entry #4

Eight days after my bike accident, my body gave me a new challenge. My elbow, already hurt, swelled up as if it had its own story to tell. The pain became a constant part of my day, a nagging reminder I couldn’t ignore. I sent photos of it to Roney, and his calm but firm advice was to see an orthopedist. Now, here I am with my right arm in a plaster cast—stuck with it for 21 days as it heals. The doctor said this temporary discomfort would save me from bigger problems later, and I reluctantly agreed.

I’m slowly learning to use my left hand for everything. It’s not easy—I struggle and adjust—but I’m not doing it alone. The love and care I’ve received have been overwhelming. Friends, family, and kind-hearted people have surrounded me with support, bringing flowers, food, and endless encouragement. In the middle of all this pain, I feel deeply grateful.

To each of you, I owe more than words can express. But let me try.

Ammu: You begin each day, not just with a call, but with a kind of watchfulness only mothers possess. Your concern, your questions, your voice—they hold me more tightly than any bandage.

Zaber: From hospital runs to arranging every little thing I could need, you’ve left no stone unturned. My gratitude for you is endless, as is my awe. 

Shamma: You are nourishment in its truest form. Each container of food you send feels like a quiet declaration: You are not alone. You never let me forget it.

Lena Apa: You mother without hesitation. Through you, your family has wrapped me in a warmth I didn’t know I needed. I feel it in the softness of home-cooked meals. In your calls. In your unwavering steadiness.

Roney: Distance means little when hearts are bound as ours are. You are my brother in every sense that matters, Your calm presence and medical guidance have been a balm for my restless spirit.

Naureen: Two years, and yet you understand me as though we share lifetimes. Your visit with Nasser was a kind of quiet balm, a reminder that connection doesn’t ask for time—it simply is.

Shahirah: A spark, a smile, a sudden presence. You arrived in my life like sunlight breaking through a closed window—unexpected, but just right. I’m thankful for your light. 

Annika: Even when the road got uneven, you kept showing up. You chose presence over pride, and I’ll never forget the generosity in that choice.

Tahsin: You appear rarely, but when you do, it’s with impact. Your gift, a basket of comfort and care, was a reminder of the beauty of thoughtfulness. 

Mahdi: Even in your own sickness, you’ve been there for me, anticipating my smallest needs and meeting them with a lot of enthusiasm. Your presence, and generosity are things I’ll never forget. 

Prince: Soon, you’ll be gone, chasing something bigger. But right now, your consistency, your loyalty, your presence in the smallest things—it means more than I can say.

Emran: At work, you are more than a colleague. You are my younger brother in every way that counts.

Laltu Bhai: You came, arms full of food, as though trying to feed my broken spirit as much as my body. 

Tasaffy & Brinta: You brought breakfast and laughter, cleaning apples and clutter alike. Your warmth filled the hollow spaces of my home and heart.

Reyan: Even from afar, your daily messages wrapped around me like a thread. I never felt forgotten.

Labib: Your visit, the shared pizza, and our conversations were simple but carried immense weight in lifting my spirits.

Tilottama: Since 2015, you’ve been a distant lighthouse. Even from afar, your voice has reached through the screen, pulling me out of despair and restoring a sense of hope. 

Ismail Bhai: Your texts, filled with love and prayers, have been a lifeline during this difficult time.

Peash: You’ve seen the worst of me and stayed. You’ve helped me bathe when I couldn’t lift my arm. That kind of care is rare, and I will never forget it.

Samira. Your bouquet arrived like a whisper in the chaos. Beautiful. Unassuming. Exactly when I needed it.

And then there are others—My own sister, Hasim, Saba, Maisha, Roshni, Shareen, AB, MiltonDa, Mim, Russell Bhai, Bilal, Alamgir Bhai, Fuad— Your calls, visits, a moment, kindness, formed a net I didn’t even know was catching me.

This experience has made one truth uncomfortably clear: we do not heal alone. The cast will come off. The pain will dull. But what will stay with me is the tenderness of being seen, of being carried, sometimes by people I least expected. Sometimes in ways I didn’t know I needed.

There are still nights I wake up aching—not just from the injury, but from the overwhelming gratitude I don’t know where to put.

So I leave it here, in these words. Not as closure, but as offering.

Thank you. To all of you. For holding me through the ache.

18.12.2024