CHAPTER 3 :-
After my mother died, the world did not stop the way I thought it would. I had imagined silence, stillness, something dramatic enough to match the weight inside my chest. Instead, life continued with an unsettling efficiency. People came and went. Conversations overlapped. Food was cooked. Prayers were recited. Everything moved forward while I remained exactly where I was.
The house filled with people who spoke softly, as if lowering their voices could undo what had happened. Some of them cried openly. Some avoided looking at me altogether. Everyone told me I was brave. No one explained what I was supposed to do with that bravery.
Mornings became unfamiliar. I woke up at the same time every day, my body still trained to respond to my mother's routine. For a brief moment, I would forget she was gone. Then the truth would settle in slowly, heavy and undeniable. Her voice did not come from the kitchen. Her footsteps did not pass my door. The house felt larger without her, but emptier at the same time.
My brother cried often. People noticed immediately. They gathered around him, comforted him, reassured him. I stood close, holding his hand, watching quietly. I did not cry. Not because I felt less, but because something inside me refused to break in front of so many eyes. It felt instinctive, as if my body had decided that if one of us had to stay standing, it would be me.
At night, when the house finally settled, I replayed memories on purpose. I was afraid that if I didn't, they would fade. I remembered the way my mother looked at me when she knew I was hiding something, the way she protected without asking questions, the way she absorbed tension so it never reached us. Those memories became private rituals, something I guarded carefully.
As days passed, I noticed how quickly absence becomes normal. Conversations continued without her. Meals were eaten without her presence being acknowledged. People stopped mentioning her name as often. It frightened me how easily the world adjusted.
Three months after she died, life shifted again.
No one asked if I was ready.