You’re still here!

Kulsum Ahad | Khursheed Ahmad Shah

Tabii sat at the window, her gaze lost in the downpour outside. The rain fell relentlessly, matching the rhythm of her heart—a constant, heavy beat that never seemed to stop. Each drop that hit the ground seemed to echo the weight of the years of hurt, disappointment, and loss that had piled up around her like a suffocating wall. She had once been a girl full of hope, brimming with dreams and joy, but somewhere along the way, those dreams had been crushed, and the joy had slipped through her fingers. Now, there was only the numbness, the quiet ache that seemed to live inside her, impossible to ignore.

She couldn’t remember when it all started to unravel. Maybe it was one heartache too many, or one betrayal that cut too deep. Maybe it was the failure after failure, the never-ending cycle of trying, hoping, only to be knocked down again. Her life felt like a series of broken promises, both from others and from herself. The dreams she had once held close now seemed foolish, unreachable.

She had spent so many nights staring at the ceiling, the silence deafening in its cruelty. The loneliness felt like a heavy fog, suffocating her, blocking her from the world outside. Every day felt the same—a struggle to get out of bed, a struggle to put on a smile, a struggle to pretend that everything was fine when she could feel the cracks in her heart deepening.

Tabii closed her eyes, trying to quiet the storm inside her mind. She had tried so hard to hold it together, tried so hard to keep going, but the weight was too much. The losses, the pain, the constant ache of never feeling good enough—it was all too overwhelming. She wanted to scream, to break free from the suffocating grip of her own despair. But there was nowhere to go, no escape from the relentless storm inside her.

And then, in the midst of the thunderous rain and the endless thoughts swirling in her mind, she heard something—a voice, soft but clear, breaking through the chaos.

You’re still here.

At first, it didn’t make sense. She wanted to dismiss it, wanted to shove it aside, because how could that be true? She didn’t feel like she was “here.” She felt lost, empty, broken into a thousand pieces. How could she possibly still be here?

But the words lingered, like a lifeline thrown into the deep, dark ocean of her grief. You’re still here.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and for a moment, she was overwhelmed by the sheer vulnerability of that truth. Despite everything, despite all the pain, all the heartbreak, she was still here. She had been through hell, and yet, she was still standing—shattered, yes, but standing.

It wasn’t a miracle. It wasn’t a sudden wave of joy or a flood of answers. But in that moment, she understood something she hadn’t been able to see for so long: survival is a kind of strength, too. It wasn’t about being perfect or whole; it was about getting up every day, no matter how broken you felt, and just… breathing.

She didn’t know what came next, didn’t know how to fix herself or her life. But for the first time in years, she didn’t feel completely lost. The storm inside her didn’t disappear, but the thought of being here—of being alive—gave her just enough strength to take the next step. Even if that step was small, even if it was barely a movement forward at all, it was a step.

The next day, when she woke up to the gray light of morning, it wasn’t like the world had suddenly gotten better. But she could breathe a little easier. She could look outside and see the rain slowly turning to mist. The air was still damp, but there was something in the quiet that made her feel less alone.

Tabii didn’t have the answers. She didn’t know how to heal the wounds that ran so deep. But she made a decision, quietly, to start somewhere—anywhere. Even if it was just picking up a book, or taking a walk, or eating a meal without feeling like it was a struggle. She started with the smallest acts, but each one felt like a triumph, a way to fight back against the darkness that had tried so hard to swallow her.

There were days when the weight of it all seemed unbearable again, when the old feelings of doubt and sadness crept back in. But now, when they did, she whispered those words to herself like a mantra: You’re still here.

And slowly, something inside her began to shift. It wasn’t quick or easy. It didn’t come in bursts of joy or sudden epiphanies. But over time, Tabii began to feel the flicker of something new inside her—hope. Hope wasn’t something she had ever believed in for herself. It had always seemed like a distant, unattainable thing, meant for others, not for her. But now, she saw that hope wasn’t some grand gesture or some fairy-tale ending. It was about choosing, every single day, to keep going. To keep showing up, even when it felt like nothing was worth it.

And then, one quiet evening, Tabii stood in front of the mirror. She had itspent so many years avoiding her own reflection, too afraid of what she might see—too afraid of the brokenness. But this time, she didn’t look away. She looked at herself, really looked at the woman who stood there. She wasn’t perfect. She wasn’t fixed. But she was here. And somehow, in that moment, that was enough.

For the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to feel something real—pride. Not in who she was, but in who she had fought to become. She had survived. She had fought against the odds, against the pain, and she was still standing. And maybe that was enough to start again.

Tabii wasn’t healed. She was still in the process of mending, still facing the scars that would never disappear. But she had found something stronger than all the pain she had endured: the courage to keep going. And that, in the end, was all that mattered.

Because, no matter how dark the night, the truth was simple and undeniable—she was still here. And as long as she was still here, she would keep fighting.

About Authors: Kulsum Ahad is a scholar working on Women Empowerment and Rural Development in the Department of Social Work at the University of Kashmir

Khursheed Ahmad Shah, A freelance journalist from Kashmir who have contributed to different national and local media organizations including 101 Reporters, News Click, Good Food Movement, Kashmir Life, and Kashmir Times. Currently he is working with an Euro India Global platform Media India Group (MIG) as an editorial Intern. The author can be reached at shahkhursheed918@gmail.com