She lives in our dreams

She Lives in Our Dreams Sana comes to us in our dreams every day. Not summoned by dates or anniversaries, not tied to an occasion or a memory that demands attention—she is simply there. As if she never left our minds. Idris dreams of her too. It feels as though she lives with us still, woven into our waking hours and carried with us into sleep. Dreams are made of memory, and sometimes they feel unbearably real. In those moments, she is close enough to touch, close enough to forget—just for a breath—that absence exists. I choose to believe this is her way of reaching us, of speaking in a language beyond words. It is the only thought that steadies me: that love does not end, that it finds new ways to remain. This Christmas arrived quietly, carrying both tenderness and ache. Serena and Maahir had their first Christmas tree, its lights glowing with new beginnings. And yet my heart wandered back to Sana. She loved Christmas. She loved winter—the sparkle of lights, the rituals, the sense of celebration that filled the cold with warmth. It was never the extravagance she cared for. The simplest joys were always enough. I hold one memory with gratitude. Sana had always dreamed of celebrating Christmas and I am glad she ticked it off her bucket list. She spent that Christmas with Ritika and her family in Italy standing beside a tree, exchanging presents, wrapped in the joy of a season she cherished. That knowing brings a quiet, bittersweet peace. Grief does not always roar. Sometimes it drifts in softly—through dreams, through holiday lights, through moments meant for celebration. Sana lives on in those spaces. In our memories. In our dreams. In the love that continues to shape us, long after everything else has changed.