Milad Saaed(Satnampreet Pandher) In a quaint village nestled amidst rolling hills and blooming fields, Asha and Iqdaar lived a life woven with love, dreams, and aspirations. Their small home was filled with laughter, the scent of freshly baked bread, and the warmth of shared moments. Asha was a radiant woman, her smile bright enough to dispel the darkest clouds. Iqdaar, a soldier, possessed a heart that beat fervently for his country and the woman he adored. Their love story, however, would soon be tested by the winds of war.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the landscape, Iqdaar sat at their dining table, a piece of paper in front of him. It was a simple letter, but it held the weight of his heart’s deepest secret. Asha was pregnant. He had known for weeks, her subtle changes, the glimmer in her eyes, and the sweet way she spoke of their future together hinted at the life they were about to welcome. He wanted to surprise her, to unveil the news in a way that would make her heart soar.

But fate had other plans. The war broke out abruptly, a storm that swept through their lives, shattering their dreams. The village was abuzz with gossip, fear and uncertainty hanging in the air like a thick fog. One evening, a list was posted in the town square, a list that would change everything. The names of soldiers who were to be deployed to the front lines were scrawled across the paper, and as Iqdaar’s eyes fell upon his own name, a chill ran through him.

He felt no sadness, only sorrow. Sorrow for the life he was leaving behind, for the love he would be separated from, and for the child that would be born without a father. He knew he had to protect Asha, even if it meant distancing himself emotionally. He wanted her to embrace independence, to find happiness without him. He had heard stories of soldiers who never returned, and he couldn’t bear the thought of Asha waiting for him, her heart shackled to a ghost.

As the day of his departure approached, Iqdaar found himself lost in thought, grappling with his emotions. He looked at Asha as she prepared a meal, her laughter ringing through their home like music. “Until I come back,” he said, trying to mask the heaviness in his chest, “make sure you celebrate your birthday every day of the month.”

“What do you mean?” Asha asked, a puzzled expression crossing her face.

“Just promise me,” he urged, forcing a smile. “I want you to embrace life, to find joy in the little things. Celebrate every moment.”

Asha nodded, though her heart felt a twinge of unease. She sensed that something was amiss, that he was slipping away from her, but she didn’t press him. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close, savoring the warmth of his body against hers, wishing to memorize every detail of him before he left.

On the day of his departure, Asha stood at the gate, tears glistening in her eyes as she clutched a small bouquet of wildflowers. Iqdaar knelt before her, his hands cupping her face. “Remember, my love, celebrate every day as if it were your birthday,” he whispered, brushing his lips against her forehead. “I’ll be with you, in your heart.”

With a heavy heart, he turned and walked away, each step echoing the sound of a heart breaking. Asha watched him until he disappeared from sight, the weight of his absence hanging heavily in the air.

Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. The war raged on, and Asha found herself caught in the ebb and flow of her emotions. She missed Iqdaar desperately, but she remembered his words. Every day, she celebrated her birthday. She lit candles, baked cakes, and blew out the flames, whispering her wishes into the smoke that rose into the sky. In her heart, she believed that somehow, it was reaching him.

As the leaves turned from green to gold, Asha felt the life inside her grow. The anticipation of motherhood filled her with both joy and a profound sense of loss. She would never be able to share this journey with Iqdaar, and that thought haunted her.

One fateful day, as autumn painted the world in shades of orange and red, the soldiers returned. The village square buzzed with excitement, families reunited, tears of joy flowing freely. But as Asha searched the crowd, her heart sank. Iqdaar was not among them.

The van that transported soldiers back from the front line pulled up, and Asha approached it hesitantly. She held her breath, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. Her friends and neighbors rushed to greet their loved ones, but Asha lingered, feeling an overwhelming sense of dread.

As she climbed into the van, her eyes fell on a small cake sitting on the seat, its frosting still pristine. Next to it lay a letter, the handwriting unmistakable. Asha’s heart raced as she reached for it, her fingers trembling as she unfolded the paper.

“Happy Birthday to Me, Asha!” the letter began, and her heart shattered into a million pieces. “I am not in this world anymore, but I am within you forever. I am in your heart and breath! Name our upcoming child Iqdaar! We are positive!”

Tears streamed down her face as she read the words, the finality of them sinking deep into her soul. Iqdaar had written this letter knowing he might never see her again. He had asked her to celebrate his birthday, to keep his spirit alive within her. She wept for the love they had, for the child they would never raise together, and for the dreams that had been so cruelly snatched away.

With trembling hands, she placed the letter back on the seat, her heart aching with loss. The cake remained untouched, a bittersweet reminder of the love that would never fade. Asha knew that Iqdaar would always be a part of her, that their love would echo through the generations.

In the months that followed, Asha embraced her new reality. She carried Iqdaar’s memory with her, celebrating his birthday every year, lighting candles and whispering her wishes into the night sky. As she cradled her newborn baby, whom she named Iqdaar, she felt a glimmer of hope. Though Iqdaar was gone, his love lived on in their child, and she vowed to raise him with the same passion and dedication that his father had shown.

Asha often shared stories of Iqdaar with their son, painting a vivid picture of the man who had loved her fiercely. She told him about the warmth of his embrace, the laughter they shared, and the dreams they had built together. As Iqdaar grew, Asha could see glimpses of his father in him, from the way he smiled to the way he spoke of justice and bravery.

Years passed, and the scars of war began to fade, but the love between Asha and Iqdaar remained eternal. In every celebration, in every candle lit, in every story told, Iqdaar was alive. Asha found solace in knowing that their love transcended time and space, existing in the hearts of those who remembered.

As she watched her son grow, Asha felt a sense of fulfillment. She had honored Iqdaar’s memory, and in doing so, she had forged a path of strength and resilience. Together, they embraced life, carrying the legacy of love that would never die.

In the quiet moments, when the world was still, Asha would close her eyes and whisper to the stars, “Happy Birthday, my love. You are forever in my heart.” And in her dreams, she could feel Iqdaar’s presence, guiding her, loving her, and reminding her that even in the darkest times, love would always find a way.

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