We didn’t know her personally. But when news broke about Humaira Asghar, the Pakistani actress was found in her Karachi apartment months after her passing. Something shifted. Not just in the entertainment world, but in quiet corners of our lives. It wasn’t just the tragedy. It was the silence around it.
She had lived alone. Worked in the public eye. Had colleagues, fans, and followers. And yet, no one noticed when she stopped showing up. Not a neighbor. Not a friend. Not even family, who, according to reports, had distanced themselves long ago.
It’s easy to scroll past stories like this. To feel sad for a moment and then move on. But for desis, especially those living alone, away from extended family, navigating work and identity in fast-paced UK life, it hits differently.
We’ve had moments where we’ve pulled away. Gone quiet. Missed calls. Skipped gatherings. And we’ve all had people we meant to check on but didn’t. Humaira’s story isn’t just about her. It’s about all of us.
One friend told us at a cafe in East London, “I saw the news and thought, what if that was someone I knew? What if it were me? We’re so connected online, but we don’t always notice when someone disappears.”
Another said, “I live alone. And I realised…no one would know if I didn’t show up for a week. That scared me.”
These aren’t dramatic confessions. They’re quiet truths. And they’re reminders that connection isn’t just about likes or group chats. It’s about presence. About asking, “How are you?” and meaning it.
After Humaira’s death was reported, celebrities across Pakistan spoke out, not just in grief, but in reflection. Actor Adnan Siddiqui wrote, “ Deeply shocked and saddened. A young life cut short so suddenly. May you be in peace, Humaira.”
Hina Altaf shared, “ She lived alone. She passed away alone. And days went by before anyone even noticed. This isn’t just a loss, it’s a wake-up call.”
Faisal Quraishi urged, “For the love of God, keep in touch with loved ones who live abroad.”
There aren’t just celebrity statements. They’re reminders from people who knew her or knew someone like her.
And then there’s the media. The way her story was told, sometimes with a sensational headline, sometimes with graphic detail, felt heavy. It’s important to report facts. But it’s also important to hold space. To ask, what does this teach us?
Because the truth is, Humaira’s passing isn’t just a headline. It’s a mirror. It asks us, Do we know our neighbours? Have we checked in on that friend who’s been quiet? Are we building lives that include others, not just online but in real life?
In British South Asian communities, we’re raised with warmth. With chai offers and “Beta, eat something.” But as we grow older, move cities, and live independently, warmth can fade unless we choose to keep it alive.
So what can we do?
If you’re living alone in the UK, whether you’re a student, a working professional, or someone who’s just moved, start small. Create a WhatsApp group with people in your building or street. It doesn’t have to be deep. Just a space to say “ I’m heading to Tesco, anyone need anything?” or “Anyone up for chai this weekend?”
That group could be the difference between isolation and community.
Join online spaces that feel safe and familiar. There are Desi-led forums, diaspora Instagram pages, and even local South Asian walking clubs. You don’t have to share everything. Just show up. Let people know you exist, and that you care when they do too.
One woman told us she started a Neighbourhood chai circle in Birmingham, “it’s just five of us. We meet once a month. No pressure. But it’s helped me feel less invisible.”
Another said, “I joined a Desi Discord server during lockdown. I didn’t think it would matter. But now I have people who check in when I go quiet. That’s everything.”
These aren’t grand gestures. They’re lifelines.
Even if you’re not the one living alone, think about who is. That cousin who moved for uni. That colleague who never joins after work drinks. That neighbour you wave at but never speak to. Ask, Invite, Include.
Because no one should leave this world unnoticed. And no one should live in it feeling indivisible.
Humaira’s story is heartbreaking. But it’s also a wake-up call. Not to dwell in sadness, but to act with softness. To build a circle, not just following. To make sure that when someone goes quiet, we notice.
We don’t need to be perfect. We just need to be present.
So maybe this isn’t a sad story. Maybe it’s a gentle nudge. To knock on a door. To send a message. To ask, “Are you okay?” even if it feels awkward.
Because the strongest thing we can do now…is show up.
