The Winter We Didn't See Coming Poem by Tabassum Kaniz

Winter used to come quietly—
dark before dawn, Cold water on the face,
sharp enough to hurt,
and then the comfort—
warm rice at Sehri, steam touching our cheeks.
Baba's radio playing an Urdu ghazal,
"Hum madineh me tanha nikal jayenge…"
soft and slow, filling the small room.
floating out like a slow breath.

Then the azaan, thin in the cold air,
and we knew morning had started.
We dressed for school with numb fingers,
stepping outside into a world covered in fog.
Everything ahead of us blurry—
the road, the trees, even our own breath.
We couldn't see what was coming toward us,
only the next small step.

Maybe our future was the same—
hidden, quiet, waiting somewhere past the fog.
If we had seen it clearly back then,
maybe we would have stayed in those cold mornings a bit longer,
holding on to that warmth we didn't know we'd lose.