"X" for "Xylophone"

She looked at the cradle with empty eyes and a heavy heart. That was where she had made him sleep every night. A year had passed, but his memory remained fresh, as if his little feet were still running around her. She glanced around the room, where she had kept every piece of clothing and every toy that belonged to him, all intact, as if he would return at any moment. In the corner lay his favourite toy, the one he used to play with all the time. She remembered how fondly he would pick up the two sticks and gently touch the colourful chords—pink, blue, green, yellow. As time passed, his soft touches would gain speed, and the final strikes would come down almost like blows to the chords. He giggled playfully, and she joined in his laughter. Now, she touched the toy and gently picked up the sticks, striking one of the blue chords. A sweet, tinkling sound emerged. She repeated it once, then again, and soon she was playing it. Suddenly, she could hear giggles nearby. As she continued to stroke the chord, the laughter grew more pronounced, echoing around her. Then she heard a familiar voice say, “Mommy, I am here.” It was him.

This post is a part of BlogchatterA2Z Challenge 2026