It was a quiet, somber morning as I made the familiar drive up the winding road to Monal, high in the Margalla Hills. This time, though, the usual excitement I felt when visiting was gone. The news had spread like a whisper—Monal had closed its doors forever, handed over to the wildlife authorities to protect the natural beauty of the hills. The lively restaurant that had once stood at the heart of the city’s social life was now left to the wild.

When I arrived, the place felt different. The parking lot, which had once bustled with cars and excited families, was empty. The grand entrance looked faded, abandoned. A new sign hung near the gate: Closed. Wildlife Area—Restricted Access. But no one stopped me from walking in. Perhaps no one cared anymore.

I made my way inside. The tables and chairs were still arranged as they had always been, as if someone had just walked out, leaving everything behind in a rush. But there was no one. No waiters in their white uniforms, no soft chatter of people enjoying their meals, no laughter echoing through the open-air terrace. Just silence.

I found my usual spot by the large window overlooking Islamabad, where the view had always made breakfast at Monal feel like a luxury. The city stretched out below, bathed in the soft morning light, but it felt distant now, like it was part of another world. A world that had moved on, leaving this place behind.

Sitting there alone, I pulled out the last breakfast I had packed for myself. I didn’t know why I had brought it. Maybe it was out of habit, or maybe it was a way to say goodbye. The birds, now unbothered by human presence, chirped in the background, flying freely across the terrace. In the distance, I could hear the rustle of the wind through the trees, reclaiming the space that had once been so full of life.

As I ate in silence, I thought of all the mornings spent here—celebrations with friends, quiet moments with family, stolen hours of solitude watching the city wake up below. This place had been a part of so many lives, and now it was gone, handed back to the wilderness. The authorities had said it was to preserve the hills, to let nature take its course. But it felt like losing something irreplaceable.

I finished my meal slowly, savoring every bite, knowing it would be the last one here. The last breakfast at Monal. I stayed a little longer, watching the birds, the trees, and the hills as they quietly reclaimed their space, wrapping the restaurant in their quiet, eternal presence.

There would be no more breakfasts at Monal. No more laughter, no more celebrations, no more memories made here. The only sounds left were the wind and the birds, as nature slowly returned to what had once been its own.

I stood up, my footsteps echoing in the empty space, and took one last look at the view. The city, the hills, and the restaurant now belonged to the wild. I turned and walked out, leaving behind not just a place, but a piece of my heart.

But that was a dream ☝️

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