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"Summer Sky 2000" That is what is written on the photograph I hold in my hand. It was taken 26 years ago, from the front porch of my childhood home, with a simple 35mm Kodak camera. I was 14, and took pictures of everything. That photograph made its way into a biography project I had to assemble for my ninth grade English class, but then for whatever reason became detached and spent the next two decades floating around in my sock drawer. It was never framed; it simply served as a rediscovered treasure every time I moved - a reminder that the world could be beautiful. Sunsets have never ceased to amaze me. I recall one evening in the dead of winter when the sun set at 4:30. I was riding the bus home; this boy in the seat infront of me turned around and asked what I was smiling at. I told him "the sunset." He rolled his eyes and sarcastically replied "Why? it's the same every day." No, I thought - it definitely is not - and I felt sorry for him that he thought that, for he was missing out on one of Mother Nature's grandest displays of her flawless beauty. A sunset is a reminder that there can be beauty in chaos. Thunderstorms often result in the most stunning pallets of crimson and fire, with biblical pillars of light permeating through castle-like cumulus clouds. Have you ever gazed upon a soft yellow sun sinking low over a field of grain in late summer, or marveled at the shadows cast in the fog and hollers of the mountains? Sunsets are our reminder to stop and breath. To marvel at the world around us. To remember that we are just one tiny part of this amazing Creation, and that no matter how hectic and hopeless our lives may feel, tomorrow is another day.

The air feels soft, the sky covered with gray clouds, it looks like it will rain anytime soon. But—why am I running so fast? And what is chasing me from almost all directions? shadowy shapeless beings, too many, closing in. Oh no! I need to find a shelter or some kind of hiding place. No wall, no roof, no tree in sight…..Papa? When and how did he appear, I don't know., I have no time to think. I have to quickly touch him. I put my hands in his pants pocket…where did they go? They just vanished. I couldn't understand it then, but now I know why. I had exams scheduled for the following week. Feeling anxious and stressed, I had a small argument with my younger brother over a pencil case. I was 13. It escalated to a point that my brother started crying. I saw him going to my father, getting hugged and consoled. A part of me quietly broke. Deep in my heart maybe I was also craving for that affection. My father called my name lovingly, “Fatima beta, come here”. I went to his room. Witnessing my brother still in his embrace, fired up my anger and I shouted, “ You only love him, You don't love me”. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I went straight back to my room, curled up like a baby with my face pressed into a pillow and cried. “Maybe he will console me too.” Thinking about this I went to sleep. The next day was a bit unusual. A heavy air surrounded yesterday's lively house. My father had his Sunday breakfast, read the newspaper, and watched political shows. Everything seemed normal except for the fact that he didn't smile once….he went SILENT. A few days later, as he came back from the office, I went to the front door to greet him. With a smile, I stretched my hand out to take his briefcase from his grip but he pulled away. The words he said next wrenched my heart,” learn some manners first, then talk to me.” He walked through the front towards the living room, leaving me standing there in shock at what I had heard. I spent the remaining day, choking back tears, questioning myself, “Have I hurt my father? Have I been so disrespectful?”. I pondered all night hoping to uncover the reason for his reaction to my outburst and how I can smooth things over. This is when I realized—I had to be careful with him. By the end of that week, I mustered up the courage and apologized. He accepted but a gap still remained, waiting to be bridged. I knew he loved me and so did I, without a doubt. So I started learning a new language, a language of his silence. A sweet from lunch money, a question about his day, a flower from a random bush—simple gestures that are hard to refuse, too notable to be ignored. Daily conversations with him made my day complete. “I went out with girls today, we had chocolate ice cream but I think strawberry one tastes better”, I murmured. “Hmm…right”. He brought strawberry ice cream the next day. I was happy not because of the ice cream, but the fact that he remembered “strawberry”. I felt satiated after seeing a subtle but gratified smile playing on his face. He did not reply mostly but I was starting to grasp HIS language. Like this, a year went by. Then, one evening, I heard something I was not expecting to hear this early. “I had a bad day today.” Tears swelled up in my eyes before I could gather my words. He opened his heart to me, not because I'd asked but because, for once, he wanted to. “Don't worry, everything's gonna be okay. You have me”. I opened my bag, took something out, reached my