I remembered the whiteness of the cloth that was covering his lifeless body. The dryness of fallen tears against my cheeks. My white collared shirt was already dried from the wet tears I cried the night I arrived to Mumbai's International Airport. I was sitting on the cold tiled floor of my uncle's apartment, as I heard people mourning, crying, and coming in to wish condolences to my family in the background. I looked at him, his combination of grey and white beard and hair. Totally unrecognizable. Who was he to me? I felt the urge to shake him, to wake him up, to scream and shout at him to please wake up. He would wake up any minute now and tell me it was just a joke. I could barely feel the oxygen filling my lungs and my aching heart. I felt as someone had stabbed me into the chest, as tear droplets started to form at the corner of my eyes. Those tears started to fall, perching on top of my nose and dropping on my white shirt once again. I suddenly wanted to hug the person laying down on that white tiled flooring, crying and telling him to please wake up.

How did it happen so fast? He was fine when he was at home, or was that an illusion that I made up to believe he was alright. I should've known then. He was fading away little by little as he decayed slowly, unknowingly. Then I remembered all the memories that I shared with him, and all the things he would do for me even when he was at his worst. How could this man I've known since birth die before my very eyes. I questioned a lot, why now? Why did he have to die? I was halfway done with high school. He was going to miss all the other important memories in my life that I wanted him to attend, such as my graduation and my wedding, if I ever did get married.

My eyes grew distracted, as I was shook by my uncle, my dad's brother. His dried red eyes stared into mine, as his face was numb. He gazed at my father then back at me, as tears started to fall from his eyes. He told me to go to bathroom, because it was time for preparation to go to the graveyard. I got up slowly, as I bypassed people and saw my relatives crying and mourning. The hallway I passed through was white as the clothing as everybody else in the room. They were like white doves in a large group, mourning, uninterrupted crying and praying. I walked into the small bedroom I took a nap on in the morning when we reached from the airport. The red bedsheets reminded me of the scarlet color of blood. I opened another door to the bathroom, which was slippery as I walked on the wet, white tiles to the white sink.

I was gazing through the mirror, as I saw my twin staring right back at me. Then everything came flashing back to me as an old, black and white fashioned film was playing in my head. To the day it all started. To the events that took place before all this even happened. Back to that chilly twenty-third May morning. I remembered getting off the bus stop and the over noise from my headphones that were playing incredibly loud club music melodies. The walk to Dublin High's Library, entering and greeting the librarian as I made my way to the end of the library. I sat myself at the last table seat I could find that was empty. I got my jet black Jansport backpack off my shoulders and started to work on the writing assignment that was due fifth period English. I worked continuously for fifteen minutes, as the motion of people scattered away from the library. I got my materials packed up as I zipped the zipper on my backpack. I exited the metal detectors, as I did so I waved goodbye to the librarian.
As I exited the library, the wind roared in my face as it rustled through my wavy, curly hair. I walked to my French class, to the M building of the school. As I approached the room, the door was wide opened for me like a greeting to come in. I walked in greeting my teacher in French, "Bonjour, Comment ça va?" Afterwards, I found my assigned seat at the moment of the second bell ringing in the room, as everybody else rushed into class as a herd. They were shuffling and bumping into each other as wild animals as they made way to their seats. French class was all about reviewing the previous night's homework and the passé compose.

The fifty-five minutes spent in that class went by quickly as it started. I remembered the rushing out of the classroom by other students as if they were going to miss a plane. I waited as the others went out before I packed my belongings into the large, dark pouch of the Jansport backpack. I waved goodbye to my French teacher, as I exited the classroom. I walked to the other side of the campus, to my next class. I met some good friends of mine, bumping fists and chatting about lunch plans. I headed into my math classroom, sitting down in my assigned seat, which was near the front of the room.

Fifteen minutes into the class, the campus supervisor came in with a pass. She handed the pass to my teacher, as she walked back outside, as she held the door slightly opened. The next thing I knew the teacher called out my name and told me to bring my stuff with me. I got up from my seat, as I made my way to the front of the class. I didn't glanced at the pass, instead I got all my belongings and headed out of the classroom. The campus supervisor walked alongside of me. As she did so, she asked how my day was going and how I was doing. I simply answered "Good", as I glanced at the pass.

Was I in trouble? Why did I get this pass? The beating of my heart started to pick up, as the clenching of my hands started to make me anxious. My whole body went into a shutdown mode. Panic? No. Scream? Not really. I thought for a minute what was I in for, as we entered the office. The campus supervisor told me to sit down on the couch and my mum will soon pick me up.

