कुछ घर ईंटों और सीमेंट से नहीं बनते। कुछ घर लोगों से बनते हैं। और जब वो लोग चले जाते हैं , तो घर बचा रहता है , लेकिन घर नहीं बचता। I am writing something this long after a very long time. Maybe longer than I should have waited. I do not think I am writing this particularly well. Some experiences refuse to fit neatly into words, and this is one of them. But memory has a strange habit of fading at the edges, and I wanted to leave something behind for myself. A place where I can return years from now and find them again. Not exactly as they were, because that is impossible, but as honestly as I remember them today. There are some losses that do not feel real even after they have happened. The mind understands the facts, the dates, the rituals, the phone calls, the silence, but the heart keeps standing at the same old door, waiting for everything to become normal again. My family died in a road accident on 25th April 2026. My father, my mother, and my yo...