"Some silences are not empty — they are full of what was once loved."
The house felt different now.Not because anything changed — but because someone was missing.Permanently.The air was heavier.The rooms echoed more.And the silence had grown louder.
He sat on the bed where Papa used to sleep.The bedsheet was still tucked the way Mama had done it days ago.His father's glasses rested on the table.Dust had started to gather.But no one touched them.As if moving anything would erase the last pieces of him.
His mother had stopped playing the old radio.The one that once sang love songs in the kitchen.Now, only the sound of boiling water or a spoon hitting a plate remained.Even the birds outside seemed quieter these days.Like they knew.
He went to school again.Because life kept going.The bell rang.The teacher called names.Friends laughed in the corner.But his chair felt colder.And the words on the blackboard never stayed in his head.
He started sitting alone during lunch.Not because he was angry.But because smiles were too heavy to carry.He ate slowly.One bite at a time.Thinking of home.Of the sound of his father's cough from the next room.
At night, he lay under his blanket with the wristwatch.The same one Papa gave him.It didn't tick anymore.But it still felt like it held time —their time.All the time they never got to spend together.
He stopped writing letters.Not because he didn't have anything to say.But because the person he was writing to would never reply again.And sometimes, words are too soft to carry the weight of goodbye.
One evening, he asked his mother,"Did Papa know I loved him?"She didn't answer right away.She looked up from the stove, eyes wet but smiling."He knew," she said."But I think… he never forgave himself for being far."
He visited the river again.The one where he once sat beside Papa.The water still flowed.The trees still swayed.But this time, the wind felt colder.And the silence beside him… didn't feel shared anymore.
The villagers spoke kindly of his father.How hardworking he was.How he sent money every month without fail.How he built the house, brick by brick.But no one knew the late-night phone calls.The broken promises.The letter that made his hands shake.
One day, while cleaning the cupboard,he found an old note written in his father's handwriting.Just one line:"Someday, I'll be the father I promised to be."He read it five times.Then folded it slowly.And placed it in his diary.
That night, before sleeping,he looked at the stars from his window.He didn't say much.Just held the wristwatch close to his chest and whispered,"Are you still watching, Papa?"And though the sky didn't answer,the silence…felt a little less lonely.