Pick a Word, Paint a Story #16

Hello everyone, on this occasion I would like to participate in a contest held by @senehasa about "Choose a Word, Paint a Story #16"
Following my previous entry I would like to invite my friends @neyistar23 , @sur-riti , @xkool24 , to participate in this contest

In a simple house on the outskirts of the city, there is an old television that is the center of attention in the living room. It is black, the screen is convex, and although the volume button is worn out, the television remains the main source of entertainment for Pak Rahman's family. For twenty years the television has accompanied their lives—through sad news, laughter from telenovelas, to national football celebrations.

Every night, after the Isha prayer and dinner, Pak Rahman's family would gather in the living room. Mother would bring warm sweet tea, while the children sat cross-legged on the carpet, waiting for their favorite shows. Sometimes the electricity went out, and they could only sit in the dark while listening to a small radio. But when the electricity came back on, laughter erupted as the television turned on with its distinctive hissing sound.

The television was not just an electronic device, but a silent witness to various family stories. In the past, their eldest child, Farhan, had appeared on the local news for winning an inter-school speech contest. That night, all the neighbors came to the house just to see Farhan's face appear on the screen. Pak Rahman was very proud that night, his face shining like the morning sun.

However, over time, the children began to grow up. Farhan is now studying out of town, his younger siblings are busy with their respective gadgets. The television in the living room began to have few viewers. Only Pak Rahman and his wife still faithfully watched soap operas or the evening news. Sometimes, Pak Rahman sat alone while watching a football match, reminiscing about the past when shouts of support could be heard from all corners of the house.

Until one day, the television died completely. No sound, no picture. A lifeless black screen. Pak Rahman tried to fix it, carefully dismantling the back, but his efforts were in vain. Mother asked him to just let it go. But for Mr. Rahman, the television was more than just an object—it was a memory.

A few days later, Farhan came home with a surprise. He had bought his parents a new television—a flat screen, clear sound, and internet connection. “So that you and your parents can watch anything, anytime,” he said with a smile.

Mr. Rahman smiled, but his eyes were fixed on his old television, which now sat in the corner of the room, silent. That night, they turned on the new television. The clear picture and bright colors filled the living room. The family gathered again, this time even Mr. Rahman’s first grandchild sat on his lap, laughing at funny cartoons.

Even though the old television was no longer on, its memories lived on. It may have been silent, but in its silence, it held laughter, tears, and priceless moments together. The new television may have been more sophisticated, but the old one remained a part of the family’s hearts—a small icon of a long journey of a home full of love.