hand to him and slowly unclenched my fist, letting the toffee drop in my father's hand. He didn't say anything, just took it, as if it was a ritual for him. Now, I'm 26, coming back home from a tiring day at the office. The crowded bus is acting as a trigger for my burnout. My phone screen lights up with a text message on top, “Location Plz. Pulao for dinner.” The edges of my tiredness softened, no longer heavy, a feeling of languor washes over me, as if my body exhaled all the burden. I used to call him but now he calls me first, asks for my location whenever I go out on work trips. We converse for hours, sharing our recent purchase and how uncle Mubashir's cat broke his vintage vase. We laugh, share burdens and sometimes he covers me with a tapestry of his childhood days. After putting each fragment of his memory together, I unfold the story of his efforts, along with a fear of disappointing others. Till now I couldn't understand why the shapeless shadowy beings in my dream vanished. But now, I can vividly picture and sense my fathers warm pocket and why they couldn't harm me in his embrace. The language I learnt for his reticence, finally bore fruit. I'm glad, in the end, I was the one reaching out first.

Letter The room was small, just large enough for four young men. Moonlight slipped through the window, casting pale shadows across the desk. Three of them slept soundly. Only Ilyos remained awake. Bent over the desk, he wrote without pause. But something felt wrong. With a frustrated sigh, he crumpled the paper and threw it toward the wastebasket—already overflowing with discarded pages. He reached for another sheet. After two lines, he stopped and reread what he had written: Perhaps I'll never give you this letter... But my heart refuses to be still. If only these words could reach you... He nearly crumpled it too. But instead, he set his pen aside and picked up a charcoal pencil. For three years, only one face had occupied his heart. He closed his eyes. She appeared before him—her jet-black hair, her emerald-green eyes that he had never dared to hold for more than a moment. He began to draw. Stroke by stroke, the empty page came alive with her likeness. He worked through the night, unaware of the hours passing. When he finally stopped, the clock read five in the morning. He studied the portrait, then carefully slipped it between the pages of one of the library books on his desk. --- By dawn, Ilyos had barely slept. His roommates stirred. "Do you have to start this early?" he mumbled. "Get up. First class is soon. Aren't you going?" Ilyos glanced at his phone and sighed. "I'm not going. I barely slept." "Suit yourself." One by one, his roommates left. One of them grabbed the library books from the desk and returned them—Ilyos didn't even notice. It was nearly noon when he woke. He washed his face and saw dark circles beneath his eyes, his hair a mess. He hadn't eaten since the night before. He grabbed a quick meal, then hurried to his desk. The books were gone. He searched the drawers, the shelves, every corner of the room. Nothing. Panic set in. Just then, his roommates returned. "My God, what happened here?" one of them asked. "The library books!" Ilyos cried. "Where are they?" "I returned them this morning," his roommate said casually. The color drained from Ilyos's face. Without a word, he grabbed his jacket and rushed out. --- He burst into the library, breathless. The librarian pointed him toward the shelf where returned books waited. He hurried there, scanning one spine after another. Beside him, a girl selected a book from the same shelf. He found two of the three books. His trembling fingers flipped through their pages. Nothing. No drawing. No letter. The third book was missing. Then he froze. The young woman beside him was holding it. His eyes rose from the book to her face. Time stopped. It was her. The girl who had lived in his heart for three years. His heartbeat stumbled. He wanted to disappear—to pretend he'd come for any other reason. But it was too late. As she opened the book, a folded paper slipped to the floor. She picked it up and unfolded it. And forgot to breathe. It was her portrait. Drawn with astonishing care—the faint freckles, the soft lips, the emerald eyes. For several moments, she simply stared. Then she read the lines above the drawing: Perhaps I'll never give you this letter... But what can I do? My heart refuses to be silent. If only you could know what I've carried all these years... A warm blush spread across her cheeks. Something tender stirred inside her chest. She lifted her eyes and saw the young man standing there. Pale. Frozen. Unable to look away. She folded the letter carefully and stepped toward him. "Are you looking for this?" she asked softly. Ilyos swallowed. "...Yes." His voice barely escaped. Then his eyes met hers. A shy smile appeared—filled with relief, embarrassment, and three years of silence. He lowered his gaze and whispered: "Yes... but I think it has already found the person it was meant for." Silence settled between them. Not awkward, but full—the kind that says everything words cannot. Outside the library windows, afternoon sunlight spilled across the campus.

