A year ago today

A Year Ago Today: A Memory That Never Fades Today marks a year since the day our lives changed forever. The day Sana was admitted to the hospital, and we learned about her liver failure. I remember it vividly—walking through the door after work, only to receive a call from Idris telling me to stay ready because he was coming to pick me up. Her test results were off the charts, and she had been moved to the ICU. In that moment, everything blurred into panic, fear, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness. Since morning, I have been reliving that day, every detail playing on repeat in my mind. The phone call. The drive. The sterile hospital lights. The unbearable weight of uncertainty pressing down on us. A year has passed, but the memory is as sharp as ever. Ironically, tonight, Idris and I have tickets for a candlelight concert—something I had once planned with Sana. She had been so excited about the idea of going to one in New York, but we never got the chance. When I booked these tickets, I hadn’t realized the date would coincide with this painful anniversary. Now, as we prepare to go, I can’t help but feel that Sana will be there with us in some way. Maybe it's fitting. A night of music, of candlelight, of remembrance. Maybe in that quiet glow, I will feel her presence, wrapped around me like an embrace. Maybe, just for a moment, I will find peace in knowing that the love we shared—our conversations, our unfulfilled plans, our dreams—still lingers, untouched by time.