A/N
READ AT YOUR OWN RISK...
A real life story...
Not for someone who only reads Jayfer fanics...it's a story of a girl...Just a request to you all to try something new... A new chapter of Of this book will be uploaded at 3 pm.
If you are reading this... DON'T CRY...š
Also comment your opinion...if you tell me to write part two of this then I surely will.
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She was nine years old.
The kind of nine-year-old who still believed that every problem had a solution.
If she fell, someone would pick her up.
If she cried, someone would hug her.
If she got scared, her father would tell her, "I'm here."
And somehow, everything would become okay again.
---
She grew up surrounded by love.
Not just the love of her parents.
The love of grandparents, cousins, relatives, neighbors, teachers, friends.
She was the only child of her parents, yet she never knew what loneliness felt like.
Her paternal grandmother spoiled her.
Her maternal grandparents treated her like their entire world.
In school, teachers adored her.
Classmates liked her.
And she had her little trio.
Two boys and one girl.
The three of them had been inseparable since childhood.
One of those boys had been her best friend since they were four years old.
They sat together.
Studied together.
Fought over silly things.
And every year, their names decorated the top three ranks of the class scoreboard.
Life was simple.
Life was beautiful.
Life was safe.
---
Then came 2020.
January.
She was in fourth standard.
Still worrying about homework and exams.
Still laughing over cartoons.
Still living in a world untouched by fear.
Then March arrived.
And with it came a word she had never heard before.
Covid-19.
The lockdown was announced.
Twenty-one days.
She jumped with excitement.
No school.
Exams postponed.
More time at home.
To a nine-year-old, it felt like an unexpected vacation.
She didn't know the world outside was slowly breaking.
---
Days turned into weeks.
Weeks turned into months.
Yet those months became some of the happiest days she ever spent with her parents.
Her father was always busy before.
Now he was home.
Every day.
Every meal.
Every laugh.
Every conversation.
She played games with him.
Watched television with him.
Sat beside him while he worked.
She never imagined that those ordinary moments would one day become her most precious memories.
---
By May, she was bored.
The huge house suddenly felt too quiet.
She missed her maternal grandparents.
She wanted to visit them.
So one day, she and her mother packed their bags and left.
Her father stayed behind.
His own mother was alone at home.
Someone had to stay with her.
Before leaving, he smiled.
"Go enjoy yourself."
She smiled back.
She didn't know she was seeing him for the last time.
---
A few days later, he developed fever.
Then cough.
Then weakness.
The Covid test came positive.
At first, she didn't understand.
People got sick all the time.
People recovered all the time.
Why was everyone acting so worried?
Why was her mother's face changing every day?
Why did her grandparents keep praying?
Why were adults whispering when they thought she wasn't listening?
---
One night she woke up.
The house was silent.
She saw her mother sitting in a corner.
Crying.
Hands folded.
Praying.
Begging God for something.
That was the first time fear entered her heart.
---
June arrived.
The month she would remember forever.
The month that would divide her life into two parts.
Before.
And After.
---
She herself had fever.
Her father had been admitted to the hospital.
He didn't want his elderly mother to get infected.
So he stayed away.
Far away.
Behind hospital walls.
Behind oxygen masks.
Behind phone screens.
---
June 6.
He needed oxygen support.
---
June 9.
The oxygen was increased.
---
June 11.
Doctors suggested ventilation.
The adults around her broke down.
She didn't understand why.
She didn't know what ventilation meant.
She only knew her mother cried even more that day.
---
June 12.
He was placed on a ventilator.
---
June 13.
The family decided they would return home on June 15.
Her grandmother was alone.
She needed support.
Everyone prepared to leave.
---
June 15.
A hot summer day.
Forty degrees.
The air outside burned.
Yet that morning, the little girl felt cold.
Strangely cold.
As if something invisible was passing through her.
Something she couldn't explain.
Something she couldn't understand.
---
They were getting ready.
Bags packed.
Clothes arranged.
Everything prepared for the journey.
