Love in a First Aid Box

Amid accusations and courtroom battles, one man found truth in the tiny, persistent gestures of love for his children.

- Syed Majid Gilani

That evening, Hashmat climbed the narrow stairs to the attic, the wood creaking beneath his weight, carrying a small lantern. He was searching for old photographs, hoping to stumble upon fragments of memory tucked away in dusty corners.

His fingers brushed against something solid, a first aid box, slightly worn, its edges dulled with years. It seemed almost alive, waiting to be opened, waiting to speak.

The lid lifted with a faint squeak, and the smell of antiseptic rose, sharp and familiar. Inside, every item carried a story, a small piece of a life lived in devotion.

A polythene bag held his children's vaccination cards: polio, measles, meningitis, and boosters. Each mark was a testament to sleepless nights and careful planning.