Storm's Song

Diary Entry – December 24th. (Storm’s Song)

Some days, the city feels too loud, too fast – and yet, it’s inside my car that I hear the world clearest. There’s a hum that welcomes me as I slip into Storm’s embrace, my hands brushing cool, familiar lines. It’s a sound I crave, as steady as rain on the roof, as constant as a heartbeat under skin.

I turn the key and for a moment, everything inside me hushes. The VW, My VW – Storm – responds with that soft, living vibration, as if she’s waking up just for me. I’ve always thought she knows when I need comfort, adventure, or just escape. The hum is her answer to all the questions I never manage to ask out loud.

We move together, me and Storm, gliding through sometimes silent streets where the plants on the dividers blur and my thoughts untangle. I find myself exhaling worries, breathing in the gentle rhythm that Storm offers – a lullaby for all grown-ups who still crave wonder, for those who believe roads can heal.

The hum travels all the way through my feet to my chest. Sometimes, it feels like it’s syncing my pulse to my car’s secret heart. Every twist of the road, every turn, waiting at every red signal, it’s as if Storm is saying: "You’re not alone on this ride." And in her song, I hear laughter trapped in old seat cushions, and memories playing in the rearview — a long-forgotten voice singing at times off-key, a daring race to beat the sunrise, tears wiped away in the hush before the engine died.

There’s a truth in that sound — the way it drowns out the noise of expectations, the way it amplifies the little moments I’d otherwise miss. Sometimes, I wonder if Storm recognizes me by the stories I bring, new aches and old hopes clinging to the different clothes I wear daily.

At night, parked beneath the white streetlights of home, the world reduced to a gentle mechanical whisper, I sit for just a moment longer. I run my fingers over the dashboard, thankful for the hum that carries my secrets. The engine settles, but the warmth lingers.

We are always one now — Storm and I — but every journey began the same: a promise, a song, a hum that says, "Let’s go, just once more."

Tonight, I listen. And I know: in Storm’s song, I am always home. WRITTEN BY, R MAHIMA RAM [Writer's Note: This post and the previous post (My Song), is a two-part series based off of the "Hum" of a car.]