Pakistan (Past)
Zoya was sitting on the chair near the foot of Baba (Father)'s bed, scrolling her phone after Isha (night prayer). Baba (Father) was asleep. His medicines were lying right next to her — tonight's dose waiting. She thought, I will give them in five minutes, and kept scrolling.
A video appeared on her screen — one of those that always pulled her in — her fingers froze, her chest felt heavy. Before she could watch it fully, she heard Baba's (Father's) voice.
Zoya lifted her eyes from the screen. He was sitting up in bed, awake, his eyes glistening with tears. She glanced at the video again, then back at him, trying to catch his words — they were not always clear. But she let the video keep playing for a moment, placed the phone near his feet, turned toward him, and rested her chin on her hands on the bed, just listening.
She saw his tear-filled eyes but said nothing. She just let him speak — because for the last six years he had spoken nothing more than what was absolutely necessary. But tonight, he was speaking on his own. Her heart wanted him to keep talking. She didn't want to break this moment. She didn't want to stop the video either — but she had to choose.
Zoya stopped the video, picked up her phone, switched on the camera, and began recording Baba's (Father's) words — as if she could keep them with her forever.
> "I held your tiny hand and taught you to walk..."
His voice was soft that night, so soft it felt like a prayer. His leg kept moving under the blanket, a slow, stubborn rhythm he could not control.
> "And now, you are the one holding me upright."
Zoya quietly reached for the medicines lying beside her — the memory pill and the aspirin — ready to give them to him, but stopped midway, not wanting to interrupt his words. She held them silently in her hand, waiting for him to finish.
> "I pieced together broken words to teach you how to speak..."
He frowned, pushing her hand away, his stubbornness flashing — just like a child refusing to swallow.
> "And now, you understand even my silences."
Then came the silence. The kind that made Zoya's chest tighten. She leaned closer, holding her breath, listening carefully for the soft sound of his breathing — just to know he was still here.
> "I wanted to build your present… but you have become my present."
Then his words deepened — as if he had been keeping them for years.
> "Why have you stopped? Why are you staying here? Time never stops. When it passes, what will you do? I am fading… why are you fading with me?"
Her eyes stung — she bit her lip to stop the tears.
> "Go. Go and find your dreams. Start walking toward your goals. Time has just begun — why are you wasting it?"
A single tear slipped down her cheek.
> "My eyes have grown used to seeing you, but why are you making me your habit? Look — all the sparrows have started to fly. Why have you clipped your wings and stayed sitting?"
Zoya's breath hitched, her chest heavy.
> "Whatever is left of me, I will live it fully — why are you forgetting to live?"
And that was the moment Zoya's heart broke. She slid from the chair, fell to her knees, and clutched Baba's (Father's) feet — sobbing silently. In the movement, her phone slipped from her hand, the camera turning away, the video still playing faintly on the screen. But Zoya didn't care anymore.
I didn't care anymore. I had chosen a side. My heart wanted only this — to beat in rhythm with Baba's (Father's), to stay here and hold on to him for as long as I could.
For days, Zoya carried his words like a weight in her chest. She would cry silently at night, pressing her face to Baba's (Father's) feet, feeling as if her tears could keep him with her forever. She realized then that for six years, Baba (Father) had barely seen her cry — but she had been crying all along. And every single time, his heart must have hurt too.
Sometimes her brothers would come to feed Baba (Father) with their own hands. Zoya would smile softly watching them, but as soon as they turned away, her eyes would fill with tears. Mama spent her days caring for Baba (Father), but whenever Mama had to step out, Zoya stayed — she never left his side.
University ended, and even the hours she used to spend outside were now fully given to Baba (Father). Each time he called out for water — "Zoya, give me water" — she would run. Sometimes he scolded, sometimes raised his voice, and sometimes became as innocent as a child. Zoya had made a secret dua after prayer one night:
"Ya Allah, You gave me this test. Fill my heart with so much love for my Baba (Father) that even in anger, I can look at him with gentleness."
And Allah did. She loved him so deeply now that even when he cried, she felt her own breath stop. She would hold his hand and whisper:
"Please don't cry. Your daughter will die before her time if you cry. And I don't want to die yet — because I have fallen in love with you so much I cannot leave you alone in this world. We will stay together, won't we? So please don't cry."
In this way, Baba (Father) and Zoya lived life together — with patience, with tears, with love.
But the day came that she had been fearing. It was a sad, quiet evening. The house was empty except for Baba (Father) and Zoya. She stood for Maghrib prayer and halfway through, felt Baba's (Father's) eyes on her. When she ended the prayer and turned her head, she found him watching her without blinking. For a long moment, their eyes met. Fear gripped her chest, but she steadied herself and asked softly:
"Baba (Father), do you want anything? Water?"
He lowered his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes. That night passed in silence.
But by morning, his breathing had grown heavy. Everyone gathered around his bed, her brothers too, their faces pale with fear. Zoya said nothing. She simply brought a stool, placed it by the bed, and sat quietly, just watching him breathe. Then, with tears running down her face, she bent closer and whispered:
"Baba (Father), listen to me. Don't go yet. We were supposed to live life together. I just finished university. I will stand on my feet. I will become someone you will be proud of. Please wait a little more. And Baba (Father)… forgive us. Forgive me. Forgive everyone. Don't leave with any hurt in your heart."
But that moment became the last. And Baba (Father) slipped away — taking Zoya's entire world with him.
Days passed like a blur. Then one day, Zoya sat down with a notebook and wrote a nazm for Baba (Father). Each word came with tears.
For Baba (Father)
I learned to walk by holding your finger.
I still remember how afraid I was to fall,
but you always caught me before I hit the ground.
Then one day, it was me who held you upright.
My prayers became the strength beneath your weak steps.
You pieced together broken words to teach me how to speak,
and I learned to understand even your silences.
For six long years, you barely spoke,
but whatever you did say sank deep into my heart.
You used to say:
"Time never stops.
These moments will pass.
Why are you standing still?
Go… chase your dreams.
Spread your wings and fly.
Whatever life is left for me, I will live it.
Why are you forgetting to live yours?"
For days, I cried at those words.
I would hold your feet and weep,
as if my tears could freeze time and keep you with me forever.
But now I know, you were asking me to let go.
To carry your prayers with me and keep walking towards my own destination.
Today, Baba (Father), I have decided.
I will rise.
I will do everything you wished for me.
I am your daughter — I will not stay broken.
I will live the dreams you wanted me to live,
because they were your last wish.
And now, every time I breathe,
I feel as though you breathe with me.
You are no longer just my father —
you have become my courage.
---
Zoya put the notebook down, picked up her phone, and opened the video that had accidentally saved the night Baba (Father) first spoke to her. The half-played clip started playing again. And if you looked at the screen, you would see:
> He is Korea's prince —
blessed with beauty, fame, and hard-earned wealth,
a humble heart that touches millions,
a smile that lights up the darkest day,
a voice that heals the broken,
and the priceless gift of health…
Yet he does not recognize
the Creator who gave him all of this.
To be Continue...
Regards
ZK💌