Her mother was helping her change clothes.
And thenā
A phone rang.
---
Just a phone call.
A simple sound.
A normal ring.
The kind that happens every day.
Yet some phone calls split lives into two pieces.
---
Her mother answered.
The girl's eyes stayed fixed on her.
Waiting.
Watching.
Confused.
---
For a second, her mother's face became completely blank.
As if all color had been drained from it.
As if time had stopped.
As if the entire world had stopped breathing.
---
Then the phone slipped from her hand.
And she screamed.
A scream so painful that the little girl still remembered it years later.
---
The adults rushed toward her mother.
Questions.
Tears.
Panic.
Prayers.
Noise.
Chaos.
---
The little girl stood there.
Frozen.
Not understanding.
Not knowing.
Not ready.
---
Someone finally whispered the words.
"The doctors said... his heart has stopped."
"They are trying their best."
---
Heart stopped?
What did that mean?
He would come back, right?
Doctors fix people.
Hospitals save people.
That's what hospitals do.
Right?
---
So she waited.
For someone to say he was okay.
For someone to smile.
For someone to tell her not to worry.
---
Nobody did.
---
The room filled with cries.
Adults who had always seemed strong suddenly looked helpless.
Her mother collapsed.
Her grandparents sobbed.
And for the first time in her life, she saw fear in the eyes of the people who were supposed to protect her.
---
That was the moment childhood quietly began slipping away.
Not all at once.
Not dramatically.
Just slowly.
Like sand falling through fingers.
---
And somewhere far away, inside a hospital room she could not enter, a father was fighting his final battle.
While his little girl stood waiting.
Still believing he would come home.
Still believing promises never break.
Still believing fathers are forever.
---
But sometimes life asks a child to learn a lesson far too early.
And June 15, 2020, was the day a nine-year-old girl learned that some phone calls never end.
Even after years.
Even after growing up.
Even after learning to smile again.
Because part of her would always remain in that room.
Standing there.
Listening.
Waiting.
Praying.
For a miracle that never came. š
The Phone Call ā Part 2
The house felt empty.
Not because there were no people.
But because hope had quietly left.
---
The little girl sat in a corner, hugging her knees.
Adults were crying.
Phones were ringing.
Relatives were being informed.
Yet something hurt her more than anything else.
No one was coming.
No neighbors.
No visitors.
No familiar faces.
The same people who once filled the house during festivals and celebrations stayed behind closed doors.
Everyone was afraid.
Afraid of Covid.
Afraid of infection.
Afraid of getting too close.
She was only nine.
She didn't understand fear the way adults did.
All she knew was that her family was breaking apart, and the world outside seemed to have turned away.
---
A few hours later, she left with her maternal grandparents for her paternal house.
The journey felt endless.
Nobody spoke much.
The roads looked strangely silent.
The entire country seemed frozen.
---
When she reached home, her grandmother was sitting alone.
The old woman who had spent her entire life beside her son.
The old woman who had watched him grow from a little boy into a father.
Now she sat there staring at nothing.
As if her soul had forgotten how to move.
---
The little girl wanted to run into her father's room.
She wanted to see his clothes.
His watch.
His books.
Anything.
Everything.
Something that still smelled like him.
---
Meanwhile, her mother was preparing to leave for the hospital.
There were papers to sign.
Formalities to complete.
Things a wife never imagines she will have to do.
---
The little girl grabbed her mother's hand.
Tightly.
Desperately.
As if letting go would make everything real.
---
"Maa..."
Her voice shook.
"Take me with you."
---
Her mother broke down again.
She knelt before her daughter.
Holding her face.
Trying to be strong.
Trying to explain something impossible.
---
"You can't come, sweetheart."
---
"Why?"
---
"I want to see Papa."
---
The answer never made sense to her.
Covid rules.
Restrictions.
Hospital protocols.
Only a few close relatives allowed.
No children.
No final gathering.
No last meeting.
No last touch.
---
The little girl cried harder.
"Please, Maa."
"I'll stay quiet."
