It was the day of calmness, it was the day of despair, it
was the age of love, it was the age of foolishness. It was the era of
innocence; it was the era of fraudulence.
Unlike his room, the temperature outside was a bit
wintry. The unforeseen hail of his hand’s hair follicles to the winter wind was
a witness. Clad with so many clothes that you would took him as a decent
beggar. The colorless fluid was uninterruptedly pouring through his nose.
Besides it, he got his all beddings burned while stealing an apple in a
daydream.
There was a lot going in his mind.
Before a minute the beddings were quite a scene to be
looked at. The riotous crumbs of fire jointly launched an attack on it and
devastated it beyond recognition. Pillow was entirely ravaged. The quilt which
was patch worked had now become a reservoir of carbon monoxide. Fuming
thick black smoke out of it. The sheet, carpet everything near his bed
was disfigured. Even his wallet was not spared.
All these blows blowed up his head. He was agitated
to the bone. These hurting moments stirred up his mind and he stared to look up
for some solace.
He piled up all the debris, wore a hooded tunic and
decided to go outside. The moment he turned his eyes towards the other end of a
road lit up his entire soul.
Despite the harsh weather,
“The burning scandal’’ (kaand)
Everything discouraging.
Did he saw the wallet brimmed with money? Or an
angel walking down to him? Or his dead friend coming back to life?
Neither of these assumptions are true.
A girl slowly sauntered towards him. A loose outer
garment was hanging from her shoulders. Besides it, her entire being was
covered leaving only her face visible to him. Enough to know that she was the
one who comes to his dreams every day and night.
He had not seen her earlier.
Never.
But could conjure up her face in his dreams.
Can we see the things exactly in our dreams?
Can we see the things exactly in our dreams?
Nonetheless, not having seen them in our life? Is it
possible?
His heart, mind, hands every goddamn organ of body
used to think about her. All the energy radiating from his organs intensified
to the limit that it created a virtual image on this retina. Thus, he was able
to see her.
Bas Aaj Tak woh lamhaa yaad kar kar ke jee raha hai…
SERIES 2ND
A girl slowly sauntered towards him
Even Malicious Mirage surfaced his knees to the ground .
he kissed his courage. Nothing could stop him to meet the
pool. In The graveyard of hopelessness he found a ray of hope.
The thirst would be quenched?
He saw her! She was there in front of him.
The whole universe had just gone to a short nap.
Everything froze to death. The wind however continued to move. Those shivery
waves reminded him of his life. He and his dream were still alive.
As she placed ahead the whole universe walked with her.
Everything defied death and came back to life.
She stopped; the entire universe came to halt.
She walked; the whole universe followed her.
He was about to call her. And then his memory failed him!
He didn’t know her name. and decided to greet her. Whilst his mind was busy in
selecting the appropriate greeting word the girl had walked herself away from
him.
His heart was hit with a hurt. Like you waited a world
for a shooting star and it showed up when you looked down to assuage the pain
in your eyes.
Gut-wrenching, gutted to death, a pang of anguish
assaulted his heart.
He watched her going away and could do nothing to stop
her.Instead of solace he met agony. Instead of sympathy he met hostility.
The wind joined his grief; it swooshed wildly and
vandalized everything that came in its way. The wind avenged the grief of his
comrade.
With half-burned fire-pot and half-dead heart he dashed
towards home. Sufferings would wax and wane; hope will come and go. He decided
to follow her. A hasty pickup of torn out shoe; cursory glance on his clothes;
a note of ten rupees.
And then he stormed like a wind towards his destiny.…………
Khayal rakh ae dil yeh ranj tumhe na-umeed na bana de!
SERIES 3RD
Lately, but the sun chanced to rose that day. A spirited
anchor with a furious tail was dancing on his back. There was a blunderbuss
hiding under his belt. The joy came and hurled his anchor right into the pants
of grief and dragged him to the lostness. To the nowhere! To the hell!
Behind her was he. She was inching away from him. Her
every single footstep would took his breath away. Like that fish whom a kid
tossed and then scooped out of water. Toss and scoop.
His heart was beating like a machine with hundred goddamn
engines.
Unable to dissolve the distance between. He chose a new
plan.
Even the angels situated on his two shoulders failed to
count the number of acts he did. But she never looked back! .
Does she know me? Does she even care for me?
Nevertheless, these questions kicked his heart to death. But he sustained! He
refused to believe in them.
Almost nineteen reasons took birth in his mind. All of
them transformed into strong beings. And everyone was right behind her
screaming, “I care for you and I know you.”
