The Window That Waited

Chapter 1: The Same Window

Every morning at 7:30 sharp, Ammi Jan opened the window of her small drawing room in Rawalpindi.

Rain or shine, winter or summer — she sat on the same wooden chair, in front of the same window, holding a cup of chai.

People on the street came to expect her like the sunrise.

Some waved.

Some ignored.

Some wondered:

"Why does she just sit there… every single day?"

But no one knew that Ammi Jan was not watching the street.

She was watching a promise.

Chapter 2: Letters Without Dates

It started 20 years ago, when her youngest son, Rehan, went abroad for studies in Malaysia.

He had said:

“Ammi, I’ll come back as soon as I can. Maybe in a year. Don’t forget me.”

She smiled, kissed his forehead, and handed him a small envelope.

“I’ll wait at this window till you return.”

That one sentence became her routine.

Every morning, she wore her dupatta, made chai, opened the window, and waited.

The neighbors assumed it was a habit.

But for her, it was hope in motion.

Chapter 3: Seasons Passed

Years passed.

Rehan wrote less and less.

Emails replaced letters. Then silence replaced emails.

Her other children said:

“Ammi, he’s busy. Don’t take it personally.”

But she knew.

He wasn’t lost.

He was just… forgetting.

Chapter 4: Small Joys

Still, she didn’t stop.

She began keeping a notebook titled: “Today from My Window”

She’d write about:

The cat who visited the neighbor’s roof daily

The boy who always ran late to school

The new rickshaw that played old Indian songs

The sky, the trees, the air

She called it:

“My moving newspaper.”

One day she wrote:

“No one came for me today. But the clouds did. They always do.”

Chapter 5: The Girl Next Door

A new family moved into the house next door. A young girl, Areeba, noticed Ammi Jan.

Every day she saw her at the window — calm, quiet, alone.

One day, Areeba came with flowers.

“Yeh aap ke liye.”

Ammi Jan’s eyes sparkled.

That day, they sat together and had chai. Areeba listened to stories of old Lahore, post cards, lost songs, handwritten recipes, and window wisdom.

Soon, she started coming every Sunday.

“Aap ka window mujhe sukoon deta hai,” she said.

Chapter 6: The Forgotten Email

One evening, while clearing her old drawer, Areeba found a dusty USB. Out of curiosity, she opened it on her laptop.

In it was a Word document titled:

"Ammi — Letter I Never Sent"

It was from Rehan.

Written 8 years ago.

It read:

"I want to return, Ammi. But I’m ashamed. It’s been so long. I feel like I broke your trust. I see your face in every quiet morning. But I’m scared you won’t forgive me."

Areeba showed it to Ammi Jan.

She didn’t cry.

She just smiled and said:

“Tell him… the window is still open.”

Chapter 7: The Message Sent

With permission, Areeba sent Rehan a message on LinkedIn.

Just a photo of the window, and one line:

“She’s still there.”

The message was seen.

And for two weeks — nothing.

But on the fifteenth morning, as Ammi Jan sat by the window, a car pulled up.

She adjusted her glasses.

Then froze.

A man stepped out.

Grayer, thinner, slower — but still her Rehan.

He walked up the stairs silently.

The door opened.

They didn’t speak.

They just… hugged.

Longer than time.

Stronger than memory.

Final Chapter: The Window Closed, But the Heart Stayed Open

Ammi Jan no longer waits at the window.

Not because she gave up.

But because what she waited for — came home.

Now, the same window has a plant shelf, a bird feeder, and a small chair for Areeba.

People still pass by and look.

Some say:

“What a peaceful window.”

They don’t know…

That window once held the weight of a mother’s love, a son’s guilt, and life’s gentle patience.

🌿 Closing Message:

Sometimes, love is not loud.

It just waits — silently, patiently, faithfully.

Like a window that never forgets who it opened for.