When I finally found her cousin, Zubin, he told me Sarika had passed away years ago. But before she died, she had written about me — how she wished I’d done more, but didn’t hate me for it. The messages, Zubin admitted, were from him. Not to punish me, but to make me finally face what I’d buried.
So, I went back. Back to Abingdon. To the school, to the street where it all began. And I started The Sarika Project — a program that teaches young people how to speak up, protect one another, and break the silence that lets cruelty grow.
Sometimes the ghosts still visit, but now, they bring peace instead of guilt. Last month, my daughter texted me: “Dad, my friend’s sister got your scholarship.” I sat in my car for a long time, tears falling freely.
Because the past doesn’t disappear — it waits.
But if you face it, it can finally lead you somewhere better.
Would you have opened the door after that message? Share your thoughts below — your story might help someone else.