While he was lost in the world of fantasy. A car went by
and stopped right next to her. She gripped straps of her backpack, knelt down
her shoulders and climbed into the car.
When he came out of phantasm he saw a road littered with
yellowish half-melt snow flakes. What his eyes were looking for had been taken
away. He cursed himself. At least he could saw her in his mind. Now, there was
nothingness!
He grumbled and commanded his legs to join his mind. He
decided to run. Run, till he could find her. He struggled to suffer. He fixed
soles of his shoes, threw his mobile inside the deepest pocket and started to
drift away.
Could he find her?……..
As if roots had divorced branches.
Somebody was behind the conspiracy. The soul was shackled
and his longing suppressed.
The more he tried to get close to her
The farther would he found himself
“If your heart loves someone with ultimate earnestness,
every particle in this universe would conspire to help you get it.” But
someone’s animosity was keeping soul away from body. As if in a ravishing river
a maleficent whirlpool was destroying everything that came in its way.
With his hands constantly in air, he tried to stop so
many vehicles. No one would hit the brake for him.
One of his eyes was keeping the track of car in which his
dream sat. And another desperately looking for a lift. What if he would lost
the track of car? Where would he look for her? To whom would he ask?
The bus honked and disassembled the whole crowd of
worries battling around his forehead. Even though, there was barely an inch of
space where he could place his foot. The vehement storm of love; the faithful
pinching in his heart. He treasured those desires and clambered up the rooftop
of bus.
He had never done that before. To what extent can a
person go to meet his beloved?
He dodged high-tension power lines, ducked near the giant
branches and above all fought bravely with the bone-chilling waves of
Chilai-Kalan.
It was hard to face these hardships and simultaneously
keeping the track of her car. But then he was a Romeo. His heart ached for her!
After a while the bus stopped and so did the car. He
watched her scrambling out of car. He gave the note of ten rupees to fare
collector and walked himself towards her.
The tides are
exploding like an agitated lion is roaring its anger. Furiously, they rise and
fall. Beware! Everything becomes a mystery that tries to cross its way. Day
before, a ship full of life was vandalized and its survivors mutilated.
Destiny can’t be desired here.
A dungeon crowded with humongous sharks and you came out
unharmed, don’t brave the monsters of tide. The devastating heat will singe
your skin.
But the life; anything can happen here. He survived all
the trials and tribulations. In this cosmic sea he could vividly see the ship
of his life. An inch away. The sailor was destined to set his ship to the
shore.
He could watch the gestures of gratitude being sent to
the car driver. Afraid of being symbolized as a stalker, he took the other
lane. Now, the two were walking parallel on either side of road. Hesitatingly,
his eyes would stagger to get a glance of her face. The rays were not hitting
the exact spot hence the image was always blurred.
It was a thoroughfare. Among all living beings only he
was following her. And this distinction knocked up the Lucifer. His friend saw
him trading the peeks. Atif was a bad-ass, always ready to screw his peeps.
“Hey! Ahmed. What are you up-to?”
“(Waveringly) How are you Atif?”
“What are you doing here, you said you were busy in
exams?”
“Yeah. I came here to buy physics reference.”
“Ooh! ‘Physics Reference’ or looking for a chance?”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing brother, just learn to control expression when
you are lying.”
This conversation was a total disaster, along with
embarrassment it blotted out her from his sight. He didn’t knew his name. One
chance to find her in the multitude ate away the rabbit. How can he find her?
“Color recognitionism.” He recapitulated the color of her
scarf, outer garment, her shoes. He even cursed the fraternity of fashion
designing. There were many people who wore similar garments.
A crystal of gem fell in the bag full of rice.
Yet again, he lost her……………..
He never dared to ask for what rightfully belonged to
him. To ask for a favor was an otherworldly concept for him. He was a kind of
guy who would gaze intently into the eyes of storekeeper till he won’t get his
extra money back. His abdominal fraternity regarded his behavior with disdain.
Invariably, they had to settle for less. Had there been a judicial system in
homosapiens they would have filed hundred cases like: “Right to equality, Right
to food, Right to express…”
I forgot to mention the day in, day out pandemonium of
“Hunger Hormones.”
To find her in this populated market, would his behavior
help or kill him?
As he was oblivious in examining the color of garments.
His mobile phone vibrated. The vibration was so strongly sound that it
shuddered his entire skeleton. The screen was blinking with his father’s name
on it. He made a rugged grimace and answered the call.
“Where the hell are you?”
“Are you done with your studies?”
“You have only five months remaining for the MBBS exam”?
“Come home or I will lynch you.”
