“My poor lungs”
The air that we breathe
The morning sun struggled to break through the thick blanket of haze hanging over the valley.
From a far, the hills looked peaceful, beautiful and wrapped in mist, but the truth was different.
The gray cloud was not only fog—it was air pollution. I stood on my rooftop, staring at the city below.
Smoke rose from factories, vehicles crowded the roads, and people burned waste in empty lots.
The air smelled heavy, and even the birds seemed quieter than usual. My grandmother told me stories of a time when the sky was bright blue and the mountains could be seen clearly from the city.
I found it hard to imagine. That day, I noticed a myself coughing.
I used to ignore my allergies and coughing till today.
People around me are not healthy either.
It made me realize that pollution was not just hiding the scenery; it was harming lives.
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