The Last Letter from Amritsar

Ahmed loved exploring historical places and listening to stories from his dada ji. When Ahmed was seven, he especially enjoyed hearing about the Partition from his grandfather. He could see tears fill his dada ji’s eyes whenever he spoke about how the Partition happened and how he was separated from his homeland and friends. Ahmed had a deep desire to meet the friends his grandfather had left behind in India after the Partition.

His dada ji would often tell Ahmed stories about his former childhood love, Naina. Naina was an innocent and beautiful Hindu girl—and dada ji’s best friend. Both of their families shared warm relations. Despite belonging to different religions, they had lived together in the same house for three decades. Naina’s family lived on the ground floor, while Saif (Ahmed’s dada ji) and his family lived on the first floor.

The house itself was a true architectural gem of Amritsar, designed as a haveli during the Mughal period. At its entrance stood a massive wooden door, adorned with intricate carvings and brass studs. The door led to a wide, shaded verandah. Next to the verandah was the aangan, a spacious central courtyard where both families would sit during winter to enjoy the sunlight. Saif and Naina’s laughter often echoed through the courtyard as they played hide and seek. The space was decorated with potted plants and featured a small marble fountain at its center. This courtyard was the soul of the home, where both families gathered for evening tea.

Surrounding the courtyard were large, high-ceilinged rooms with thick, cool walls made of brick and sandstone. The ground floor, where Naina’s family lived, featured airy rooms with tall arched windows and colorful glass panes that cast vibrant patterns on the floor when sunlight streamed in. The walls were adorned with faded frescoes and family portraits, while the floors were covered with handwoven rugs.

A beautifully carved wooden staircase led to the first floor, where Saif’s family resided. Their rooms opened onto a jharokha—a long balcony overlooking the courtyard below. This balcony, with its delicate latticework and hanging flower pots, was Saif’s favorite spot to read. From a young age, he was interested in politics and always kept up with the news. Every evening, when the families gathered for tea, he would explain the day’s headlines. Naina would sit quietly, sipping her tea, her eyes never leaving him. The furniture throughout the haveli included low divans with embroidered cushions and large chests for storing quilts and clothes.
The dining hall, with its long table and mismatched chairs, echoed with laughter during shared meals.

As the years passed, the bond between Saif and Naina deepened. Saif was four years older than Naina, and he would teach her science, astrology, and even about his religion. Naina loved to listen and follow everything Saif taught her. Their friendship, rooted in the innocence of childhood, slowly blossomed into something more tender and profound. The haveli, with its warm corners and shared spaces, became the backdrop of their growing affection. On quiet afternoons, Naina would help Saif’s mother with embroidery, often glancing up to catch Saif reading on the jharokha above.
Festivals brought both families together in celebration. During Diwali, the haveli glowed with rows of oil lamps. Naina would sneak away to light sparklers in the courtyard, her laughter mingling with the crackle of fireworks. On Eid, Naina would help prepare sweet seviyan, and Saif would bring her colorful bangles from the bazaar. Their love was quiet, growing in the spaces that held their secrets—moments of shared laughter, whispered dreams, and silent promises sheltered them from a world slowly changing outside its carved doors.

By the age of 20, Saif’s father was murdered during a strike held against the Simon Commission. This tragic event changed Saif’s life completely. He joined the Indian armed forces and was posted to Srinagar for duty.
Naina, now a lonely bird, would sit on the jharokha, reading Saif’s favorite books and writing poetry for him. She kept herself busy with weaving. After months, when Saif returned home, Naina’s eyes sparkled with joy. She longed to spend time with him as they had in childhood. But now, Saif’s life had become harsh. He bore the responsibility of his mother and three sisters. Naina felt alone, yet her love for Saif remained unwavering.

As the time of independence approached, Naina’s family suggested that Saif’s family migrate west to what would soon be called “Pakistan,” as it was no longer safe for Muslims to stay. Naina did not want Saif to leave, but the brutal political conditions forced their departure.
The night Saif’s family left the home they had known for years, tragedy struck. The house was robbed, and Naina’s parents were brutally killed. She survived only because she had been sleeping in Saif’s room. She was the only child of her family. That beautiful haveli, once filled with joy, echoed with sorrow the next morning.
By the time Saif was commissioned into the Pakistan Armed Forces, he had no chance to return to Amritsar. Yet Naina lived on, clinging to the hope that one day Saif would return.

Ahmed’s heart was filled with a deep longing to meet Naina. Driven by this desire, he tirelessly searched for her through every contact his dada ji had mentioned. He reached out to distant relatives in Amritsar, old neighbors, and anyone who might hold a fragment of her story. But every lead ended in silence. No one had seen or heard of a “Naina” in the area for years.

Villagers spoke in hushed tones about the locked haveli—a grand but desolate mansion standing at the edge of the neighborhood. Its once-vibrant walls were now faded and cracked, covered in shadows. The heavy wooden doors remained shut, guarding the secrets of a forgotten past. The air around the haveli was thick with mystery. Some believed it was haunted by restless spirits. But for Ahmed, this only deepened the intrigue.

Ahmed’s hope was reignited when one of his close friends in Amritsar agreed to investigate. After months of waiting, the news finally arrived—Naina was alive. When she learned that Saif, her childhood love, was also alive and longing to meet her, a spark of joy lit up her tired eyes.

Her desire to reunite with Saif grew stronger each day. She gathered the poems and letters she had written during those lonely years. Pouring her feelings onto paper, she dreamt of the moment they would see each other again. Despite her frail body, weakened bones, and tired muscles, her spirit remained vibrant and determined.

When the day came for Naina to travel to Lahore to meet Saif, she was filled with excitement and nervous hope. Wrapped in a warm shawl, she set out with a small bag, her heart pounding with memories of childhood laughter and shared dreams. But the long journey took its toll. Her steps slowed, and her breath came in shallow gasps. Her strength was fading. Midway through the journey, she was forced to rest.

Though her body failed, her love for Saif never wavered. As tears welled in her eyes, she whispered his name, clinging to the hope that they would meet—
if only for a moment.

Her passion and longing stood as a testament to a love that had survived time, distance, and hardship—an unbreakable bond that neither age nor circumstance could diminish.