Flummoxed? Yes I was. But how and why is the question. I have never met my maternal grandmother in my life. She had passed away or if I put it in a more eloquent manner, she had entered the gates of the beautiful heaven, much before I was born. But I have always heard stories of her from my mother fondly. So, one thing that I'm sure about is that she was a wonderful and an amazing woman and she continues to be with us through my mother. Nonetheless, the pain and sorrow of never being able to meet her physically will always be there. But a while ago, I happened to experience a dream at night that somehow felt very real even though it was not. I saw myself standing in an inexplicably bizarre, twisted, bedlam-like place. It was a big corridor, made of ancient stones, with hardly any source of light entering in there whatsoever. A creature resembling a man, with unshapely head and limbs was screaming continuously. Some other people were running helter- skelter. I was shook beyond imagination. In the very next second, I was inside a beautiful and spacious room that had the biggest window you could ever imagine. The presence of clouds just outside the window seemed to suggest that it was a tall building. As soon as I turned around, I saw an old woman standing in front of me. And oh! It was my maternal grandmother. Although it isn't an uncommon encounter for me to see people in my dreams, however seeing my grandmother was totally an unprecedented one, because till then I had only seen her in photos, lovingly preserved by my mother. Nonetheless, my heart was screaming in joy. She smiled at me as if she had known me since ages. I approached her with slow footsteps, and she said,"Finally we meet my sweetheart." What we talked about afterwards is not something that I can remember vividly. But I can remember one thing for sure - I wasn't willing to leave her anytime soon. Grandmother realised that I was getting incredibly emotionally attached to her.So she said,"You have to leave now, or you might never be able to leave my dear." With a heavy heart, I left the room, knowing very well that I would never meet her even in my dreams too again. Once I left her and went outside, I again saw those weird people running aimlessly and I thought of going back to my grandmother fearing how she would live here. But it was at that very moment that I realised what the dream signified- that even in the worst situations, one can choose to stay as calm as a lotus flower, like my grandmother did. I wish I can again meet her in my dreams!

I am currently studying for a bachelor's degree at the institute. But I really miss the events and my classmates from my school days. Now I feel more deeply that every moment I spent with them was even more enjoyable. However, one of my greatest regrets in life occurred at the end of my school years. I went to another city to prepare for the university entrance exams. At that time, many people I knew had done the same, as they had heard that the teachers there were very knowledgeable. Envious of them, thinking that my own studies would improve if I went there too, I chose the same path. However, my academic results were already high. I was strong in history and had won awards. For that very reason, my tutor advised me to apply to the Faculty of Law and prepared me accordingly. Most of the interesting events of my life took place right here. We would often have lessons with questions and answers sessions, laughing together. That's why my interest in history grew. But later, the subjects in this field changed. I decided to take the IELTS and go abroad to study. After that, I moved to another city. There, I got into the habit of attending extra classes outside of my regular lessons. But because I was so far from my parents and my home, I didn't want to study; I just cried. Whenever I thought of going home, I'd remind myself that I'd come here of my own accord, and my pride wouldn't let me leave. However, I felt very lonely here. Everyone around me had their own friends. They had already made friends by the time I arrived. But I was still forced to return home and continue my studies in another village. A few months later, it was time for graduation. I had hoped to attend my school's prom, but the management wouldn't allow it, and I couldn't go. I was very upset about it. From these events in my life, I have realised and can say that you should never take an early interest in life beyond your home. You may not be ready for it. As the youngest child in my family, I was also prepared later in this respect. Even though I was older, I was still that simple young girl in my parents' eyes back then. The next thing I realised was that in life, things don't always turn out the way we expect. In such situations, one must not run away but fight. You should accept every situation in life as an opportunity from God and use it to your advantage. For example, I should have drawn strength from my loneliness and worked hard on myself, but I couldn't. However, after that experience I learnt to be strong. Now my life is good: I'm studying tourism at university, and I still intend to study abroad. I'm having a great time with my coursemates at the moment. I've also learnt to appreciate every moment as it comes.

