Hours After - By Heena Johar

Written By: Heena Johar

Category: Short Story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In the realm of storytelling, Heena Johar's "Hours After" stands as a profound contribution to the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. This short story, a poignant narrative woven with intricate emotions, delves into the depths of human grief and acceptance. As a participant in this prestigious competition, Heena Johar invites readers into a moment of devastating clarity and the heartache of losing a loved one. Her work is a testament to the power of narrative to evoke empathy and understanding, resonating deeply with anyone who has experienced loss.

About the Work

"Hours After" is a masterful exploration of grief rendered through vivid, heart-wrenching imagery and a deeply emotional narrative style. The story captures a singular moment of personal tragedy, emphasizing the protagonist's struggle to comprehend and accept an irreparable loss. The mood is somber and reflective, inviting readers to navigate the fragile intersection of reality and denial. Heena Johar employs stark, evocative imagery to convey the chilling stillness and the unbearable clarity that come with the realization of death.

Hours After

Original Submission by Heena Johar

I knew something was wrong before the light came on.

The room was dark, but it wasn’t the darkness that unsettled me.

It was the stillness-heavy, unnatural, pressing against my ribs as if the air itself was bracing.

My fingers hovered over the switch, and something in me pulled back,

a small instinctive tightening,

as if my soul recognized a truth my mind refused to name.

I turned on the light.

The brightness slashed across the room and found her first-

her lips tinged an impossible blue,

her body still in a way no living thing should ever be.

My breath caught, and the world narrowed to that color,

that stillness,

that merciless clarity.

My mind understood at once.

My body followed a heartbeat later.

But my heart-stubborn, pleading-refused to believe what was in front of me.

I touched her shoulder.

Her skin was cold.

Not winter cold.

Not illness cold.

A cold that answered every question I didn’t want to ask.

“Mom,” I whispered,

a sound more prayer than word.

My hands trembled as I called my uncle, the family doctor.

When he stepped into the room, dread moved with him.

He checked her pulse.

Then her eyes.

His voice broke when he said,

“She’s been gone for hours.”

The sentence should have torn the floor open beneath me.

But nothing broke.

Nothing collapsed.

The room stayed bright and brutally intact.

I had to call my father.

I tried to say the words she’s gone,

but they caught in my throat like stones.

“Come home,” I managed.

“Now.”

He kept asking why.

I kept repeating the same two words until they lost their meaning.

Somewhere between his questions and my silence,

a tremor entered his voice-

as if his soul recognized the disaster before his mind did.

After that, the day dissolved.

People arrived with hushed urgency.

Phones rang.

Hands touched my shoulder.

Voices softened into an indistinct hum.

I moved through it all as if underwater,

watching myself from a distance I couldn’t bridge.

My tears fell,

but I didn’t cry.

Crying requires gravity,

a body anchored enough to feel its own collapse.

Mine hovered somewhere above me,

a witness observing a stranger fall apart.

I saw my father fold into himself,

grief carving him into something fragile and unfamiliar.

I stood beside him, steady because he wasn’t.

Upright because he couldn’t be.

Carrying weight I had never been prepared for.

And beneath every moment,

beneath every gesture and breath,

one truth pulsed quietly:

I didn’t get to break that day.

The world demanded witness,

action,

clarity,

and I gave it everything except the one thing that was mine-

my own unraveling.

Only later, long after the room emptied,

long after the rituals ended,

long after the day surrendered to night,

did the cruelty settle in:

The only person who ever held me together

lay cold beneath the light I had turned on.

And I was the one who flipped the switch.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar serves as a prestigious platform for writers and poets worldwide to showcase their creativity and express their unique voices. This event celebrates the art of storytelling, providing participants like Heena Johar with an opportunity to share their work with a global audience. The competition emphasizes the importance of literary arts in reflecting diverse human experiences and emotions, fostering a community where creativity thrives.

We extend our heartfelt gratitude to Heena Johar for sharing her powerful short story, "Hours After," with us in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Her narrative provides a poignant exploration of loss and resilience, resonating with readers on a deeply personal level. We thank Heena for her contribution and for allowing us a glimpse into such a tender and profound moment through her storytelling.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.