It was a cold January morning. The winter sun cast a pale glow over the town, and while laughter and life echoed from nearby homes, a heavy silence blanketed one house. Inside, the air was thick with grief.
In the corner of a dimly lit room, a little girl sat beside her mother's still body, her small hands clutching the edge of the white sheet. Her name was **Noor**—a delicate child with wide, luminous eyes that held the quiet kind of sorrow that words could never capture. She didn't cry like the others. Her heart refused to believe what her mind could not comprehend.
"Mother, please wake up... please," she whispered, her voice trembling like the winter wind outside.
"Mama, I promise I won't trouble you anymore." she says, her voice cracks tears prick her eyes but she refuse to cry and wipe them brutally.
"Please… wake up…" she just couldn't believe that her mom has died.
Around her, the room was filled with the wails of relatives, the rustle of prayer beads, and the faint sobs of women in black shawls. But Noor sat motionless, as if frozen in time.
A middle-aged man entered the room—her father. His eyes were red, his face pale. A neatly trimmed beard lined his solemn expression. He wore a white **shalwar kameez**, the national dress of Pakistan, now slightly wrinkled from sleepless nights. He approached silently and knelt beside his daughter and put his hand on his fragile daughter's shoulder.
"Noor," he said softly, his voice barely louder than a whisper.
She turned to him and collapsed into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably for the first time. The dam within her had broken, tears streamed down her face.
"F-father…" she stammered, her face buried in his chest. "Tell her to wake up… Why is everyone saying Mama will never wake up again?" she looked up with hope in her round dark brown eyes.
Silence.
Her father held her tighter, his own tears beginning to surface.
"My angel," he murmured, struggling to steady his voice, "Mama has left this world… for a very beautiful place. She will come to visit you in your dreams."
Noor looked up at him, confusion and fear etched into every line of her young face.
"Left this world? What does that mean, Daddy?" she asks.
He gave a faint smile, trying to shield her from the storm in his heart. But even she could tell—it was a smile dipped in sorrow.
"God calls back those He loves the most. When they leave, they don't return. But they watch over us from a place where there's no pain, only peace." he says trying to comfort her but deep down he knows the pain.
Noor's lips trembled. "So Mama… will never come back?" Her voice cracked.
Her father gently wiped her tears and whispered, "No, sweetheart. But we must not cry too much. If we cry, Mama's soul won't feel at peace. We must pray for her, and remember her with love."
Exhausted by emotion, Noor eventually fell asleep in her father's lap. Her small hand still held the edge of her mother's shawl.
Elsewhere in the house, the family tended to the guests offering their condolences, the scent of rose water and incense lingering in the air. The atmosphere was heavy with tradition, sorrow, and whispered prayers.
Her father, who had held back his grief for the sake of his daughter, finally let the tears fall. Silent and heavy, they slipped down his cheeks—tears for the woman he had lost, and for the childhood his daughter would now grow through without a mother.