In the middle of the quiet home that once echoed with laughter, there now lies a silence that feels almost unnatural. But within that silence, there is one sound that breaks hearts—a soft, aching whimper from under a table, near a framed photo draped in white flowers.

It is the sound of Simba, Shefali Jariwala’s beloved dog, crying like a baby, refusing to eat, refusing to move, refusing to accept what has happened. Simba doesn’t know what death means, but he knows that his Shefali is gone. And it’s breaking him. Parag Tyagi, Shefali’s husband, stood by helplessly as Simba dragged himself to the same corner where Shefali would sit every morning. He didn’t bark. He didn’t play. He simply stared. For hours.

Then came the soft cries—high-pitched, low-toned, like a child trying to understand something too painful. “He hasn’t eaten since she passed,” Parag said, barely holding back his own tears in a brief statement to the press. “He lies there all day, barely moves. He looks at the door like he’s waiting for her to come back.” It’s a scene that no one expected, yet everyone who has loved and lost understands deeply.

Because love, in its purest form, isn’t limited to humans. It lingers in paws and wet noses, in wagging tails and warm cuddles. And when it is taken away, the pain is as real as any heartbreak.

Simba had been Shefali’s constant companion—through her shoots, her difficult days, even during her recovery periods after treatments. While many saw Shefali as a glamorous face on screen, those closest to her knew that she found comfort in the quiet presence of her furry friend. On days when words failed her, Simba would be there, lying at her feet, his head on her lap, understanding her without questions. Now, with Shefali gone, Simba searches every room as if retracing their memories. He pauses by the couch they used to share, circles the balcony she used to sip tea on, sniffs the slippers she last wore. Each detail seems to tear deeper into his fragile heart. “He howled for the first time last night,” Parag revealed. “It was the most painful sound I’ve ever heard. I don’t think I’ve cried that much even at the funeral. It felt like Simba was saying goodbye in his own language.” The house staff, too, has been shaken. They’ve known Simba since he was a pup. Now, they gently carry him to his food bowl only to watch him turn away. The vet has been called, but there’s no physical illness. Just emotional collapse.

Parag has tried everything—playing Shefali’s voice recordings, placing Simba’s bed next to her framed portrait, even lying down beside him at night hoping Simba would feel less alone. But grief doesn’t always respond to comfort. Sometimes, it just needs to be witnessed. And in Simba’s case, it’s being felt deeply, loudly, tragically. Animal behaviorists say that dogs form emotional bonds stronger than we realize. When those bonds are broken, especially by sudden loss, pets can experience depression, anxiety, even physical decline. Simba is showing all the signs. But what breaks people even more is how visibly he seems to miss her, how his mourning looks no different than a child lost without their mother.

Videos have begun circulating online of Simba lying beside Shefali’s photo, occasionally nudging it with his nose, then curling up next to it as if trying to feel her presence. One clip shows him whimpering softly as Parag tries to feed him, only to turn his head and rest it against Shefali’s old shawl. These moments, captured by friends and staff, weren’t meant to be shared. But Parag later agreed to release them—not for sympathy, but as a reminder of what true connection looks like. “People need to see this,” he said. “That animals grieve. That they love. And that they too carry heartbreak.

Support from fans has poured in—not just for Shefali’s family, but for Simba. People have begun sending toys, treats, blankets, letters, all addressed to a dog who just lost the one person who meant everything. One message read, “Dear Simba, she loved you so much. Please eat, please be okay. She wouldn’t want you to be sad.” Another said, “Your pain is felt by millions. You’re not alone, baby.” And yet, no words seem to reach him. Because Simba isn’t reading messages. He’s searching for Shefali’s scent, her touch, her voice. And every second without it is another second of sorrow.

For Parag, the situation is doubly devastating. He’s not only mourning his wife, he’s watching their dog waste away from heartbreak. “It’s like losing her all over again, every day,” he said. “Simba used to bring us joy. Now he reminds me how deeply we’ve all lost.” But he hasn’t given up. He’s brought in animal grief specialists. He’s staying by Simba’s side day and night. And he’s sharing the story, hoping someone out there understands what it feels like to grieve with a silent soul by your side.

In a world full of noise, sometimes the most powerful story is told without words. A dog crying for his person. A man holding his breath, hoping that his last connection to his wife doesn’t slip away too. This is not just a story of loss. It’s a story of loyalty, of love that goes beyond species, of a bond that doesn’t die when the heartbeat stops. Simba is still waiting. And in that waiting, the world is being reminded what grief truly looks like—not always loud, but always real.