There are days when sunshine breaks through the sky turning sunflowers into warm glowing suns.

As the real sun moves overhead, their petalled heads turn to follow it. Even if clouds pass overhead they still seem to know which path it has taken.

Some flowers, like people, always manage to find the light on a cloudy day.

Khodeja Nur loved sunflowers.

She was born fighting on November 21, 1993. Her first breath was of Pakistan air, a country layered with the delicate scent of jasmine.

In the early days, medical staff thought she might have had a form of cerebral palsy.

She would suffer seizures with no obvious regular triggers. It could be heightened emotion or sound and suddenly her brain would ignite like a firework.

Her parents, Misbah Gul and Nasser, had both trained as doctors and even they couldn't be certain what their child had - there was no medical label yet for the battle she fought.

All they did know was that they had another beautiful daughter, as fragile as she was strong, and all they could do was love.

To her two older sisters, Meher and Ameena, Khodeja was their "miracle".

"Her first four years were touch and go," says Ameena. "We thought we'd lose her many times but she always fought through."

Their grandmother nicknamed her Jeju - a name of great strength. As the years passed, the sisters grew ever closer.

Another little sister joined them and together they became four - Meher, Ameena, Khodeja and Ayesha.

In Arabic their names meant Benevolence, Trustworthiness, Strength and Life.

Jeju, they said, was "their glue". She was the one that held their entire family together.

"She was just amazing," says Ameena. "She didn't have much in terms of words, but you knew what she was saying."

It was Jeju's bedroom that everybody used to gravitate towards. Even when the family moved to Scotland in 2001, it was Jeju's room that rang with laughter.

"She loved being the centre of attention," says Ameena. "Every day was a miracle for her."

The family made this new colder land their home. The scent of jasmine was gone, replaced with northern winds and the taste of salt off the west coast seas.

Nasser took up a post as a surgeon, determined to help others in thanks for the help given to his own precious daughter.

Jeju went to school in Ayr at a place now called South Craig Campus where she shone brighter than ever.

Red Cross carers helped her too, kindly women who became like second mothers to her.

Her eldest sister, Meher the benevolent, studied psychology at university.

Ayesha "she who lives"carved out a future for herself at school.

Ameena the trustworthy went to university in Dundee to study illustration, but found something missing.

"After working for loads of different companies I grew tired of working for other people's dreams," she says.

"I wanted something of my own that I could be proud of."

After making beautiful little elephants for her sister's wedding cake, she took another path.

She became one of 13 - a baker's dozen - enrolled at The School of Artisan Food at Welbeck Estate in Nottinghamshire.

It was September 2015 when she began the course and Ameena immediately knew she'd found her passion.

She loved baking bread, the warm smell of dough rising in a hot oven and the way flour fell like powdered silk through her fingers.

She loved to layer chocolate, dark and luxurious, like a satin sheet over sponge.

It was edible art, creating beautiful things with just her hands.

When she called home, she told her family about all the things she was creating, and always she asked for Jeju.

"If Jeju is okay then we are okay," says Ameena. Their little sister had become the family mantra.

That December though, Jeju was no longer okay.

A few days before Christmas, Ameena's sister suffered an acute seizure and went into cardiac arrest. She was taken into intensive care on December 23.

"It was a really horrible time," says Ameena. "She tried to keep going. She was strong, she never showed her pain."

Jeju, the little sister who loved sunflowers, passed away on Ayesha's birthday, on Christmas Day.

In her later years, Jeju's medical label had finally come through. It turned out she had a very rare genetic disorder, only 200 people have it in the whole of Europe.

CDG - type one A is a disorder where there is a step missing in the genetic makeup which messes up a lot of things in the body's development.

"She was entirely dependent on us," says Ameena. "The only solace we found when we lost her was in the fact she was free of all those things that were holding her back."

"It was devastating," she adds. "She was just a huge part of our everyday."

Four sisters now three, Ameena, Ayesha and Meher held each other tight.

Meher took time off work to come and help the family. Ameena was due back at her cookery school but she didn't feel her heart was in it.

Her friend put her in a car, however, and insisted on driving her down there.

Ameena went for a week and stayed until the end. The rest of the people on her course looked out for her.

"At times of loss, people rally around you and lift you up and you just have to take strength from that and take on each day with patience and grace," she says.

"Days become weeks and weeks become months and before you know it, time has passed and you're still living."

Ameena graduated from her course and started her own bakery.

She named it Jeju's Bakehouse - a name with a strength to it that keeps her going.

She works out of her own family kitchen, baking fresh loaves and spooning out brownie mixture, layering her sponge with chocolate satin sheets and carefully placed flowers, as delicate as jasmine.

Sometimes her father will pop into the kitchen to help her after his long shift at the hospital as a surgeon.

He will take up a knife and chop plums for her, as meticulous as though he were at work.

He wants to help her deliver her baguettes when he retires, he says. A father and daughter team delivering loaves to families.

This year, she hopes to build a place to hold her special bread oven. The bakery logo designed by Ameena - an artisan loaf surrounded by rays of light adorns everything she creates.

"The rays are like sunshine, because she was sunshine," Ameena says.

She wants to call it a bakehome not a bakehouse when the building is done.

"It's not just a homage to my sister, my goal is for a cafe and bakery which has the same feel we had in her room, when we all gathered together," she says.

"Love and happiness in a surrounding where you are welcome regardless of your background and ability."

She also wants to offer people with disabilities the chance to come in and learn how to make certain things.

Ameena has already received backing from the Princes Trust for her equipment and is optimistic her plans will be realised this year.

Her strength to make it happen, she says, comes from Jeju.

"You find her in things that you do every day," she says. "You see Jeju in the little things and that keeps you going.

"I can't believe it has been 15 months since we lost her. My faith as a Muslim is what has got me through losing her. You just take strength and love from wherever you can get it.

"Go with grace, work hard and you never know what you can achieve."