Adore Alley
Oct 09, 2009 — A girl was born, and her dad named her Aisha. The world welcomed a new soul on Earth. The hospital room was filled with life, my father’s laughter echoing in every corner.

According to him, my birth was a turning point in his life. Like a season changing overnight, things just started falling into place. He was rewarded with an international job. I became his lucky charm.

Raised in a time where some still considered daughters a burden, my father stood proud like a tree refusing to bend in the face of old winds. He held me in his arms and celebrated the moment. Islam says the birth of a daughter is a sign that Allah is pleased with you, and that’s what he believed.

Fast forward to 2015 —

The house echoed with my laughter and chaos. Baba adored me like I was the entire world in one small body. Mama spent her nights walking around with me in her arms just to help me sleep peacefully. Every shopping day, Baba would buy me anything I placed my hand on. Mama often complained about the useless things I cried for, but Baba’s smile always covered for me. I was raised with pure affection and care. Living in a joint family, I had love coming from every direction.My uncle played a huge role in my early days. He would take me in his arms whenever I cried, even when he had exams and assignments waiting for him. He wouldn’t touch his books until I had fallen asleep. The most beautiful part is what my parents still tell me: I cried the whole day and no one could calm me down.Every person in the house tried to make me stop crying . they played, rocked me, carried me but only one person ever succeeded.

My uncle.

My second father.

The moment he held me, it was like pressing pause on all my tears. His arms were my safe place. Even now when I imagine that, I remember how his smile made me laugh like nothing else could.That was the phase of life where I didn’t even know what life meant. All I knew was how to say “Baba” and “Mama” and that was enough.Under their shelter, I kept growing. Time flew by, but their love kept getting stronger. Baba still has my baby pictures on his Facebook profile. Every time he sees them, he smiles and calls me the “cry baby” who used to beg him for dolls and toys. But now he knows his little girl has grown up. Even now, when I’m down, it’s their love that still holds me together. Baba’s hug feels the same like a blanket that always fits, no matter how big I’ve gotten.And every time I wrap my arms around him, I feel like that same 5-year-old again, silently thanking him for showing up with my favourite toy.

And so, time kept moving…

Until I entered my teens