Srinagar, June 14 -- It was the night before Father's Day. Outside, the world was winding down. Shops had wrapped their last gift boxes, children had finished scribbling "I love you" in crayon, families were planning Sunday breakfasts.

I sat in my room, as I always do, staring at nothing. I don't expect cards or cake anymore. My children live far away. Not by choice. Not by distance. But by the invisible wall that courts and custody can't explain to a father's heart.

Their names are Arshad, Sarah, and Murshad. They live in my prayers now. Every morning I whisper them before I rise. Every night I say them before I sleep.

I haven't heard their voices in years, but I know them by heart. I carry them the way old men carry memories. Close t...