Immigrants

It is Christmas again, the first after her husband’s departure.

The house opposite hers has distinctly changed. The new owners strung lanterns shaped like moons and stars, not snowflakes. No inflatable Santa, no blinking reindeer—just quiet warmth. Curious, she watched them humming tunes she didn’t recognise.

On Christmas Eve, they left a small box at her door: almond sweets, a card that read, “Peace transcends tradition.” She smiled, remembering her late husband’s love for Diwali lights.

That night, she lit a candle by the window—not for Christmas, but for connection. Across the street, they waved. She waved back.


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