Voicemail from Heaven

Title: Voicemail from Heaven

Part 1 – The Missed Call

It was a cold evening in November when Ayesha’s phone buzzed. She was curled up in bed, wrapped in her old blue blanket, the one her mother had given her. The wind outside howled through the gaps in the window, but inside, it was the silence that felt louder.

She picked up the phone. The screen lit up.

One New Voicemail.

Time: 7:15 PM.

Unknown Number.

Her thumb hovered over the notification. Who could be calling her at this hour from an unknown number? She almost deleted it—spam calls were common—but something about it made her pause.

She pressed “Play.”

What she heard froze her.

It was her mother’s voice.

Soft, warm, and trembling with emotion.

> “Ayesha… meri beti… mujhe tumse baat karni thi… main tum par fakhr karti hoon. Khud ka khayal rakhna… aur yaad rakhna… tum kabhi akeli nahi ho.”

The message ended abruptly.

Ayesha’s heart pounded.

Her mother had been dead for six months.

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Part 2 – Memories That Hurt and Heal

The days after her mother’s death had been a blur—flowers, condolences, endless cups of untouched tea. People had told her “time heals all wounds”, but they didn’t know what it was like to lose the one person who understood you without words.

Her mother, Nasreen, had been her best friend. They used to talk every night before bed, even if it was just a minute. Sometimes, her mother would leave her voicemails filled with random advice: “Zyada chai mat piya karo” or “Ghar se nikalte waqt dua padh lena.”

But this voicemail… it wasn’t old. It wasn’t one of the saved ones. It had today’s date.

Ayesha replayed it, over and over, tears blurring her vision. The words wrapped around her like a blanket, but also tore open wounds she thought were slowly healing.

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Part 3 – The Search for an Answer

The next morning, Ayesha couldn’t shake the feeling. She called her best friend Zara.

“Zara… mujhe mummy ka call aya tha,” she whispered.

There was silence on the line. “Ayesha… tum theek ho? Mummy…” Zara hesitated. “…tumhari mummy ko guzre hue kaafi waqt ho gaya hai.”

“I know!” Ayesha snapped, more sharply than she intended. “Lekin yeh sach hai. Main ne suna. Tum chahe toh main tumhe recording bhej sakti hoon.”

She sent it to Zara, who called back ten minutes later.

“Ayesha… yeh… yeh toh unki awaaz hai. Bilkul waise jaise woh baat karti thi. Lekin kaise?”

That was the question burning inside her.

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Part 4 – The Tech Explanation That Didn’t Satisfy

She took the recording to her cousin Sameer, a software engineer who spent most of his time surrounded by cables and glowing screens.

He plugged in her phone, ran some programs, and then shrugged. “Technically, yeh possible hai ke yeh koi old voicemail ho jo system ke delay ki wajah se ab deliver hua ho.”

“But Sameer… us din kaise? Us waqt kaise? Aur yeh baat… yeh sentence… mummy ne kabhi pehle nahi bola.”

Sameer looked uncomfortable. “Sometimes… cheezein samjhane ki zaroorat nahi hoti. Ho sakta hai coincidence ho.”

But Ayesha didn’t believe in coincidences. Not when it came to her mother.

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Part 5 – The Letter in the Drawer

That night, unable to sleep, Ayesha wandered into her mother’s old room. The wardrobe still smelled faintly of her lavender perfume. She opened the bottom drawer—one she hadn’t touched since the funeral.

Inside was a small envelope with her name on it. Her hands shook as she opened it.

Inside was a short handwritten note.

> “Meri pyari Ayesha, agar kabhi tumhe lage ke main tumhare paas nahi hoon, yaad rakhna—pyaar ka koi maut nahi hota. Aur kabhi kabhi, tum mujhe awaaz mein bhi sunogi. Jab bhi suno… samajh lena ke main tumhare saath hoon.”

Her breath caught. The handwriting was unmistakably her mother’s.

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Part 6 – The Second Message

Two days later, another voicemail came.

Again, an unknown number.

Again, her mother’s voice.

> “Ayesha… zindagi ka har din ek tohfa hai. Gham ko apna ghar mat banane dena. Apni muskaan wapas le aao.”

Ayesha broke down. These weren’t just random old recordings. They were messages—timed perfectly for the days she needed them most.

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Part 7 – Letting Go Without Losing

Weeks passed, and the messages kept coming. Each one was short, like a breath from the other side: reminders to eat, to rest, to smile.

One day, she decided to stop searching for the “how” and started focusing on the “why.”

Maybe this was a miracle. Maybe it was technology. Maybe it was both. But it didn’t matter.

What mattered was that her mother was still finding ways to love her, even from beyond.

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Part 8 – The Final Voicemail

It came on a warm spring morning. The number was the same. The voice was the same, but softer, like it was drifting away.

> “Ayesha… tum ab tayyar ho. Main tumhare dil mein hoon, hamesha. Ab tumhe apne par lagane hain. Main yahin hoon, par tumhe zindagi jeeni hai. Khuda hafiz, meri jaan.”

It was the last one.

No more voicemails came after that.

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Part 9 – Moving Forward

Ayesha kept every message saved, but she no longer waited for the phone to buzz. She began living again—visiting friends, painting like she used to, even laughing without guilt.

Sometimes, late at night, she’d play the messages again, not because she was sad, but because they reminded her of the truth her mother had left her with—love isn’t bound by life or death.

And in that way, her mother’s voice would always echo in her heart.

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💡 Moral: The ones we love never truly leave us. Their love finds a way to reach us—sometimes in whispers, sometimes in voicemails from heaven.