Iqra stood at the edge of the rooftop, the city lights twinkling below her like a thousand tiny stars. The wind whipped her hair into a frenzy, but she didn't flinch. She was numb, her heart heavy with the weight of memories.
It had been a year since Malik had left. A year since the accident that had taken his life, leaving her shattered and alone. The pain still lingered, a constant ache that refused to subside. She thought of him every day, every hour, every minute. The memories of their laughter, their tears, their whispers, all swirled together in a toxic cocktail that made her want to scream.
Iqra's thoughts drifted to the day they met. She had been a shy, awkward teenager, and Malik had been the charming, confident older brother of her best friend, Zainab. He had taken her under his wing, showing her the ropes of life, teaching her to laugh, to love, and to live. And she had fallen, hard and fast, into the depths of his dark, beautiful eyes.
Their love had been a whirlwind, a tornado that swept through their lives, leaving destruction and beauty in its wake. They had been inseparable, their love a flame that burned bright and true. But fate had other plans. The accident had taken him from her, leaving her a shadow of her former self.
Iqra's eyes wandered to the spot where they had shared their first kiss. It was a tiny café, tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. They had sat together, hands entwined, eyes locked, as the world around them melted away. She remembered the feel of his lips on hers, the taste of his tears, the sound of his heartbeat.
A tear slipped down her cheek as she thought of the life they had planned. The wedding, the children, the graying of their hair, the slowing of their pace. All gone, lost in the blink of an eye.
Iqra's phone buzzed, breaking the spell. It was Zainab, checking in, as she did every day. Iqra smiled, a faint, watery smile. Zainab had been her rock, her confidante, her best friend. She had lost her brother, too, and yet she still managed to be there for Iqra, to offer her a shoulder to cry on, a listening ear.
Iqra turned away from the edge, the city lights blurring together as she walked back to the safety of her apartment. She knew she had to keep going, for Malik's sake, for her own. But the weight of memories was crushing her, making it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to live.
As she settled into her favourite armchair, surrounded by the ghosts of her past, Iqra felt a pang of loneliness. She longed for Malik's touch, his voice, his laughter. She longed for the comfort of his presence, the security of his love.
The room seemed to darken, the shadows lengthening, the air growing thick with the scent of memories. Iqra closed her eyes, letting the tears come, letting the pain wash over her. She was falling, tumbling down a rabbit hole of grief and sorrow, with no safety net to catch her.
And as she fell, she knew she would never be the same again.
Iqra's thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. It was Abbas, her neighbor, a kind, elderly man who had known her since childhood. He brought her a plate of warm cookies, fresh from the oven, and a cup of steaming tea.
"Thought you could use some cheering up, beta," he said, his voice gentle, his eyes kind.
Iqra smiled, a real smile this time, and took the plate from him. "Thank you, Abbas kaka," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Abbas sat with her, talking about Malik, about memories, about life. He listened, really listened, as she poured out her heart, her tears, her fears. And when he left, Iqra felt a tiny spark of hope, a glimmer of light in the darkness.
But the darkness was still there, waiting, watching, patiently biding its time.
As the night wore on, Iqra's thoughts turned to her friends. Asma, Amal, Hudah, and Khalid. They had all been part of her life, part of her journey with Malik. They had laughed, loved, and lived together, and now they were scattered, lost, and hurting.
Iqra wondered if she would ever find her way back to them, back to herself, back to life. She wondered if the pain would ever subside, if the memories would ever fade.
And as she drifted off to sleep, surrounded by the ghosts of her past, Iqra knew she had a long, hard road ahead of her. A road paved with tears, lined with memories, and shadowed by grief.
But she also knew she wasn't alone. She had Zainab, Abbas, and her friends. She had her memories, her pain, and her love.
And that, somehow, was enough.