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March 10, 2026 – 2:47 am Location: Block 15, Gulistan-e-Johar Vibe: The heavy silence before Sehri. I am sitting here, looking at my family. My parents, my brothers, my sister. We are all under one roof in Jauhar, tucked away while the city hums outside. The thought hit me tonight: What if this is the last time we are all together in this world? What if the timeline for all of us from my start in 2001 to their own beginning dates ends on this exact 20th day of Ramadan? If a home invasion took us all tonight, the world would see it as a tragedy, a news headline, a closed door in Block 15. But in the quiet of this room, I realize it would be something else. It would be a collective exit. No one left behind to mourn. No one left to carry the weight of an empty house. In our faith, dying like that—unjustly, and in this holy month makes us Shuhada (martyrs). It means that the violence of the world is just a flickering second, a sharp noise that is immediately drowned out by an eternal peace. We would leave the chaos of Karachi together and wake up in a place where the doors never need to be locked. The Quran says that those who believe will be joined by their families in the gardens of Eden. I imagine us walking out of this life and into the next as a single unit. My parents wouldn't have to worry about our future; my siblings and I wouldn't have to face a world without them. It’s a heavy thing to vent out, but there’s a strange comfort in it. If we go, we go as we lived: together. Under the protection of the best month of the year. The lights are still on. The tea is still warm. We are here, and for now, that is everything.