Alif, Umera Ahmad, Novel, الف, عمیرہ احمد, ناول,

 Alif, Umera Ahmad, Novel, الف, عمیرہ احمد, ناول,

Today you have been gone for 423 days. Rather, it seems that 423 years have passed. You made the days of my life that were like moments with you become years. Many times I feel like I am an hourglass that has been counting the days of your return like minutes, hours, and falling like the same sand for the last 423 days.


You remember when we met for the first time, you said all these things in the second meeting. Counting minutes, hours of time, not passing, moments slowing down, seeming like years, and then only one day had passed between our first and second meeting.


 Today the first flower bloomed in the roof vine. A yellow flower of chicory color in the vine planted by your hand. There are three more buds that will be open by the time I wake up tomorrow morning. Spring is coming, you used to inform me about yellow flowers blooming in this vine on the roof. Spring is also the first to announce its arrival to you and you used to bring me white roses.


All the birds have come again, whose words and chirping you used to tell me. What were they asking for, what were they saying, what were they wanting, who was happy, who was sad. Who was celebrating the marriage of his partner, who was grieving the separation of his partner? Who was singing and who was lamenting. It was only you who came to ask, not me, and I thought I could never come.

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