Man’s best friend is a dog. Amruta’s best friend—a pencil. Well, I used to be. I used to be her treasure, a creator. Her creativity flooded through my tip. I made stories, I made artwork. Now, I am left forgotten like an old toy. I am rarely picked up these days. I wait around all day to be picked up. It is all about that good for nothing laptop and his even worse keyboard. Pen(cil)manship means nothing. Just choose a better font is all there is to it. She has traded a perfectly fine pencil like me for a keyboard. Well, what is there to complain. My buddy paper is traded for a screen and worse, a mere backspace button has replaced eraser. As fancy gadgets waltz in, we are pushed to a corner of the table. And that is how life has been for the past few months—in the shadow of a gadget never been able to show my true colors. Can this pandemic end?