Dilawar ek jawaan tha — shehar ke tazad-bhare raaste, tez raftar zindagi, ambitions aur khwahishon ke beech. Roz subah uthe, kaam ke liye chaale, sham ko thak kar laut te — aur kabhi khud se poochta: “Ye sab kis liye?” Ek din — mushkil se guzarti hui, barish ka mausam, sadak par char-chand bikhar rahe the. Dilawar ek purane pul ke paas ruk gaya. Barish bari tez thi, lekin bridge ke niche ek chhoti si jagah mili — jahan pani chhup gaya tha. Wahan se guzarne ke dauran, usne ek purana patthar dekha, jise pehli nazar mein koi matlab na mila. Dilawar ne us patthar ko uthaya — bas yun hi. Usi lamhe, uske andar kuch aisa hua — ek ajeeb si khamoshi, ek tez roshni jaisi, jo na andruni thi, na bahri; na dard thi, na khushi — bus ek saaf-saaf ehsas. Us roshni mein, usne mehsoos kiya ke saare raaste, saare log, saari khwahishen — sirf zyada ya kam hone wali awaazein hain — asal cheez ek khamosh sa raag hai: zindagi khud. Usne samjha ke jo kabhi chahte the, vo kabhi poore nahin honge — aur jo kabhi khoye hue samajhte the, vo shayad kabhi wujud nahin rakhte. Patthar aaj bhi uske haath mein tha — lekin woh pehle wala patthar nahin raha; us raat tak wo ek darpan ban gaya: usne zindagi ko uss roshni se dekha, jo kabhi shabd nahin ban sakti. Subah hua — barish ruk gayi. Shehar waisa hi, raaste waisa hi — lekin Dilawar waisa nahin raha. Uss khamoshi mein, usne mehsoos kiya: “Main aur duniya alag nahin.” Usne har insaan ko, har cheez ko — har patthar, har ped, har boond — apni rooh ki awaaz suna. Aur us ek lamhe ne, use jeene ka nazariya badal diya.