The phone of the dead.

On that autumn evening, when the heavens were strewn with stars and the moon smoothly illuminated the dark sky, I first learned about the phone that connects the worlds of the living and the departed. This phone was not an ordinary device, but a magical bridge stretching between reality and eternity. In my hand I held an antique apparatus covered with gilded patterns, as if it had come out of a time vortex. Turning it on, I felt a vibration, as if the heart began to beat in unison with the pulse of the universe. Everything went quiet when I dialed a number that was written in gold letters on a black keyboard. A horn like wind music, and an answering echo sounded from the depths of time. The universe intertwined with my voice when I uttered those words that had been stored in my soul for a long time. At that moment, the walls between the worlds were crumbling, and I heard the whispers of those who had already left this world. "Hi, is that you?" my voice whispered into the dark spaces, and the answer came from there. The voice of my grandmother, whose words once touched my soul, came to life in the virtual memory of the phone. In this world, longing intertwined with memories, creating invisible threads that connected the two worlds. We talked about the past, as if turning over the pages of an old book, whose lines are written not with chalk, but with the light of stars. Grandma talked about her life, how she saw how the world was changing, how her children and grandchildren were growing up. I listened, pouring my soul into this magical conversation. But as time dragged on, I felt a shadow of sadness cover this virtual conversation. As if a thread leading to the past began to slowly disappear into a time hole. With every moment of the conversation, the stars that illuminated this telephone conversation dimmed. And so, when I whispered the last words of farewell, the phone blinked, as if saying goodbye to a moment of eternity. Grandma disappeared into this magical ether, leaving behind only sadness and memories. I closed the phone, returning it to that golden time box. Looking at the starry sky, I realized that the phone that connects the worlds is not only a bridge to the past, but also a road to what has not happened yet. In this sad but beautiful conversation, I found a connection with what is eternal, and with sadness, which, like a shadow, goes hand in hand with memories.