All that was left : what remains after darkness?

ZARA Shattered glass. That's the first thing I remember when I think about that day, the sharp crash of a cup hitting the floor just seconds after my aunty picked up the phone. One sound colliding into the other, both breaking more than just silence. It was supposed to be a celebration. My sixteenth birthday. Balloons still hung in the corner, a small cake waited on the table, and I was waiting too, waiting for my parents to come home after a month away in New Zealand. But instead of laughter, I heard the crack in my aunty's voice. Instead of the door opening, I heard her whisper my name like it was an apology. And in that moment, I knew. What was meant to be joy turned into despair. What was meant to be my sweetest day became the day my world collapsed. ⸻ The ride to the hospital was a blur of lights and sounds I couldn't process. My aunty clutched her rosary, whispering prayers that tangled with my own silent pleas. I stared out the window, telling myself this was just a mistake, a mix-up, that any second we'd arrive and my parents would be sitting up in bed, smiling weakly but alive. But the hospital walls were too white, too clean, too final. The smell of antiseptic clung to my skin like a warning. Nurses avoided my eyes as we walked past, and every step down that hallway felt heavier, like my body already knew what my heart refused to believe. The doctor's words came gently, but they struck like thunder. "I'm sorry... they didn't make it." My mind went silent. My body didn't. My knees gave way, my hands clawed at the cold tiles, and then the sobs came... violent, unrelenting, tearing through me like glass splintering in slow motion. I screamed until my throat burned, until my voice was no longer mine. I begged, I denied, I cursed the universe for daring to choose this day, my day, to take them from me. My aunty tried to hold me, but I pushed her away. No arms could replace theirs. No words could undo the truth. The world didn't end with fire or thunder. It ended with silence, with a ringing phone, with shattered glass on the floor and a birthday cake left uneaten. Sixteen years old. And I was already broken.