Leaving Hyderabad for Islamabad for my studies felt exciting, until the day I had to pack my belongings. My stomach churned with excitement and nervousness as I sniffed my Ammi’s dupatta and tucked it into my suitcase beneath my Baba’s jacket. I thought the dupatta, carrying Ammi’s signature scent, would bring comfort to me when I was all alone, figuring everything out by myself in a completely new city.

I had lived my whole life in Hyderabad and, like almost every student, I had applied to all the best universities in Pakistan. Alhamdulillah, I got admission to some good universities, but I decided to pursue my bachelor’s degree at a university in Islamabad.

I was over the moon, but low-key scared to leave my parents. I took a flight to Islamabad and upon reaching my hostel, when I stepped into my room, it felt quite empty. I peeked out of the window of my hostel room and could not find the street dogs that I used to feed my leftovers to in Hyderabad. The city felt unfamiliar. The gust of air made me shudder.

Without a second thought, I unpacked my suitcase and took out Baba’s jacket. I hastily forced my arms into it, pulled the hood over my head and slid the zip up. It felt like a warm hug from my Baba.

I thought home was a place I was leaving behind. But sometimes, it is the smallest things we carry that teach us what home truly means

After a while, when it was time for Salah, I took off my shoes to make ablution, then took out my brother’s slippers, twice my size, from the suitcase and put them on. I laughed at the thought of how I used to tease him by wearing his slippers, and how he had literally packed them for me when I was leaving. I got so emotional; I didn’t really know if I was happy or sad — probably both at the same time.

With teary eyes, I wrapped myself in my Ammi’s dupatta and prayed. University life has been great and I have made really good friends. But one night, while holding the teddy bear my little brother had gifted me, I realised something: home was not a building in Hyderabad; home was all the love I had carried with me in my memories.

The real lesson I learnt about moving away from home is that home is not made of walls, but of love. The very people who made us what we are will not always remain with us when we move to a new city, a new room or a new phase of life. They remain with us in our thoughts, in familiar smells and in the little treasures we carry.

The oversized slippers of my brother, the warm jacket of my Baba, the dupatta of my Ammi and the teddy bear from my younger brother, were not merely items packed into a suitcase; they were gentle reminders that love can travel any distance.

Being grown up does not mean losing your family; it means learning how to keep them close in other ways. And sometimes, the most ordinary things become the strongest pillars that help us through where we are and where we are going.

Published in Dawn, Young World, January 24th, 2026