Duniya never truly got over her mother’s death. Two years had passed, but the ache remained as raw as the rainy night her mother’s body was carried down the path they used to walk together. 

Duniya’s name, meaning "world," had felt prophetic that day. She was her mother’s universe, and Ammu had been hers. But when her mother left, Duniya’s world shattered at once. Everything seemed too much, too empty. She couldn’t connect with the life around her anymore. What seemed abundance once, felt like a shrunken cold space now.

As she walked down the path, memories of her mother came back to her. This path would always be special. That first time they came up this path, she was a small child. Gripping Ammu’s hand with her tiny fingers, she had been whining about her tired legs. “Ammu, my legs are saying No, No!”

“Duniya, trust me, you’ll forget all your pain the moment you set your eyes on it,” Ammu had replied.

And her mother had been right. The little cottage at the end of the path had become their safe haven for them. The only pain Duniya remembered was the night they carried her mother away.

A faint sound interrupted her thoughts—a hesitant woof. “I know you are there. Look what I have got for you today,” Duniya coaxed softly, placing a container of watered-down milk on the ground. Slowly, a trembling pup emerged, looking weak, its fur matted from the rain,

“Oh dear, are you feverish?” she whispered, crouching. “Could you not find a warm place all night?”

Duniya seemed to be in deep thoughts. Could she afford a pet at this point? The vet was one hour away from her house. But leaving the pup to fend for itself while it rained incessantly meant certain death for it. Sighing, she scooped him up. “Come, let’s get you warm.”

As soon as she reached home, she took an old towel from the kitchen and wrapped it up in it. As she gently stroked its fur, a warmth stirred within her—a feeling long forgotten. The pup too nestled closer, feeling safe at last. There was no fear in its eyes any more. Just deep trust.

Tears pricked Duniya’s eyes. “I miss you, Ammu,” she whispered. The pup licked her hand, sensing her sorrow perhaps, or simply to express its love. Hugging it closer, she murmured, “We’re going to be okay. You can stay here from now.”

Needing a bed for the pup, she approached the wardrobe with old clothes and linen. As she yanked it open, something tumbled out.  Her mother’s red coat. She noticed a note slip out from its sleeve. Hands trembling, she picked it up. Duniya froze.

“A hug is always the right size. I’ll always be with you.” It was her mother’s writing.

Tears flowed as she clutched the note. For the first time in two years, she didn’t feel so alone. She hugged the pup closer and said “Thank you.”