January 1st began with a pink sunrise. She marked it with a tiny cross. “First day of the rest of our years,” she said.

By June, the pages softened. Monsoon rain leaked through the window and blurred July 14th—the day my uncle left for a job he never came back from. The calendar didn't warn us. It only recorded: Sunrise 6:02 AM. Sunset 7:15 PM.

She tapped the cover— Kalnirnay 1990 —and smiled. “Nowhere. It just folds itself into a shelf, waiting for someone to remember.”