Hello ! To the world by my word ,
There’s one thing I’ll never understand about life…
How can someone who was once our everything just leave?
Someone we played with.
Laughed with.
Fought with.
Dreamed with.
Someone who understood our silences better than our words.
We had plans. Inside jokes. Complaints about the world. A list of things we wanted to do together. We had time—or at least, we thought we did.
And then, one day, they were just… gone.
No warning.
No letter.
No goodbye.
They left quietly, like a whisper. And we’re left screaming inside a silence that no one else can hear.
I still remember the little things they taught me—how to boil an egg, how to fold laundry, how to ride a cycle, how to fight for what I believe in. But the one thing they never taught me was how to live without them.
To whom will I run when I’m sick now?
Who will hold my face and say, “You’ll be fine, don’t worry”?
To whom will I cry when someone scolds me, or when life feels unfair?
Who will pull me into their arms when my brother troubles me and say, “It’s okay, I’m here”?
Even he has changed now. Even he is quieter.
Even the house feels different—like the warmth left with them. Like even the walls miss their voice.
Why did we build all these memories if the ending was just going to be this—sudden, empty, unbearable?
If leaving is the only guarantee, why does love run so deep? Why does it root itself in places it knows will ache one day?
I wasn’t prepared for this. No one warned me that grief feels like a thousand quiet goodbyes every single day. No one told me how to breathe when my lungs are filled with memories.
And then, I heard Zakir Khan say this in Tathastu—and it felt like someone finally put into words what I couldn’t:
“Abba gaye.”
Abba gaye kya hota hai? Aise jaata kaise hai aadmi yaar?
Bade hone ka matlab sirf bachhe paida kar lena, naukri karna nahi hota hai.
Apne dil ke azeez logon ko jaate huye dekhna, unki beemariyon ko handle karna hota hai.
It hit me. Because when someone who was your identity leaves, a part of you goes with them. Some people are not just people. They are home. And when home leaves, you don’t just lose them… you lose the version of you that only existed with them.
And here’s the thing—I know people try to comfort us. They say, “They’ve become a star now. They’re always with you. Always watching over you.”
Maybe that’s true. I like to believe that.
But what about the rainy days?
On those days, the sky is so heavy and dark, you can’t see any stars. And suddenly, it feels like even they’ve left. Even their memory is hiding. It’s like grief clouds everything—even the belief that they’re still here somehow. The rain makes you wonder: are they still watching? Are they still with me? Or did the storm take them too?
But maybe that’s just what grief does. It makes you question things you know in your heart to be true. Maybe they are still there, just behind the clouds. Waiting for you to feel what you need to feel. Waiting for the storm inside you to calm down, so they can shine again.
I’m still learning how to live with that silence.
Still learning how to find peace in a world that doesn’t have them in it anymore.
But some days, when I close my eyes, I hear their laughter again.
And maybe… just maybe… that’s how we keep them alive.
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