"I just want to see Papa once."
---
But some doors remained closed.
No matter how much a child begged.
---
For the first time in her life, she realized that wanting something with all your heart doesn't mean you'll get it.
---
Her mother stood up.
Ready to leave.
Ready to face the hardest journey of her life.
---
Then the girl asked something that silenced the room.
Something no nine-year-old should ever have to ask.
---
"Maa..."
"If I can't come..."
Her voice cracked.
"Can you take one last photo of Papa for me?"
---
The room fell silent.
---
Because suddenly everyone understood.
The child wasn't asking for a picture.
She was asking for a memory.
A final piece of her father.
Something she could hold onto when he was gone.
Something she could look at years later and say,
"This was my Papa."
---
Her mother could barely answer.
Tears streamed down her face.
Yet she nodded.
---
The girl nodded back.
Trying to be brave.
Trying to act grown up.
Trying not to cry.
---
But the moment her mother left, she ran to her father's room.
Closed the door.
And finally broke.
---
She hugged his pillow.
The pillow that still carried a faint trace of his scent.
And she cried.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just the quiet cries of a little girl whose heart couldn't understand why the person she loved most wasn't coming home.
---
That night she kept staring at the door.
Waiting.
A habit children have.
A belief children carry.
---
Maybe Papa would walk in.
Maybe the doctors made a mistake.
Maybe miracles happen.
Maybe tomorrow would fix everything.
---
But tomorrow came.
And then another tomorrow.
And another.
---
The door never opened.
His footsteps never returned.
His voice never echoed through the house again.
---
The Beginning of the Storm
People think the story ended there.
With a hospital.
A phone call.
A father's last breath.
A nine-year-old girl's broken heart.
---
But it didn't.
Not even close.
That was only the first chapter.
The first wound.
The first goodbye.
The first time life looked into her innocent eyes and showed her how cruel it could be.
---
At nine years old, she thought losing her father would be the hardest thing she would ever face.
She was wrong.
---
She didn't know that grief changes people.
That one loss can create a hundred invisible battles.
That sometimes the world expects children to grow up long before they are ready.
---
The girl who once laughed without thinking would slowly learn how to smile while carrying pain.
The girl who once believed everyone stayed forever would learn that people leave.
The girl who once felt protected by the world would learn how unforgiving the world could be.
---
There would be nights of silent tears.
Moments of loneliness in crowded rooms.
Questions that would never receive answers.
Days when she would miss him so much that simply hearing the word Papa would hurt.
---
She would watch other children holding their fathers' hands.
She would watch school events.
Birthdays.
Achievements.
Milestones.
And somewhere deep inside, a small voice would whisper,
"Papa should have been here for this."
---
Yet life wasn't finished writing her story.
Not even close.
---
Because hidden beneath the grief was a strength she didn't know she possessed.
A strength that would be forged through heartbreak.
Through disappointments.
Through battles no child should ever fight.
---
One day people would see her smile.
And assume life had been easy.
They would see her achievements.
And assume success came naturally.
They would see her standing tall.
And never realize how many times she had fallen.
---
What they wouldn't know was that everything began with a little girl in June 2020.
A little girl sitting in a room.
Waiting for a father who would never return.
---
And while the world saw a child,
Life saw a warrior being created.
Not by choice.
Not by destiny.
But by survival.
---
This wasn't the end of her story.
This was the moment her childhood ended.
And the moment she unknowingly stepped into a world far harsher than she had ever imagined.
A world that would test her again and again.
A world that would take pieces of her and force her to rebuild herself.
A world that would make her cry, break, heal, and rise countless times.
---
And if you ask her today when her life truly changedā
She would not point to a birthday.
She would not point to a school year.
She would not point to an achievement.
---
She would point to June 2020.
To a phone call.
To a closed hospital door.
To a goodbye she never got to say.
---
Because that was not the end of a story.
That was the beginning.
The beginning of a very young girl learning how to survive in a world that had suddenly become far too cruel for a nine-year-old heart. šāØ