setting the cup down gently on the saucer. For a moment, he considers speaking to the waiter, perhaps making a small comment about the weather or the food. But the moment passes, and he remains silent, retreating back into the quiet safety of his thoughts.
As the night deepens and the restaurant begins to quiet, Mr. Subramanian prepares to leave. He casts one last glance toward Yazhini and Naveen, still seated by the window. Their story remains a mystery to him, but that’s alright. Life, he knows, is full of mysteries. Some are solved, and some remain unanswered, drifting quietly through time like memories.
In solitude, we find the echoes of our past, reminding us of all we have loved and lost