My skin prickled as the rain whispered against the world around me. A cold breeze brushed my cheeks, and the wind carried my damp hair in a gentle dance. The steady rhythm of falling rain blended with the carefree laughter of children playing in the alley below. I lifted my eyes to the sky. It stretched above me in shades of restless grey, its heavy clouds looking as though they had been carrying untold stories for years. A single raindrop landed beside my eye. I closed my eyes, and it slowly traced its way down my cheek. I drifted into my thoughts. Why was I here? Why was I standing alone on this rooftop? For a brief moment, I looked both backwards and forwards. My past and my future seemed to share the same colour—dark, uncertain, and painfully heavy. Was all this suffering truly worth it? Would tomorrow really be kinder than yesterday, or was hope simply another illusion we invented so we could keep walking? Perhaps I had been taking life too seriously. Perhaps I had been searching for answers in places where silence was the only reply. The sound of children's laughter—"Haha... haha..."—gently pulled me back. They were talking to one another, but their words were strangers to me. Then I remembered. I was living in another country. A country whose language still refused to become my own. A small smile found its way onto my face as I remembered how determined I had been to learn it. I had spent countless hours memorising words, repeating conversations, convincing myself that this time I would remember them. Yet somehow, they always slipped quietly out of my mind. I breathed in deeply, letting the cool air fill my lungs. When I opened my eyes, the first thing I noticed was our neighbour's tall tree. It stood firmly rooted in the ground, yet even it trembled beneath the wind. Perhaps it was trying to tell me something. That no matter how deeply rooted we are, life will always bring storms powerful enough to make us shake. I looked down at my hands. They were pale, almost colourless—as they always seemed to be. Slowly, I walked closer to the edge of the rooftop. Below me, people moved through their ordinary lives. A shopkeeper sat outside his small store. Two young children chased each other through the street. From where I stood, the ground looked impossibly far away. For a heartbeat, every thought inside my mind dissolved into silence. I stood there... Overwhelmed by a thought I could not bring myself to name. Then, without warning, I took two quick steps back. My heart raced. My breathing became uneven. I did not know it then, but sometimes the bravest step forward begins with taking two steps back. An hour later, I was home, lying beneath the ceiling, quietly watching the familiar cracks above me. The warm scent of the cake my mother had just baked drifted through the house, gently pulling me back to the present. I poured myself a glass of hot tea and cut a small piece of cake. As I sat there, another thought quietly settled inside me. Perhaps life is not a race in which we are meant to collect every achievement. Perhaps life is simply the feeling of rain against our skin. Perhaps it is the tears that soften the soul, the pain that quietly reveals our strength, and the scars that remind us we survived the chapters we thought would destroy us. Perhaps life is hidden inside smaller things. The laughter of children. The comforting smell of freshly baked cake. The warmth of tea between trembling hands. The quiet relief of discovering that, despite everything, we are still here. Maybe the only way forward is, sometimes, to take two steps away from the endless noise inside our own minds—thoughts that refuse to be controlled and refuse to fall silent. And perhaps, in the end, hope is nothing more than a thin thread. Fragile. Almost invisible. Yet somehow... Strong enough to keep us connected to life.

