WHILE looking through the window in the early hours of dawn, I watched closely the tree that had started to bloom. It was midspring and the trees had started to flower.
From the Islamic pattern carved out at the entrance of the gate, I remembered a loud thud that I heard on a Saturday in 2009. It was evident that I had to open the gate and see if my mother had already come from work. To my surprise, I welcomed two army personnel to a party I never hosted.
I was in the ninth standard. We usually had Saturdays off. I was reading a book which was gifted by my aunt. I knew my mother would come back at 3:00 pm. It was a time when cellular mobile phones had not yet come into the market, and we still used landlines for communication.
She would call at 2:00 pm and ask me to do the daily tasks. The times in Kashmir were marked by protests and a slight chill. In the evenings, the protests took place after the Maghrib prayers, and I remember looking at the silhouette of the birds at sunset. The picturesque Kashmir looked morose that day.
While waiting for my mother, I used to spend time reading and writing. The best part of my day was reading story books bought by my family and myself. I remember reminiscing about childhood and playing day and night.
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة June 11, 2024 من Outlook.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك ? تسجيل الدخول
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة June 11, 2024 من Outlook.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك? تسجيل الدخول
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