My mum? Picking me up? Why? What happened? Oh my, was it Dad? Was he not feeling any better. The last time I talked to him, he had only said my name and that was two months ago. Something serious might've have happened, I didn't know it yet. The jittering started again. I pressured my knees to stop jittering, as my anxiety overwhelmed me. I waited in the same spot, for another couple minutes before my mum walked in.

"Stay there, need to talk to Mrs. Halket." My mum said, as I tried to greet her.

She rushed outside the doors in the back, to the counseling office. Moments later, the counselor walked in followed by my mum. The counselor walked to the main office and probably was chatting with someone at the attendance desk. The next minute, my mum and I walked out of the office. I asked her what was going on? She told me that my Dad wasn't feeling well and that we are leaving for India by today. We had to pick up my brother from school as well.
We drove fifteen minutes as we drove up this hill, the way to my brothers school. My mum parked in front of the school, as she got out. I decided to stay in the car, so I could text my friends that I had something that came up. I didn't want to tell them about me leaving, but I also didn't want to tell myself that something terrible happened to my father. I waited for five minutes in the car, as my mum walked out followed by my younger brother. He sat in the back of the car, as he greeted me. We drove home, parking the car in the driveway. I stood at the front of the door, as I waited for my mum to open it for us.

As we walked in, I noticed three of my relatives were standing in the front, waiting for us. I greeted them all and I looked at one person in particular. My dad's best friend. My dad and him were best friend since childhood. I known him since my birth and seeing him at the house after a long time, I knew something was wrong but I was afraid to say anything.

My mum made my brother and I sit on the couch, as she kneeled down. Tears started to flow down her cheeks. I felt as if my heart stopped for a minute, before I could grasp air again. The words came out, as I dropped to the floor bursting into tears. The words I didn't want to hear. The words that made me wanted to just cry to death. The words that made me wanted to scream my head off.

My dad passed away. My dearest father passed away and I wasn't there for his final days. My dad, who I was so closed to, sharing remarkable memories with him had passed away. I felt my heart broke into millions of tiny pieces. My hands covered my face, as I kept crying. My dad's friend, my uncle, was trying to pick me up. But I didn't want to get up. I wanted to sit in the corner and cry to my death. I wanted to die right there and then. I didn't want to go to India but I wanted to go as well. I didn't know what else to do. I was told to go pack, but my aunt told me she already packed some stuff for me.

I hurried upstairs without thinking, into my room. I packed some more stuff in my bag, as another aunt of mine, my mum's cousin's wife, came in the room. She hugged me and told me that everything was going to be okay. How was everything going to be okay? I was dreading myself at the thought of my dad's lifeless body. I didn't see him for his final days. I could've had spent my time with him. To see him one more time before he passed away.

I hugged her back, as I exited the room heading downstairs. I was ready to leave. I was ready to go to India and bury my father. We exited the house with my uncle and aunt, as we put the luggage into the back of the car. We got in the Lexus SUV, and drove the forty-five minutes to the San Francisco Airport. My mum was messaging other relatives and family friends to tell them the tragic news. I was in the back, listening to music, thinking about all the memories of my dad. He used to tell me the stories of his childhood, how he and his brother were practically honored by every other boy in the school. Both of them ran the school, because they were the toughest kids back in the days. I wished I was like that. I wished to be strong like how my father was.

Getting off the SUV and taking my own luggage to the familiar airport that I usually traveled around, was now just a blur. My mum, brother, and I were the only ones that went through the security. As I glanced back, I saw my father's childhood friend cry for the very first time. He turned his back in sorrow, as I exited the metal detectors and security check. I grabbed my luggage, dragging it alongside of me. The entire time, I felt the stinginess in my eyes from the tears I had cried. I wanted to cry again but I couldn't as if I had no more tears to cry out. I felt the numbing in my chest, as if I had no heart. I felt my body grew light, as my mind went spinning. I was facing the darkness. The depressing moments of my life.

We waited at the gate number before we took flight. I was looking at the end of the plane through the window, as I heard my mum crying over the phone. I really couldn't describe what I was feeling that few moments, just standing there and staring out in space. I was spacing out and I couldn't really look at my brother or even bare to talk to him. I was just standing still, like a statue. Everything around me felt as if it was moving in fast motion. The blurriness of all the scenes at the airport.

Shortly afterwards, we were boarding the plane. We walked the aisle as we tried looking for our seats. I found my seat. I looked around, seeing my mum and brother having a seat for themselves, seating together. I got what I wanted, a window seat, so I could just stare out and about to get lost in time. I was crying throughout the first two hours. I was praying and reciting a particular prayer that is common when someone dies: Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un. Which meant, "We belong to God and to Him we shall return". I kept reciting it many times until I had to use the bathroom. I got up from the tight seating, as I made way to the airplane stall in the back of the plane. As I got in, I looked into the mirror, noticing the redness of my eyes. Blackness surrounded the corner and around them both as well.
Then a knocking came from the outside of the door.