The guilt, started off low as I made my way to yet another restaurant where my weekly facade would take place. The mere fact of lying to your own child, was as real as any physical pain I'd ever felt. I couldn't escape it though. Not when I was stuck like the hardened gum you'd find under each and every table in a restaurant. When the waiters only smiled and walked by, I knew that my presence could easily be replaced with a mannequin. My phone emerged from my pocket, as I prepared to make a call to my daughter. Just as quickly, the guilt entered my bloodstream like a toxin that was eating me alive. As it rang, my heart throbbed in the center of my chest. “Hey dad” I heard my sweet daughter say on the other end. How I longed to have her in my arms again just once. The one and only person who managed to add the first colours to my black and white life, after everybody I knew and loved started leaving me slowly but surely. Then in the end, she left too, as I passed her on to someone who swore he loved her greatly. At the end of the day, the love he spoke of could never accumulate to mine. “Hey sweetie, how are you” The ache of her absence hit hard, as my throat hurt from the repressed tears. I found such relief in the fact that everything in life was flourishing for her and her husband. She didn't stop talking for a while about her achievements, and the plans she had laid out for her future. “Where are you right now dad? Have you eaten anything?” She spoke lightly, then paused waiting for a response. Her questions never caught me off guard, because I knew well enough to prepare myself in advance. “Out with my mates. To your old favorite.” I spoke casually, as I fixated on the 4 empty chairs around me. It took me a while to change to a video call, but when I did, I turned the camera towards the cheerful and noisy people around me, shunning my own table. “Let me guess. Fries with steak, and a salad on the side?” There was nothing I knew about myself that she didn't know. I nodded in response, knowing full well that not even a plate, that was empty nor full, was facing me at the moment. Before I could say anything more, her husband's voice could be heard in the background, and as quickly as she answered, she had cut the call with a hurried, “See you dad, be happy”. Only I know that after she left, I never found that same happiness again. That's okay though. I never expected to. I sat only drowning in my own thoughts, in the hole that I dug for myself, until an unfamiliar voice broke my train of thoughts. “Winter Watkins” A female that looked right about daughters age, sat opposite me, placing her plate on the table simultaneously. She raised her hand, catching a waiters attention, and glanced back at me.' “What would you like to eat?” She asked as both, she and the waiter turned to look at me for a response. “Nothing at all, thanks. You should go.” Determined to make as little as eye contact as possible, in hopes that she would notice the wall I built around myself with society. My efforts were in vain as instead of leaving, my response was followed by her ordering for me. “Fries with steak, and a salad on the side please” She repeated my favourite meal, like we'd known each other for a while now. Persistent isn't she?. Seeing my confused expression, she smiled lightly and mouthed the word ‘daughter', reminding me of the previous lie I told. After the waiter left, we sat in awkward silence for a while, until she broke it. “So… Why did you lie to your daughter?” I glanced up at her, meeting a face that was filled with curiosity. She quickly added, “You don't need to tell me if you're not comfortable”, but I could see that she really wanted to know. I started from where life was what is known as “Sunshine and rainbows”, to how it became a tragic play that I couldn't escape. From my wife running away the day after our daughter was born, to all my friends abandoning me one by one when all I came to them to do was borrow cash. To top it off with a cherry on top, how the love of my life left for another continent with the love of her life. She was listening attentively, as I brought her a few insights about myself. I quickly diverted the topic off of myself to avoid seeing the pain that washed over her face, but the little conversation quickly turned into a therapy session for each one of us, as oceans fell from our eyes at the end. In the end I found out she too didn't have parents, and was barely holding on to the scraps of survival. When the food finally arrived, I regretted my earlier remark. It tasted like heaven had made its way down my oesophagus, and no matter how many times I thanked her, what I felt inside was way more than what I was letting out. I looked up mid bite of a piece of steak to find Winter already looking at me, grinning from ear to ear. “I genuinely feel like this is going to be the start of a good friendship” “It sure is”.