Papa,
Some goodbyes arrive quietly—
so quietly that the walls don’t hear,
the clocks don’t tremble,
and the night doesn’t even blink
while stealing a whole world away.

I still replay that moment—
1:30 a.m.,
you walking to the kitchen
to drink water by yourself.
You could have whispered for help…
but you never did.
Not in life,
not in pain,
not even while leaving.
You carried even your final breath
like a responsibility—
silent, careful, selfless.

That was you—
a saint disguised as my father,
a man who fulfilled every wish of mine
with sweat-earned money
and a smile that never complained.
You taught me, lifted me,
gave me dreams you never kept for yourself.

And after my marriage—
those tiny 59-second calls…
“Beti, kaise ho?”
just to hear my voice,
just to feel close
even when miles stood between us.
I never knew a minute
could hold so much love.

Papa,
the regret still claws at me—
I didn’t call you on New Year.
One call,
one minute,
one “Happy New Year, Papa”—
and yet I let time slip.
If I had known
that would be your last New Year,
I would’ve called you first…
and last…
and longer.

And our astrology talks—
stars, planets, destiny—
you made the cosmos feel small,
simply because you understood it
like you understood me.
Now I look at the sky
trying to find where you’ve gone…
wondering which star
holds your laughter.

Two dates hurt the most—
2nd January,
when the world lost a saint;
16th January,
when the world should’ve celebrated one.

Yet I thank you—
for loving me fiercely,
for raising me gently,
for leaving strength in my bones
even as you left a void in my chest.

Papa,
if heaven allows letters,
read this one the way you once heard my voice—
with patience,
with pride,
with that quiet love
only fathers carry.

And know this—
I’m still your little girl,
still learning to live
in a world
where the night you didn’t wake anyone
still wakes me.

— Your Daughter
Shraddha Agrawal
insta: cashraddhaagrawal