The Ember Within

The mirror stared back at her, a ghost of her old self. The corners of her lips, once always turned upward in a carefree smile, now seemed to have forgotten how to move. Meera sighed and looked away. It wasn’t the mirror's fault, after all.

Ever since her mother had fallen ill, her world had become a whirlwind of hospital visits, endless prescriptions, and sleepless nights. The vibrancy of her life had dimmed. Her phone was a graveyard of unanswered texts and missed calls, each one a reminder of the friends she no longer had time for.

On the outside, she managed to fake a smile, nod at polite conversations, and even crack a joke or two. But inside, she was hollow. It felt as though she were sleepwalking through a life that no longer felt like her own.

At weddings and family gatherings, Meera often found herself standing in a corner, observing. The women around her were radiant, their laughter echoing across the hall as they posed for pictures. They talked about vacations, shared beauty tips, and exchanged compliments. But no one came near her mother. Maybe they didn’t know what to say to someone who no longer danced, who no longer laughed.

Meera’s eyes often drifted toward her mother at these events. Once the life of every party, her mother now sat quietly, her frail hands resting on her lap, her eyes distant. There was no sparkle in them anymore.

“Will she ever be okay?” The question haunted Meera, lingering like an unwelcome guest. The lump in her throat grew heavier each time she thought of the future, a future she could barely dare to envision.

Responsibilities had wrapped around her like chains. From managing medicines to cooking meals, her life had become a routine of duties. Sometimes, she found herself staring at her textbooks, the words blurring into incomprehensible lines. The dreams she had once nurtured—to study abroad, to explore the world—felt like distant whispers from another lifetime.

She glanced at a group of girls her age giggling nearby. They spoke of weekend trips, new restaurants, and college gossip—a life Meera had once been a part of. Now, she barely remembered how it felt to be carefree.

For a brief moment, she had dared to dream again. He had walked into her life unexpectedly, bringing with him a flicker of hope. His laughter had been infectious, his kindness disarming. He had smiled at her, listened to her, and for the first time in years, she had felt seen.

But dreams have a cruel way of reminding you they’re not real. It was one-sided, just another illusion. Meera had poured her fragile hope into him, only to watch it shatter when he left. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but the pain was unbearable nonetheless. When he walked away, he took with him her tiny spark of joy.

Now, as she sat by the window, the moonlight casting long shadows in the room, she let her tears fall freely. Her reflection in the glass was almost unrecognizable—dark circles under her eyes, a pallor to her skin, and an ache that seemed to radiate from her very soul.

Yet, in the deepest corners of her heart, a tiny ember refused to die out.

Respect your mothers and stay happy, for she plays a huge role in shaping every aspect of your life. A mother is someone who holds a special place in your heart, and without her, no work feels complete. Her strength and support are unmatched, and she will always protect you, no matter what. Take the time to show her how much she means to you, and be there for her as she has always been there for you. It’s easy to get lost in the busyness of life, but remember, the love and care a mother gives can never be replaced. Her presence is a source of unconditional love, and she deserves all the respect and care in the world. When life gets overwhelming, hold onto the moments you share with her, and appreciate everything she does, for the days spent with a mother are the most precious ones. Always keep her safe, for she is your greatest supporter.

One evening, as she was clearing out a drawer, she came across an old photograph of her mother. It was from years ago—a family picnic by the lake. Her mother’s laughter was frozen in time, her hair catching the sunlight, her arms around a much younger Meera. It was a stark contrast to the woman who now sat quietly, wrapped in silence.

The sight of the photograph stirred something within Meera. The woman in the picture was still there, somewhere deep inside. Perhaps she could bring her back, if only for a moment.

The next morning, Meera decided to try something new. She set up a small table by the window, placing a bright yellow tablecloth over it. She brewed her mother’s favorite ginger tea and arranged a plate of biscuits. When her mother shuffled into the room, Meera greeted her with a warm smile and pulled out a chair.

“Let’s have tea together,” she said, her voice trembling but determined.

Her mother hesitated, looking at the setup with a mix of surprise and confusion. But slowly, she sat down.

As they sipped their tea, Meera began to talk—not about medicines or doctors, but about memories. She spoke of the picnic by the lake, the time her mother had taught her how to ride a bicycle, and the late-night cooking sessions they used to have.

For the first time in months, her mother smiled. It was faint, barely there, but it was real. And in that moment, Meera felt a glimmer of hope.

She realized then that while she couldn’t control everything, she could control the little moments. Perhaps she couldn’t bring back the past, but she could create new memories, even in the shadow of illness.

That night, as she lay in bed, Meera allowed herself to dream again—not of grand adventures or distant horizons, but of small joys. A cup of tea shared, a smile coaxed out, a day made brighter.

One day, she thought, clutching onto that fragile thread of hope. One day, things would change. One day, she’d find her smile again. But until then, she would carry this emptiness like an unwanted companion, walking forward with quiet strength.

And maybe, just maybe, the ember within her would grow into a flame.