Thank you so much for your prayers; they mean more than I can express. The attacker was identified as Amir Shah, a lift operator at the same hospital. He was killed in a police encounter shortly afterward.

When I heard that, I felt a heaviness in my chest. A bullet ends a life in an instant. In one second, it’s over. For him, it’s finished. No more pain, no more facing the consequences of his actions.

But Dr. Mahnoor doesn’t receive that mercy. She wakes up each morning and relives her trauma. Not just once; she does this every day. Each time she feels tightness on her skin, every time pain reminds her, and every time she sees what that moment took away from her. He threw acid on her body for just a few seconds, but she will carry those seconds for the rest of her life, every hour, every morning, every quiet moment alone.

He died once. She must survive this over and over again.

That’s what acid does. It doesn’t just hurt you; it becomes a part of you. It sits across from you at breakfast. It follows you into every room. It never leaves.

So when people say justice was served, I go quiet. He found the easiest way out, while she is still here, facing the hardest challenge a person can face waking up and choosing to survive something that never truly ends.

That is what breaks me.