The Last Hug!

It was an ordinary Thursday Fall 1993, yet it would become the most unforgettable day of Noor’s life. In Pakistan at the time, Thursdays marked the start of the weekend, and Noor, a seven year-old boy living in central Chitral with his grandfather Dast Aman for his schooling, would return home at the end of each month to see his mother. This day, however, was unlike the others it would be their last meeting.As the blue Jeep rattled into the village over the rough, uneven terrain, Noor’s heart raced with excitement. He had been missing his mother deeply, counting down the days until he could see her. When the Jeep came to a halt, he stepped out and looked up, scanning for her familiar figure. There she was standing on the rooftop, her presence radiant against the afternoon sky. Without hesitation, Noor dropped his school bag and ran towards her, his small feet pounding the dirt path. Going through the stairs as fast as he could, he reached her, and she scooped him into her arms, holding him close she hugged him tight as all mothers would.  After a few moments, her expression shifted. Still holding his hand, she turned him toward the nearby Jamat Khana, the village prayer hall. Near the heavy wooden door, chained shut, sat an elderly woman named Bibi Xuri. She was blind, her frail hands lightly beating the chains as tears streamed down her face.Bibi Noor knelt beside her son and asked softly, “Did you bring anything for her?”