The Book-Loving Girl "A true story of two sisters"

In this small world created by the Almighty, countless types of people walk through life. Among them, my sister was truly different. Perhaps the cruel hands of time did not embrace her into its fold, but rather pushed her far, far away. The person who once silently accompanied my quiet hours has now become a resident of an unknown land. No matter how many times I call her “sister,” she will never respond again.

My sister was a very calm and gentle girl. The dust of the village roads embraced her time and again. Sometimes, the rain-soaked streets of the busy city also accepted her warmly. But with the passing of time, she is no longer among us.

I used to spend most of my day reading books with my sister. Among her many good habits, her love for books was unique. She truly loved to read—not as a casual hobby, but as a deep, heartfelt passion. Her love for books came from the very depths of her soul. Just as she completed her academic lessons sincerely, she also delved into literature beyond the classroom.

In my childhood, I wasn’t particularly fond of reading. I didn’t have much interest in books. But somehow, during the golden hours of life, watching my sister inspired me to develop the habit. I began my reading journey with Humayun Ahmed’s novels. Often, I would watch her in awe as she read, wondering how a girl could study literature so deeply and perfectly. On peaceful autumn afternoons, I would get lost in the pages of books. My love for my sister knew no bounds. Just like Humayun Ahmed once wrote, “My faith in nurturing women is boundless,” so too was my love for my sister—like a wave crashing against all limits. I often prayed to our Creator, asking that our bond as siblings remain unbroken on the path to eternity. But did that prayer come true? No. She left me behind and went alone to her Lord. Leaving me in this grand city, she disappeared into an unfamiliar world.

Our days together had been going well. If I went to the market and had some money left, I’d buy a book and bring it home. We would then sit together and read. Our love for books was profound.

Then one painful moment came when we learned she had some illness. She was taken to the hospital, but due to inadequate treatment, my beloved reading companion passed away. Yes, my sister died. On the day of her death, I couldn’t quite comprehend what had happened. But after her burial, I truly realized that I had lost something forever—something I would never find again in this world. Tears streamed down my cheeks as my heart melted in sorrow.

Now I realize that no one calls my name lovingly at the crack of dawn anymore. No one comes during leisure hours to chat, no one says, “There’s a new book collection, let’s read it together.” No more late-night reading sessions under a starry sky. No one welcomes me home joyfully after a long day.

She left forever for her eternal home. Sometimes I look up at the restless blue sky, watching flocks of birds fly to their nests, and I feel a wave of envy and love rush through me. I want to shout—Sister, can’t you come back as a bird and appear before me once more? Can’t you come back in the golden twilight and share your stories again?

But in the end, the truth remains—on this little earth surrounded by green trees, I will never find my precious sister again. She will never return to this spring-filled life to sweep away my sorrow. She left me and crossed into the land beyond, to the country of the River Jhelum.

In the twilight of life, I now find myself truly alone. Whenever I feel like reading, I buy a book myself and start reading. In the dusty pages, I search for my sister. I pray that one day the golden light of a new dawn will fill the courtyard of our hearts. May Allah, the Almighty, grant you the highest place in Paradise, dear sister. Perhaps I was lucky enough to share my blooming childhood with you—if God wills, we may again share golden moments on the steps of Jannah.

And that is how the book-loving girl disappeared—forever.