Mujhe se Pheli si Mohabbat Mere Mehboob ne Maang! (Dont Ask for my love , As i loved you before) The Song of Celebration!!

 

🌿 Story 1: The Song of Celebration — My Own Becoming

(Personal struggle → independence → scars → survival → quiet triumph)

I didn’t know that breaking free would leave marks on me.

Back then, independence sounded like a clean word — smooth, sharp, and brave. I thought it meant walking away with shoulders squared and breath steady. But the truth was less heroic. My freedom came in fragments: late-night arguments with myself, silent crying in bathroom mirrors, and those trembling choices no one applauds because they look too much like fear.

There were days my own mind felt like a battlefield — rumination bruised me more than anything physical ever could. And some wounds weren’t metaphorical at all… a slammed door, a rushed escape, a back that learned to stiffen every time footsteps grew too loud. People assume you only carry emotional scars, but trauma has a way of settling into your bones, teaching your muscles to flinch long after the danger is gone.

But this is not a story of despair.
This is my song of celebration.

Because one morning, without dramatic music or witnesses, I realized I was no longer living in reaction to someone else’s storms. My breaths belonged to me. My decisions felt like mine again. I was no longer begging for space — I was the space. I rebuilt myself quietly, stubbornly, the way a small plant insists on pushing through concrete.

Independence didn’t arrive as a grand trumpet blast.
It came as a whisper: You survived. You stepped out. You’re building something new.

I still carry the scars — emotional, mental, and yes, physical. But they feel like the topography of a place I once lived in, not a prison I’m still trapped inside. They’re just stories written on my skin, reminders that I walked through fire and refused to stay burning.

Today, I celebrate the person I am becoming — soft, strong, and sovereign.
My life is no longer a reaction. It is a declaration.

And this… this is my song of celebration.

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🇵🇰 Story 2: The Song of Celebration — For Those Who Guard Our Dawn

(Freedom fighters / soldiers → life at stake → devotion → country’s liberation)

I have never worn a uniform, but I grew up watching those who did walk past us with a kind of reverent silence. Only now, in hindsight, do I understand what it truly meant — that each step they took was a negotiation with fate.

A soldier once told me, “We are the ones who stay awake so the country can sleep.” I didn’t grasp the weight of that statement until I heard how many never returned to the beds they left behind.

This is their song of celebration, though it begins in hardship.

They wake before dawn, not knowing if they’ll see dusk.
They write letters they pray will never be opened.
They kiss their children with the quiet awareness that duty sometimes outruns dreams.

Freedom is a word we celebrate with flags and fireworks. But they celebrate it with their bodies — standing in scorching deserts, frozen mountain posts, forests where silence holds its breath. Some return with wounds that no medal can fully honor; others return draped in the flag they protected.

And yet, if you ask them why they do it, most will shrug and say,
“Because someone must.”

This is the part that strikes me the hardest:
their loyalty is not loud.
It is steady, patient, self-erasing.

They are the unseen metronomes of our nation’s heartbeat.

Today, I sing their song — not mourning, but celebrating.
Because their courage allows children to run freely in parks, allows markets to glow with life, allows every ordinary moment to exist without fear. Their sacrifice is the scaffolding upon which our everyday happiness stands.

We celebrate our freedom because they stand guard at its gates.
We breathe easily because they choose a life of vigilance.

This is their song of celebration —
not a victory march, but a tribute to the quiet giants
who gift us the simplest luxury of all:
a peaceful tomorrow.