Childhood in the village.

Childhood in the village feels like a quiet song that still echoes in the heart. It was a time when life moved gently, without hurry, and happiness was found in the simplest moments. The days were painted with sunlight and the sweet scent of ripe mangoes, plucked straight from the tree, their juice running down our hands as we laughed without a care. Nature was not something distant—it was a companion. The rustling leaves, the whispering wind, the soft rustle of grass beneath bare feet all felt alive, as if the earth itself was watching over us.

We climbed trees not just for adventure, but to feel closer to the sky, to test our courage, and to taste freedom. Every path, every field, every pond held a story. Evenings faded into golden sunsets, and nights sparkled with stars more visible than anywhere else, as if the universe leaned closer to the village.

Looking back, those days were not just memories; they were lessons. They taught us joy without luxury, peace without noise, companionship without technology, and contentment with what we had. That childhood remains a soft corner of the soul—a reminder of who we were before the world became complicated, and a gentle whisper that true happiness often lives in the simplest places.