A Night of Longing: A Father’s Emotional Conversation

It was a quiet night, and I found myself lying alone in my room, feeling a bit down after dinner. My wife, along with the children, had gone to her mother’s house for the night. My mind was preoccupied with thoughts of her, and a sense of melancholy surrounded me. As I lay there, my gaze shifted to the empty space beside me, realizing that her warm presence was missing.

A sudden pang of loneliness hit me, and I reached for my phone to dial her number. Soon, my son answered the call, and our conversation began.

“Hello.” “Hello, Baba.” “How are you, my love?” “I’m fine,” I replied, a mix of emotions in my voice. “Where is Ammi? Is she with Nani?” “Yes, Ammi is in Nani’s room, and I am playing games on the phone,” he cheerfully responded.

“Quickly, give the phone to Ammi,” I requested.

A moment later, a sweet voice echoed through the phone, “Assalamu Alaikum, how are you?”

“Wa Alaikum Assalam. How can I be well without you? I miss you,” I confessed, my emotions evident in my words.

“I hope you’re taking care of yourself,” she replied.

I tried to describe my feelings and said, “I’m okay, trying to manage.”

“Oh, my dear, on this dark night, when will you bring me the joy of your company again?” she teased.

“Perhaps tomorrow or the day after,” I replied, a hint of longing in my voice.

“But I wish you were here right now, wrapped in my arms,” she expressed.

I tried to convey my well-being, “I’m doing fine.”

She responded with a dry, matter-of-fact, “Hmm.”

The conversation took a turn as she playfully asked, “Oh, how I yearn for those nights when we were entwined in each other’s embrace!”

“Tell me, when will you rescue me from the loneliness?” she continued, her tone filled with playful affection.

I assured her, “Maybe tomorrow, but the kids are doing well. Do you want to talk to them?”

“How are the children? Tell me everything,” she inquired eagerly.

Since her absence, even a glimpse of her smile was more tempting than any delicacy. “Their laughter is the only thing missing from my life besides your sweet lips,” I confessed.

She laughed gently, “Do they cook for themselves or buy from the market?”

“Except for your lips, I have no desire for anything else to eat,” I responded, trying to lighten the mood.

“Ah, but the children miss you a lot,” she added, changing the topic.

“We only remember the mother of our children,” I playfully teased, expressing my deep love for her.

“Alright, talk to Aima,” she said, passing the phone to our daughter.

After a brief conversation with our little princess, I attempted to resume my talk with my wife. However, our connection was abruptly interrupted. I immediately tried calling back, yearning to hear her voice again.

Soon, my brother entered the room, and with a stern face, declared, “It’s 9 o’clock. No more university; it’s time for bed.”

As I attempted to make another call, my brother dismissed the idea, “No more talking; you have to rest now.”

I lay there, contemplating the interrupted conversation, determined to reconnect. The night was long, and my heart echoed with the desire to hear her voice once more.

The night unfolded, filled with the longing for her presence and the warmth of her love. As I lay in solitude, I realized that even in the silence, our connection remained strong, bridging the gap between our hearts.