-mohit Chauhan- - Barfi

Because now he knew: some songs don’t end. They just turn into the wind that carries the dust of your mother’s face, the warmth of a stranger’s heart, and the courage to stay, even when the music stops.

The AIR frequency had changed. Barfi twisted the dial frantically—left, right, left—until the knob came off in his hand. Silence. A terrible, hollow silence. Barfi -Mohit Chauhan-

Barfi never played it.