The Sunset

“No trip is complete without visiting the sunset point. So that’s where we’re headed — the final stop of today’s sightseeing,” the guide said, putting down the microphone with a click.

It was already 7:10 PM when we got off the bus. A fifteen-minute uphill walk stood between us and the sunset.

A crowd had already gathered by the time we reached. The sun was about to dip below the horizon in a matter of minutes. I managed to find a spot on a rock and sat down.

Cheers and applause rang out as the sun began to set. People celebrated, snapping photos, laughing. But I stayed silent, wrapped in a strange, sudden sadness.

As the sun slowly tucked away its last rays, it felt to me like a loved one was packing to leave — and I could do nothing but watch them go.

The crowd vanished quickly after the light was gone. But I stayed there, lost in thought. The wind slowed, and the hills grew still as if they, too, were mourning the sun’s departure.

“It’s dangerous to stay here after dark,” the guide called out, breaking my silence. “Come along.”

I rose and followed him.

At the crossroads, where he would turn one way and I another, he asked, “Didn’t you enjoy the sunset?”

“Yes,” I said.

But it wasn’t the truth.