Echoes of you

You're the greatest thing that happened to us..

“__________ died.”  

The day was unusually gloomy. I came back from school to find the house eerily quiet—not empty in the sense that no one was home, but empty in a way that it felt cold, as if it had lost all its warmth. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but something was off. I just lay on my bed, staring at the blank ceiling, wondering why the day had taken such a strange turn.  

Finally, the phone rang. “__________ died. We’re going to spend the night with her mom.” I don’t even know if I responded or just let the voicemail play on.  

They told me you were gone. You left us. Left everyone in disarray.  

How could you? How could you be so selfish? Why would you do that to her?  

Anyway, I’m in your house today. It’s been a year—a whole year without your voice, your laughter, your face.  

She cried herself to sleep last night and broke down again after Fajr this morning. Is this how you wanted to repay her? It’s not fair. Not in the slightest.  

I know you’re not reading this, but I still hope you’re okay wherever you are. We’re all worried about you. She’s scared—so very scared for you. Scared because she can’t see you, can’t reach you, can’t hold onto you anymore.  

The house feels heavier now, like it’s holding onto the weight of your absence. Every corner carries a memory—your favorite chair, the way you’d laugh at the smallest things, the sound of your voice echoing down the hallway. It’s haunting and comforting all at once. We all try to fill the silence, but it doesn’t work. It never works. The truth is, nothing and no one can take your place. We’re all just stumbling through the days, trying to make sense of a world that feels so incomplete without you.   

Even now, I find her holding onto the smallest fragments of you—the little messages you’d leave, the smell of your perfume lingering on your pillow, the songs you used to hum. They’re all she has left. And while the pain of losing you hasn’t faded, neither has the love we feel for you. You’re still here, in a way, stitched into the fabric of everything we do. That’s how we’ll keep going—carrying you with us, always.

We miss you so much, and we love you. Till we meet again.