Ajzal A Sain

For Ajzal

I first wrote these words in May 2025, within an hour of hearing the news. My chest was heavy, panic pressing close, and I kept circling around the same questions: why didn’t I ever tell you what you meant to me? Why didn’t I walk into GMC, Calicut that day, or send that message without hesitation? Even now, months later, those questions don’t leave.

Back then, I wanted to believe that not meeting again was its own kind of mercy ,that no new memories meant fewer pieces to grieve. But I also knew the truth: you were the overachiever I always looked up to, the one whose stage presence I studied, whose raised brows before a question I practiced mimicking. Teachers trusted you, and so did we. You changed the way I saw things, even from a distance. And I never said that to you. I’m so sorry I didn’t.

A friend once told me that heaven might be a day in each of our lives ,not necessarily the happiest, but a day that holds forever. No two heavens are the same, except sometimes they touch. I hope mine touches yours. I hope I get to tell you, somewhere in that eternity, that you mattered to me, that I admired you more than you knew.

I kept this inside since May, unsure if it should stay private or find its way into the world. But now I’m letting it out ,carrying your memory gently, hoping that in some way this reaches the space you’ve moved into.

Rest well, Ajzal. You were special, and you always will be.