"Birds"

Flashing back to few weeks before my grandma's death; she spent her days on the couch, looking out from the windows. She would notice everything that the birds outside are doing.


Strangely enough, she usually sat in front of her TV to watch her seemingly never-ending Chinese drama series. Beats me. She would rather spend her days looking at those birds. How boring. Most of these 'bird-watching' sessions are split with lunch and dinner. After that, she'll continue watching those birds.


Just as the Maghrib were called, the birds would return to their nests, resting under the shades of nearby trees. How graceful they sang when they return home. My grandma were delighted just to listen to the choirs of the birds. She would tell my aunt how delightful it is to listen to their melodies after a nice dinner.


This goes on for weeks. The birds never failed to present their melodies to my grandma.


Until one day.


She passed away. We were sad, for she was so dear to her family and friends. None of us would expect that.


Few days later when we returned from our hometown after laying grandma to rest, my aunt noticed something the moment she was picking up everything grandma had left for us.


Call it a miracle, call it coincidence. But after the passing of my grandma, the birds never sing again. It seems that the moment the loyal fan that watches them sing was gone, their piece of melody died with her.


Their melodies stopped along with my grandma's heartbeat.