When the Lights Went Out

When the Lights Went Out

By Abdie.bhai 👑

It was the night the city lost power.
No warning. No storm. Just an eerie stillness, as if the sky had blinked — and everything disappeared with it.

I stood by the window, watching the streetlights die one by one, like tired stars giving up. Behind me, the candle flickered on the kitchen table, its flame shaky, like my breath. I didn’t know why this sudden darkness felt different. Maybe because this time, it had nothing to do with electricity.

This time, the darkness came from inside me.

Ever since my sister passed, I had lived in noise. I filled my days with music, TV shows I didn’t care about, endless social scrolling—anything to avoid hearing the echo of her absence. Silence felt dangerous. It reminded me that she wasn’t just away. She was gone.

That night, with no power and nowhere to run, I was forced to sit in that silence. And it was louder than anything I had ever heard.

Her room was still across the hall, untouched. The posters she loved, the little notebook she used to scribble in, her favorite sweater still hanging on the back of the door. I had kept everything the same—as if she might walk back in one day, laughing and complaining about something ridiculous.

But she wouldn’t.

Cancer doesn’t knock. It breaks in like a thief and robs you slow. It steals more than breath. It steals birthdays, hugs, inside jokes, and the sound of someone brushing their teeth in the next room. You never realize how loud love is until it goes quiet.

I sat down on the hallway floor, legs pulled in tight, head resting against the cold wall. The candlelight didn’t reach me there, but I didn’t care.

That’s when I heard it.

A hum.
Soft. Familiar. Not from the room, not from the candle—from memory.

My sister used to hum when she was nervous or couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t a real song, just a tune she made up and stuck with. She used to say it made her feel like the night had a rhythm, like it wouldn’t swallow her whole.

Now, that rhythm lived in me.

I started humming it too. Quietly, at first. Then louder, like she might hear me.
And in that moment, something shifted.

The darkness wasn’t so heavy.
The house didn’t feel so hollow.
And I didn’t feel quite so alone.

Grief is strange. It doesn’t leave, but it changes shape. At first, it feels like drowning. Then, like carrying stones in your pockets. But some nights—quiet, broken nights—it turns into something softer. Something that reminds you love doesn’t vanish. It just… changes form.

That night, the power never came back.
But I didn’t need it.

Because the light I needed was already inside me.
Lit by memory.
Kept alive by love.

And maybe—just maybe—healing begins not when the pain is gone, but when you can sit with it and still find beauty.

When you can sit in the dark…
…and still feel the warmth.I sat there longer than I meant to. Minutes? Hours? I couldn’t tell.

Outside, the wind picked up — not harsh, but soft. Like the world was finally breathing again. And for the first time in a long while, so was I.

I closed my eyes and imagined her sitting next to me, bare feet on the floor, messy hair, wearing that oversized hoodie she loved. I could almost hear her laugh — that short, high-pitched one that used to annoy me… but now, I’d give anything to hear it for real.

Isn't it strange how we only start to understand the value of moments when they become memories?

Grief didn’t go away that night. But something opened in me. A quiet peace. A gentle acceptance.

And maybe, that was enough for now.