the embers of yesterday

In Kashmir, we don’t just light a fire to keep ourselves warm; sometimes, the fire whispers back.
I was eighteen when that unforgiving winter arrived in Srinagar, bringing a heavy, suffocating silence with it. The temperature plummeted way below freezing, and a thick blanket of pristine white snow swallowed the valley whole. All the windows of our old house were blind with frost. To survive the biting chill, I prepared our traditional Kanger—the beautiful, wicker-woven earthen pot filled with glowing red charcoal.
Wrapping myself tightly in a heavy woolen Phiren,(traditional  Kashmiri phiren)I kept the Kangri close against my chest, letting its heat seep into my shivering skin. I closed my eyes, trying to find solace in the quiet room.
But this was no ordinary Kangri. This very pot belonged to my elder brother, who had gone missing in a fierce, blinding snowstorm exactly a year ago. As the soft, amber glow of the charcoal heated my frozen fingers, a strange, profound sense of comfort washed over me.
Suddenly, a sound rippled from beneath the folds of my heavy cloak. It wasn’t the familiar, soft crackle of burning embers. It was a faint, breathless whisper.
"Amreena... it is so freezing out here."
I froze. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart began to hammer wildly against my ribs. That voice—it was unmistakably the voice of my missing brother.
Trembling, I pulled my Phiren away. The room was pitch black, illuminated only by the haunting orange glow pulsing inside the clay pot. I stared intently into the burning ash. Right then, the ashes shifted, and the voice drifted up through the intricately woven wicker walls:
"Amreena, don't look for me in the frozen mountains. I am right here, protecting you from the cold. Just keep this fire alive."
Tears streamed down my cold cheeks as his familiar warmth wrapped around me like a tight embrace. He hadn't truly left us. His soul had simply found a new home to shield me from the harshest winter of my life.
Clutching the handles of the Kangri even tighter against my chest, I closed my eyes and wept, silently promising him never to let these sacred embers die.