April… you are finally here. The mornings smell like wet earth, the air carries that cool freshness, and the trees in Giddar Kotha are starting to wear their green coats again. Somehow, every year, I feel a quiet hope when you arrive. Like maybe this time, things will feel lighter, brighter, different.
I wish you could surprise us, April. Not with the heavy rains that trap me at home or the long, gray afternoons where the sky seems to stretch forever. I want small, real surprises. Like last week, when I was walking down the narrow streets near my house, I saw a group of kids splashing in puddles, laughing so loudly it made me smile without realizing it. That moment—it was simple, ordinary, but it reminded me that joy doesn’t have to be complicated. April, give us more of that.
Or like the other day, when my neighbor, who I haven’t spoken to in months, called just to ask if I was okay. Nothing big, just a few words, but it lifted something in my chest I didn’t know was heavy. These are the surprises I want, April—small, human, unexpected. A cup of chai shared with an old friend on a quiet afternoon, a stray puppy that follows me home for a moment, the smell of fresh bread from the market—it’s all little things that make life feel alive again.
I remember one April, the rains came suddenly while I was out in the narrow streets of Abbottabad. I got completely drenched, my shoes soaked, my bag wet—but I laughed. I laughed because the city looked different under the rain. The hills, the trees, the way the sunlight reflected on puddles—it felt like the world had pressed the pause button just for me. That’s the kind of surprise I’m hoping for this year. Not perfection, not grand events, just a small, unexpected moment that shakes me out of the routine and makes me notice life again.
Maybe April will bring it. Maybe not. But there’s something comforting in hoping, in imagining these tiny joys. Like when I sit by my window in the evening, watching the streets slowly fill with people returning home, the calls of the shopkeepers mixing with the scent of wet soil and jasmine—it feels alive. It feels real. And maybe that’s what a true April surprise is: noticing the beauty hidden in everyday life, the ordinary moments that make the heart feel a little lighter.
So here’s my wish, April. Surprise us. Surprise me. Not with storms, not with impossible things, but with life itself—the messy, beautiful, unexpected moments that remind us why we keep going. A smile from a stranger, a bird landing near my window, the first mango I bite this season, the laughter of children echoing in the streets—these are the gifts I’m asking for.
Please, April… just this once, make the ordinary feel extraordinary.
