Srinagar, July 21 -- I often write when I visit new places in my home district-Kupwara. Not because I must, but because every village, every bend of the road whispers a story: of fading folk songs, of mothers in pherans with prayer beads, of neglected shrines and unspoken silences. Usually, my pen is drawn toward the cultural or the social, toward memory and metaphor. But this time, a man-not a mountain or a monument-inspired me to write. A doctor. A humble soul whose grace made even my broken bone feel like it had a purpose. It was a few months ago. A plain road, an ordinary day, and then-betrayal. My foot slipped, and in that split second, the world narrowed into one terrible truth: my tibia had fractured. Not cracked, not bruised-fract...