Aisha sat by the window, her fingers wrapped tightly around her phone. The evening sun cast golden rays across her small apartment, but she hardly noticed. Her mind was elsewhere—trapped in the past, in the memories of a voice she hadn’t heard in weeks.
Her father’s voice.
She had always meant to call him back. She had seen his missed call two weeks ago while she was at work, but life had been busy. There were emails to answer, deadlines to meet, groceries to buy. She had thought, I’ll call him tomorrow.
But tomorrow never came.
When the phone rang again days later, it wasn’t her father—it was her mother. And the words that followed shattered her world.
"Your father had a heart attack."
"We lost him."
Aisha had dropped to the floor, her phone slipping from her fingers. The weight of those words crushed her, making it hard to breathe.
Now, sitting in the silence of her apartment, she replayed everything in her mind—the conversations they had, the laughter they shared, and the last call she never answered.
Her father had always been her biggest supporter. Growing up, he would wake up early to make her breakfast before school, telling her that she could do anything she set her mind to. When she moved to another city for work, he called every week without fail, just to check in. His voice had been a constant in her life, a warm presence even from miles away.
But in those final weeks, she had been too distracted to call back. She had told herself there would always be time.
She scrolled through her voicemail with trembling hands. There it was. The missed message from him.
With a deep breath, she pressed play.
"Aisha, my love… I just wanted to hear your voice. I hope you're doing well. Call me when you get a chance, okay? I miss you."
The voice was warm, familiar, filled with the same love he had always given her. Tears streamed down her face as she clutched the phone to her chest, whispering through her sobs, "I miss you too, Baba. I’m so sorry."
But sorry was too late.
She wished she had called back. She wished she had said I love you one more time.
Her mother had told her later that her father had been feeling unwell for days before his heart attack but had brushed it off, not wanting to worry anyone. He had still gone about his routine, still called his daughter, still thought of her even in his final days. The guilt weighed heavy on her chest.
In the days following his passing, Aisha had gone home for the funeral. She had watched as family and friends gathered, sharing stories of her father—his kindness, his humor, his unwavering love for his family. She had stood by his grave, whispering apologies to the cold ground, knowing he could no longer hear her.
Now, back in her apartment, the silence was deafening. She had replayed that voicemail so many times she had memorized every pause, every breath he took before speaking. It was all she had left of him now.
She thought about how often people take time for granted, how easy it is to assume that there will always be another chance. But life is unpredictable. One moment, someone is there, and the next, they are gone.
With a deep sigh, Aisha wiped her tears and picked up her phone. She scrolled through her contacts, stopping at her mother’s number. Without hesitation, she pressed dial.
Her mother answered almost immediately. "Aisha? Is everything okay?"
A lump formed in her throat, but she swallowed it down. "Yes, Mama. I just wanted to hear your voice."
There was a pause on the other end before her mother spoke again, her voice soft with emotion. "I’m so glad you called, sweetheart. I miss you."
Aisha closed her eyes, allowing a small smile to form through the sadness. "I miss you too, Mama. I love you."
And this time, she didn’t wait for tomorrow.
💔 Moral of the story: Don't wait to tell your loved ones how much they mean to you. Call them. Tell them you love them. Because tomorrow is never promised.
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