The Slow Death

The Slow Death

Death… death… death… I have never liked that word. My name is Sharji, and I was born into a middle-class family in the village of Harrow. My father is a social reformer and one of the landlords here. Everyone respects him for his good character. We own two hectares of farmland, which my father used to cultivate. When the workers were in our fields, the land hummed with activity like a bee’s nest. My father was generous with them, always paying above the usual wage.

But as time passed, small industries began to enter our village. Soon, we could no longer find workers for the land—everyone was drawn to the factories. Eventually, we had to stop farming altogether. After finishing school, I left Harrow to pursue higher studies in Marco. My college years were successful, and I earned my degree. When I returned to Harrow seven years later, I was stunned. The village was surrounded by factories. The change was unimaginable.

Industry had spread across the region. People grew skilled with machines, while agriculture faded into a question mark. Motels, inns, and hotels decorated the roadside. Our family’s land lay barren. Then, a disease struck. Factories closed, some for good. People had no work and no money. Many fell ill; many died.

Death taught a hard lesson. These workers had not eaten healthy food since they left the fields. Now they wanted it, but it had become expensive—with so few farming, prices had soared. Then, one farmer gave away all his stored grain to the families of Harrow, saving countless lives. It was then that people remembered the importance of the land. They realized what they had lost.

The disease claimed many lives, but slowly, people changed. They returned to the soil, learning again how to farm. We too began to work our land—a happy return, for we have always loved farming. As the land came back to life, the disease retreated. And this time, the people did not turn away. They had learned, for good, the importance of agriculture.

Hidden Hero

                                                       Friends Before Life

Mia grew up believing she was the center of a beautiful universe. She saw herself not just as a princess, but as a prince—bold, fearless, and in charge of her own story. She adored her parents, viewing them as her personal god and goddess, and loved herself more than anyone in the world. With a mischievous, almost manly swagger, she dreamed extravagant dreams and shaped her childhood around her own whims.

But time has a way of teaching gentle lessons. As she grew older, a new awareness dawned on her. She began to see the quiet strength in her mother’s hands and the patient love in her father’s eyes. This maturation softened her. She decided to be a better daughter—calmer, more attentive, embracing the grace and resilience of womanhood. It was a conscious, tender reconstruction of her own spirit.

Throughout all her phases, one person remained a constant: her best friend, Sharji. They had been inseparable since school, sharing every secret, every silly dream, every fear. Their friendship was a private kingdom, built on trust and laughter.

When Mia’s parents began to discuss marriage, a deep sadness settled over her. She wasn’t ready to leave the home that was her sanctuary. After many heartfelt conversations, her parents helped her see marriage not as an ending, but as a new beginning. Convinced, Mia embraced the future. She joyfully invited friends and family, with Sharji at the top of the list, joking that he had to give the best speech. A few months later, she was married, wrapped in the happiness of a new life, and blissfully busy building her home.

Unbeknownst to Mia, a shadow had fallen. Shortly after her wedding, Sharji, who had hidden his diagnosis to not burden her joy, succumbed to liver cancer. Mia, immersed in her newlywed life, remained unaware. It was only weeks later, when she found an old photo of them and sent him a lighthearted text—“Remember this? Miss our adventures!”—that the silence became deafening.

A call to his number went to his grieving mother. The world stopped. The news of his death arrived not with a dramatic knock, but through a broken voice on the phone, shattering Mia’s new happiness into a thousand pieces.

Grief arrived like a winter she had not prepared for. The friend who had witnessed every version of her—the brash prince, the thoughtful daughter, the nervous bride—was gone. In her sorrow, she realized their friendship had been the truest prologue to her life. He had known her before love, before duty, before she knew herself.

One evening, she took out the photo she had texted him. Placing it gently in a frame, she understood. Some friends are not just for a season; they are the foundation upon which a life is built. Sharji was not in her present, but he would forever be in her beginning. And for that, she would always be grateful.