From the moment I entered this world, my life was marked by challenges. My birth was fraught with complications, and I was nearly stillborn. Doctors feared the worst, but somehow, I clung to life. This early brush with mortality set the tone for my existence, a life that would be forever shaped by adversity and resilience. As a toddler, I took a tumble from my bed, striking my head with a force that left me unconscious. Rushed to the hospital, I underwent an MRI scan, revealing severe head injuries that left me paralyzed. The doctors' prognosis was grim, but my father, a man of unwavering determination, refused to accept their defeatist outlook. He embarked on a mission to restore my mobility, subjecting me to rigorous daily physical exercises. Under his unwavering guidance, I began to show signs of improvement. My limbs, once lifeless, regained movement. My speech, once slurred and unintelligible, gradually became clearer. It was a slow and arduous journey, but with unwavering determination, I defied the odds. Yet, the scars of my past lingered. My physical limitations persisted, and I was often left feeling isolated and misunderstood. But these challenges, instead of breaking me, only served to strengthen my resolve. I refused to let my circumstances define me. As I grew older, I discovered that my physical limitations were not a barrier to success. I excelled in my studies, demonstrating a sharp intellect and a voracious appetite for knowledge. I found solace in creative pursuits, pouring my emotions into art, music, and writing. My life has been a testament to the power of resilience, a story of overcoming adversity and finding joy in the face of unimaginable challenges. I am a survivor, a warrior, a testament to the indomitable human spirit.

Our family was the epitome of contentment. We had finally achieved our dream of owning a beautiful four-story home. The year was 2009, and we were basking in the joy of settling into our new permanent abode. My father, an engineer by profession, was the driving force behind this dream come true. He had meticulously planned every detail of our new home, ensuring it reflected our family's aspirations and values. On October 6, 2009, our family was engrossed in the excitement of a cricket match between Pakistan and Bangladesh. The match was electrifying, and the air was buzzing with the anticipation of victory. However, amidst the fervor of the game, a sudden wave of pain washed over my father. He clutched his chest, his face contorted in discomfort. Initially, we dismissed his discomfort as heartburn, offering him antacids in hopes of easing his pain. However, as the night progressed, his condition worsened. His breathing became labored, and his face took on an ashen hue. Panic gripped our hearts as we rushed him to the hospital. At 11 o'clock, the doctors delivered the devastating news: my father had suffered a heart attack. They immediately administered medication, desperately trying to reverse the tide of fate. But fate was unrelenting. At 7 am the next morning, our beloved father slipped away from us. The silence that engulfed our home was deafening, a stark contrast to the joy that had once filled its walls. The dream house we had built with such anticipation now felt empty and hollow. My father, the architect of our dreams, was gone, leaving behind a void that could never be filled. As we grappled with our grief, we struggled to comprehend the suddenness of his departure. Why did he not have more time? Why was our happiness snatched away so abruptly? The questions gnawed at our hearts, leaving an ache that seemed insurmountable. In the days that followed, we sought solace in the memories of my father's love, strength, and resilience. His laughter, his wisdom, and his unwavering presence were the pillars that had supported our family. We vowed to honor his legacy by carrying on his spirit, living our lives with the same determination and zest that had characterized him. The seventh floor of our house, once a symbol of our family's aspirations, now served as a constant reminder of our loss. The empty rooms echoed with the silence of his absence, a poignant contrast to the vibrant life he had once brought to our home. My father may have been physically gone, but his essence remained, forever etched in our hearts. His memory served as a beacon of hope, guiding us through the darkness of grief and reminding us of the power of love, resilience, and the enduring spirit of family.