No matter how used to I get, leaving Sargodha always makes me cry. Sargodha terminal is a small station. The buses ready to leave face the main road. When the bus is just about to leave, Papa turns his way back to home. I see the car going away from the window with my heart beat going feeble. And just when it gets out of sight, a few drops wet my eyes -most of the time absorbed and dried within the lashes.