Maa, I Still Walk in Your Light

A letter from a grieving son paints the tenderness of a mother's presence in everyday life.

- Shahrukh Bin Parvaiz

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.