"Naveed? Are you finished? It's time to go to the graveyard son." My dad's brothers voice came from the outside of the bathroom. I washed my face quickly, tapping my face gently with a towel.

"Yes Chacha, I'm finished." I opened the door, as I walked out.

"What took you so long? It doesn't matter but anyways everyone is downstairs. Go and I will be there shortly." He replied, as I looked into his eyes.

I went downstairs, seeing everyone that were upstairs. I noticed my friends, standing far away in the corner of the complex. I walked towards them, as they all hugged me, giving their condolences. My name was later called shortly, as we performed a cleansing on my father before he was placed in his grave. We cleansed him off and wrapped him in a brand new white cloth. His hands were placed on his tummy, on top of one another. Later, it took about few men to carry him back into the basket. I remembered all the ladies coming down, including my dad's mum. She was crying, tapping her hands on top of her head in disbelief.

The tears came again. I couldn't help it. I dropped onto the ground on my knees, breaking down in tears. I couldn't handle the fact he was really gone. The man that raised me was dead before my eyes. Two of my cousins grabbed me by the arms, picking me up.
"You can't cry Naveed, you have to be strong." One of them comforted.

I couldn't bare it anymore. I couldn't cope the fact that I was on the ground, looking at my dad's lifeless body in front of me. I was scarred. I still didn't want to believe he was dead. I still wanted to believe he was perfectly alive and himself. I sat there as the darkness took over me. The cold, darkness where everything just goes numb. The feeling you get in the pit of your stomach that you can't explain. The mood was undefinable. Quiet. Emotionless. Just darkness filling every inch of my body as I sat there with no more tears to cry out. Once again my cousins picked me up and my legs worked itself, picking myself up from the ground.
We picked up the silver casket, followed by other men. The women stayed back, mourning and crying. We were like white doves on the streets. Everywhere I looked, as we carried my dad's body, everyone was wearing the white colored clothing. We were saying another prayer as we exchanged amongst the other men, as we kept repeating the same prayer over and over again. We walked for two hours as we approached the green ironed gates to the graveyard. I noticed the name was written in Urdu and Hindi.

We walked to the burial place, as a hole was already dug up for my dad's weightless body. I knew his soul was watching me, as if he was around and near me. I really couldn't believe that this was going to be the last time I see my father. His body. His face. The familiar face I used to see in the mornings where I came down from the stairs of my house, having breakfast ready made. The man who taught me how to ride a bicycle. The man who raised me and taught me from right and wrong, was now just a soulless body getting buried in the ground, in the graveyard.

Everyone was arguing who was going to bury my father.

"I'll do it!" I said, echoing my voice so everyone could hear me.

"I will help him as well!" My dad's second cousin raised his hand.

I got down the burial, as my dad's second cousin came down as well. His black, trimmed beard was the only thing I noticed as I reached for my dad's body as it was getting handed to us by five of the elder relatives.

We both slowly set my dad's lifeless body in the grave, covering it with the brown dirt. The smell of crap stung my nose as I got out of the grave. Everyone else was throwing dirt gently in the grave with their bare hands on my father's final resting place.

I regretted so much that I wanted to tell my father. I wanted to apologize for everything and not saying I loved him. I wanted to apologize that way I was before. I told myself I hated him, when really I just hated his scolding. I wanted to apologize if I ever did anything wrong to hurt his feelings. That was my biggest regret.

After the grave was fully piled by the dirt, we put grey stones on both ends, marking that this was new burial area. I sat there on the dirt, not caring anymore about the white clothes I was wearing. I was looking at the grave, quietly and concentrating on it carefully. I was numb to the pain I wanted to feel. The hurt feeling that you get when your heart is crushed. I wanted to feel the tears running down my cheek. I wanted to feel the sorrow, the aching sorrow that didn't overwhelmed me anymore. It was darkness. Darkness took a toll on me. Darkness is where I lie. I felt nothing. I felt as if every drop of emotions was taken from me, like a needle pricking all the emotions out. Draining myself into the darkness. I prayed for my father and wished him peace in his grave, but I promised that I will do everything he told me to do.
"Naveed!" I turned around seeing my two older cousins waiting for me.

I got up from the ground wiping away the dirt from my bottom and other areas of my clothing. We exited the graveyard and I realized it was my last time seeing that burial place, as two months went by quickly as I spent my days going back and forth to the burial place of my father. I talked to him like how I used to, but only to the grave that he was in. I would have to leave eventually, because the start of a brand new school year awaited me.