It feels almost cruel to write this. Cruel that life moves forward when someone so deeply loved is no longer here. On 23rd April 2025, I lost the most incredible man I’ve ever known—my father. My Aba. The kind of parent who wasn’t just a father, but a protector, a guide, and the safest place I knew.

He loved us with a fierce, quiet strength. He stood between us and every storm. And now, the world feels quieter, colder, and undeniably incomplete.

But here we are—waking up every morning, eating meals, breathing, even laughing sometimes. It feels wrong, this act of living without him. How can the sun still rise when he’s not here to see it? How can life just continue, as if the axis of my world hasn’t tilted forever?

I still message him. His phone number is saved, untouched. I send him messages saying how much I love him, how much I miss him—knowing they won’t ever get delivered and read by him. But writing to him feels like a way to keep that thread connected, no matter how thin or one-sided it may seem.

He called me his princess when I was little, and to him, I never stopped being that girl. Not time, distance, or even death can take that love away.

Aba, you are deeply missed. Loved beyond words. And though everything feels wrong without you, we’ll carry your love with us, and somehow, we’ll keep going.

Always your child.

Sehru.