*The Day It Ended**
It began like any other day.
Pale gold light seeped through frost-lined windows of Zaman's small seaside cottage. Snow had stopped falling, leaving behind a hush so deep it felt as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Inside, he sat at his wooden desk....hands wrapped around a chipped blue mug Yelda had given him last winter. "For poetry sessions only," she'd said with a grin, pressing it into his palms like a sacred offering.
He hadn't drunk from it since November.
Today… he did.
Steam curled upward in slow spirals as he opened his notebook—the final one, untouched except for three pages filled over the past week. Poems? Not exactly. Letters? Not quite.
They were instructions.
To Yelda.
To the world.
To whoever would find them after he was gone.
> "If you're reading this… then I didn't make it to spring."
>
> "And if you are her—then forgive me for not saying goodbye out loud."
>
> "But know this: every word I ever wrote that meant anything… was written because of you."
He closed the book gently and placed it on top of an envelope sealed with wax, a deep indigo stamp shaped like an open book with wings carved beneath it (his personal symbol).
Then he stood slowly, each movement deliberate now as if moving against gravity thicker than air and walked to the mirror again.
Same ritual.
Same silence.
Same bare chest under morning light revealing what no doctor saw but only death could read:
The bluish webbing across his skin had spread further overnight, from collarbones down to ribs as though ink spilled from within veins mapping final surrender of soul unwillingly parting flesh bound too long by grief love memory longing things heavier than bone
His fingers trembled slightly not from cold but exhaustion decades lived compressed into twenty years heart beating war wound never healed just patched silence screaming inside skull echo chamber haunted corridors built wall after wall until foundation cracked beneath weight carried alone without witness save pen paper fire burning late nights whispering truths meant never heard spoken aloud yet needed exist even without listener
"I kept writing," he whispered to himself in Urdu, "because stopping would mean forgetting him... and becoming nothing."
A single tear fell , not for himself....but because there were still poems left unwritten about daffodils bending under rain
about how her laugh sounded when she tripped on rocks near tide pools
about safaan dying face pressed earth salzburg soil freezing blood soaking dream died quietly unnamed hero buried nameless ground
So many stories untold…
But time wasn't theirs anymore.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That evening, Yelda came running again with cheeks flushed pink from wind and scarf dragging slightly behind her like train worn joyfully innocence preserved unaware imminent collapse waiting unseen threshold moment change everything forever standing edge laughing unaware cliff existed let alone fall begin
"You'll never believe what happened!" she gasped dropping beside him puffing steam clouds between excited words "I got accepted into Oxford! Literature program! Full scholarship!"
Zaman froze mid-breath inhalation half-formed trapped lungs refusing continue automatic rhythm body suddenly hyperaware each beat fragile thread holding together breaking point reached passed months ago survival miracle defied odds daily act resistance choice made silently dawn wake knowing possibility today end go see father sky above sea beside sand below hand hers resting lightly knee warmth alive alive alive though barely heartbeat whisper fading slower now weaker pulse slowing rhythm decayed harmony once vibrant music turned requiem played solo player fading stage empty auditorium waiting cry someone hear arrive too late find seat taken place marked reserved poet gone mic dropped page turned chapter ended sentence unfinished comma dangling mid-air begging continuation denied universe indifferent cruel kind depending perspective lens shattered looking through pieces cutting skin bleeding quietly unnoticed until dry cracked hollow nothing left extract except dust memories scattered wind shore erasing footprints tide always wins always reclaims always returns us nothingness gentle brutal mercy alike
But outwardly?
Zaman smiled , the same soft curve of lips that had comforted thousands who read his anonymous verses across cafes universities parks bedrooms hospital beds lonely places where light flickered low and hope seemed impossible...
"That's beautiful," he said softly voice smooth river surface hiding currents below dragging pull undertow pulling deeper closer edge letting go almost easy step forward close eyes trust water take know swim longer necessary rest allowed earned deserved even though undeserving feeling anyway giving anyway loving anyway despite being broken inside ways cannot fix others can heal only carry burden pride pain honour legacy father lost poem survived war written battlefield called life fought weapon called kindness sword dull battered shield nearly shattered yet held line held stance stood ground told truth spoke beauty wrote love even knew stop breathing possible next moment live fully completely regardless cost self preservation instinct overridden something greater purpose meaning identity self became vessel carried something beyond survival transcendence quiet act rebellion darkness said "I am here" whispered "you are not alone" proved existence mattered mattered deeply profoundly essentially fundamentally universally eternally infinitely
Yelda beamed grabbing his hand.....