The Narratives – Mohamed Miah

Share one of the best gifts you’ve ever received.

I’ve received some amazing gifts in my life—some practical, some extravagant, some unexpected. But when I really think about the best ones, they’re never about the price tag or how fancy they were. They’re the ones tied to memories, people, and moments that I can’t ever get back.

The kind of gifts that, even after years have passed, still hold a place in my heart. The kind that remind me of the people I’ve loved and lost.

The Keyring That Holds More Than Just Keys

My cousin, Suto Bhai, wasn’t just family—he was my brother in every sense of the word. We had that unspoken bond, the kind where no words were needed, just loyalty, respect, and love. Before he passed away, during one of the last times I saw him when he was feeling a little better, he slipped a keyring into my pocket.

When I got home and found it, I saw the words,

“There is no better friend than a brother, and there is no better brother than you.”

That keyring hasn’t left my keys since. It’s a small thing, but to me, it’s everything. Every time I see it, I remember him. The laughter, the late-night talks, the times we had each other’s backs without even needing to say it. Some people say time heals, but some wounds just stay. Alhamdulillah, I was blessed to have him in my life.

A Fountain Pen from My Father

Dad had a love for writing and stationery—something I definitely inherited from him. He once gave me a black fountain pen with a gold nib, and I treasured it.

That pen, like him, is no longer here. But I still remember it. The weight of it, the way it glided across the page, the way he’d use his own pens with so much care. If I ever find one that looks like it, I’ll buy it—not because I need another pen, but because it would bring back a piece of him.

It’s funny how something as simple as a pen can hold so much meaning. It wasn’t just a tool; it was a connection, a reminder of who he was and how much he shaped me.

A Pencil Case from My Mother

When I was a kid, I nagged my mum for a birthday present. We didn’t have much money in those days, but she still went out, in stormy, terrible weather, to the corner shop and bought me a pencil case.

It wasn’t expensive. It wasn’t fancy. But only a mother would do that—go out in the worst weather just to make sure her child smiled on his birthday.

That’s the thing about mums. They don’t always say it, but their love is in the things they do. In the small sacrifices, in the little moments, in the ways they put their children first even when they have nothing. That pencil case meant the world to me.

More Than Just Objects

There are so many more gifts that mean something to me, each tied to someone I love,

• A locket of the Kaaba from my Suto Affa after she did Hajj. I’ve had it for over 20 years, and I still treasure it.

• Perfume from my little brother and sister—I still have the bottle.

• Books from my brother—because he knew I’d keep them forever.

• A £10 note from my son—it’ll stay in my wallet forever, In’sha’Allah.

• A chocolate bar from my son when he was in Year 7—he came home late one day, and I was worried. Turns out, he had gone to the corner shop to buy me a chocolate bar for my birthday with his own savings.

• My middle daughter always buys me chocolate or little gifts when she goes out. She keeps telling me that when she starts working, she has a list of things she wants to buy for me.

• My little one always makes me cards and notes—I’ve kept them all in my drawer.

Love Never Fades

None of these gifts are expensive. None of them were grand gestures. But they’re priceless to me. They remind me of the people I’ve lost, the ones still here, and the love I’ve been surrounded with throughout my life.

Time moves forward, people come and go, but these little things? They stay.

And at the end of the day, that’s what really matters.