In precious memory of,

 Ten years. A decade of winters and summers have passed, and yet, dearest brother's absence remains an ache—a wound neither time nor tide has managed to salve. The world around me is but a moving spectacle; within, my heart is a chamber of echoing silences. Your voice—once so familiar, so reassuring—has long faded into the mists of memory, yet your presence lingers in every breath I take, every dream I dare to dream.

The very utterance of your name is a prayer uttered in hushed reverence. There lies a heaviness, not unlike a thousand stones upon my chest, when the world marks today as another date—but to me, it is a gaping wound, reopened. Today, I do not count the hours, but the tears unspilled, the thoughts unspoken, and the memories that revisit like ghosts cloaked in the fabric of yesteryears.

You were not merely my brother. Nay, you are like the North Star of our family—steady, radiant, and guiding. Even as I pen these words, my ink quivers with the tremor of my grief. Do they know, how the house transformed the day you departed? The air, once alive with your laughter, hangs heavy now—like a violin unstrung, lifeless and mute.

I have worn many masks these ten years, dearest—some of duty, others of defiance. For Mother and Father, I must not unravel. I dare not let my sorrow swallow me whole, lest it drown them too. Each morning I rise, not because the sun bids me so, but because I must carry the weight of three hearts upon my shoulders. I have swallowed my sobs so they may breathe, and I have smiled through shattered moments so they may sleep in peace.

Yet, what of the nights? Ah, the nights! When shadows lengthen and the world retreats, I sit by the window that once framed our laughter and stare at a sky you once mapped with your dreams. The stars above do not shine as brightly now—for the brightest among them fell too soon. I yearn not for consolation, for what balm could soothe a sister whose soul was cleft in twain on that cruel day?

The world has moved on, they say. But mine has stood still, clock-hands frozen at the hour the heavens took thee. Friendships have waned, festivities dimmed, and amidst all gaiety, I remain an island—present in the flesh but adrift in thought. Every success I have tasted is tinged with the bitterness of your absence. For what joy is there in triumph, when the one who would have clapped the loudest is no longer there?

Still, I endure. I endure because you have asked it of me, and made me to endure it. So it is you again, who must give me strength. You, whose dreams soared higher than the mountains, would not wish for me to be anchored in despair. So I walk on, brother. I walk on with memories as my compass and your love as my light.

And yet, if I may make one plea to the Almighty—let your soul know, wherever it now dwells, that it is not forgotten. That your name is whispered in every prayer, etched upon every heartbeat. You live not just in framed photographs but in our every breath, every act of kindness done in your name, every tear shed in quiet corners.

Dr. Raj Kailash Mohan, my brother, my anchor, my shadow, my child, my everything in short —ten years may have passed, but not a single moment has found me without you in it. The world lost a brilliant healer that day. But I—I lost my childhood, my confidant, my forever companion.

Rest well, dearest soul. Till we meet again beyond the veil, I shall keep you alive—in ink, in memory, and in love that not even death could extinguish.