He climbed up the rickety iron stairs that lead up to the roof of his room. The cemented ledge on the corner awaited him for the night. He settled himself on the old rug and the cushion, and placed the hot mug of coffee by his side. It was a routine. Every night he climbed up the roof and gazed at the sky above. The stars, the moon, the clouds. He would make patterns out of the stars, try and find faces in the moon, and look at the vast expanse with wonder. He would see the birds flying away to their nests, making a racket as they flew by. He would see the lights on the mountain far off go off one by one. Except for one light that always shone through out the night. If only he could find out what that light was. He wished it to be someone like him, someone who also admired the night time as much as he did. One day I will find out , he would say every day. Today, he snuggled up in the rags for it was a cold night. The sky was starless. The black and thick clouds thundered