I witnessed life unfolding slowly inside an elderly home—where the silence was heavy, and every corner whispered stories of love that time left behind.
I saw a mother sitting quietly by the door—not to feel the sun, but because her heart still waits for the child who once said, “I’ll be back soon.”
I saw fathers staring into the distance, their eyes filled with memories no one asks about anymore. Faces that once smiled for us now wear only the weight of waiting.
In those small rooms, I witnessed a lifetime of sacrifices—folded into worn-out clothes and faded photographs.
Love once loud, now buried in silence.
And one day, I saw a mother take her last breath. She left this world with her eyes still searching the doorway. No one from her family came—not even to say goodbye.
She left with love in her heart, and an empty chair beside her bed.
But I also saw something else—moments when a son or daughter finally came to visit. How their eyes lit up, how their hands trembled with joy. Some cried quietly, others sobbed with their whole being. The happiness, the emotions, the tears… they made the walls come alive again, even if just for a moment.
They gave us everything: their strength, their dreams, their sleepless nights.
And now, they ask for almost nothing—just a little time, a familiar voice, a hand to hold.
Not to be forgotten.
Just… to be remembered.
— GMB Akash
GMB AKASH 