By Shahrukh Bin Parvaiz

Friday, 22nd August 2025. 7:05 a.m.

Maa, that morning took you from me. Your hand slipped from mine like a river receding, and my world folded into itself. Your eyes closed slowly, your breath grew lighter, and I stayed there, suspended, unable to move.

I cried in ways no one could hear, the kind of sound that dissolves inside the chest. Only Allah witnessed it, that silent fracture, that absence you left in your leaving.

Since that day, I live inside that hour. Outside, Srinagar stirs as always. The azan calls from the mosques, the chaiwallas carry trays through Lal Chowk, and children race across the streets with laughter like bells. Time flows, people speak, but inside me, nothing moves.

I still feel the warmth of your hand. When I close my eyes, I see your face, the soft curve of your smile, the light in your eyes that could steady storms.

You were my home and peace. Each word from you carried kindness, each gesture a lesson in patience. I remember the afternoon I ran off to play without telling you. You waited, anxiety tucked in your chest. When I returned, you touched my hand gently, eyes moist, and then handed me a hundred rupees with that same soft smile:“Go, but tell me next time.”

Love in your language was firm for a heartbeat, gentle forever.

Your beauty, Maa, came from the inside. Your eyes held light like early dawn over Dal Lake. Your voice was soft as a prayer at Fajr. When you smiled, even the walls of our house seemed to breathe. When you prayed, the air itself felt blessed.

Each day since, I am shadowed by the absence of you. I reach for your voice in empty rooms. I imagine your step in the hall and wake hoping to hear you say,“Where are you going?”

Silence answers instead, heavier than any stone.

People tell me to move on. They say,“She's in a better place.” Their words fall flat. How do I move on from the one who made life itself tender? How do I step away from the hands that shaped me, soothed me, forgave me?

You were my everything, Maa. You prayed for me before I knew I needed prayers. You stayed awake when I was sick, forgave my wrongs before I could apologize, loved me before I could even ask.

Sometimes I sit in your room. Your scent stays: musk, rosewater, something that was entirely yours. I hold your shawl. For a moment, I am with you. Then the absence returns, sharp and complete.

I remember how you moved in the kitchen. You poured care into every pot and pan. Hours passed, your voice humming softly, your back tired, and eyes warm. You placed the best on my plate and went without. Love took shape in small sacrifices, unspoken and absolute.

You taught me lessons without words. To forgive without announcing it. To hold patience like a flame. To be strong in the ways the world does not see: in silence, in attention, in returning kindness when it is undeserved.

I hear you in my small acts of mercy, in the prayers I murmur before sleep. I feel you in the pulse that keeps me standing.

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