The tale of torture didn’t restrain him. He was ready to
place his finger in the hands of heart. The arrows of chastisement ran through
his bones, made a dent in his soul and ravaged his entire being. But, a shred
of love outweighed all the agony.
Back to his world, he telephoned his friend.
“Atif, Where are you?”
“I am lingering around.”
“Come here.”
“Okay!”
Atif met him and they together went to locate her. After
an hour they were able to find a girl who wore the similar outfit. He dashed
towards her and positioned himself parallel to her on the other end of road. To
confirm that she was she he waited till she would turn around. Quite a time
elapsed but she won’t turn her face around. As his longing faltered someone
called the girl from behind. He saw her!
In this world, it is better to leave something
unseen!………..
SERIES 7TH
It wasn’t her!
A rush of wind had rustled
some pages from past.
He had not seen her from ages. Her name was Sadaf and she was beautiful!
Long before, Ahmed and Sadaf walked together
the road of life. Hand in hand they rambled, strolled and crossed horizons.
Sometimes, the surface was ragged and sometimes smooth as velvet. Everything dies! And such happened here. The road died into two diversions. Nature had decided something different for them. Until then,
they were happy and had unwary view of the world. Lost in their own microcosm,
they didn’t delve into the knotty and tangled realities of life. They were
naive! Were not they?
Past is pain.
Coagulated, pores occluded and the bruise
clotted. A nudge of past ruined it. Blood started to ooze out, rolled down the
stairs and wasted everyone in its way. The clot felt like a pebble, who for
thousands of years stands steadfast against boiling heat and frosty cold,
watches himself turning into stone and then to a rock. And then a gentle blow
pulverizes it into pieces. Millions
of minutes destroyed by a second!
Ahmed eyed her for a while. And then helped
his eyes to move across the road. He decided to go home.
This time, he shouldered his way to the inside
of local bus. Besides pumping blood, his heart stored an ocean of pain. With so
much of anguish, it was difficult to even breathe. That day, he almost met
death. The weird pushing, jostling and squeezing of crowd bolstered his pain.
While Ahmed was trying to breath, someone stuffed his elbow right into the
groove that connects nose with the upper lip. An aged man canvassed his shoes
with mountain of mud. (Joote
ko Magroor bana Dala!). A pickpocket assaulted his buttocks. The bumpy road would never
let his hands to check his wallet.
He didn’t die, but saw the
hell!
23 Jan 2017 7:00 PM
SERIES 7TH
Eventually, the bus stopped and he was able to put up with all the frustrating bearings.
Ahmed scrabbled out of the bus and marched towards his home. Walking through the morphological distinct potholes revealed a secret of his shoes. The out sole of his shoe was completely corrupted by the gang of punctures. Grief was pouring even from underneath.The water drained into his insole as if a pothole and puncture were in a osmotic relationship. On one side the chemistry of Ahmed with that girl was in a bad way and here biology was dancing on his heels. The irony!
To attenuate the effect of ‘grief hormones’ he was in search of an empathy. And where could he get it besides home?
Hold your breath, the tale of tribulations didn’t end up here. Right outside of his house he was molested. The two tires of a car were the miscreants. They squirted hundreds of mud particles; all of them landed on his body. Some barged into his mouth and some banged his ear canals. He ran his eyes all over the body and it took him a second to retaliate. He picked up some of the horrendously disgusting curses and invective from his “department of abusing and damage control” and hurled all of them at the driver. He looked daggers at him. (
Driver ki shahmat aayi thi ki woh brake marta)
With mud all over his body, he opened the front door of house. The sound of closing of door and father’s shout echoed simultaneously in his ears. Ahmed’s father would have never known about his arrival had there been no “Detective Window” carved in the kitchen wall. A traditional camera set to lookout for the creepy movements.
He was busted!
He was hungry; had not eaten anything since morning.The sun was bidding adieu to this part of world. It was the typical dusk time. Rather than a plate of rice he was welcomed with the worst kind of jibes. And the derision was followed by a powerful slap on his face. It striked so hard that a part of his face reflected blood.
Like most of fathers: he compared him with his classmates.
“Look at Nasir, how hardworking he is?”
“Rehan was your classmate, he is studying in delhi?”
“You are not worth a shred.”
“All of them will sell you at the price of a peanut.”
He didn’t make a sound. He would bear all of this but can’t risk his secret. The secret of love. Yes, he loved her.
Thousands of tears came to his rescue. All of them dripped through his eyes and streamed across the geography of his face. No hair follicle, no goddamn uneven structure dared to stop them. They ran so hard and quick as if they had conspired to avenge his father. If his mother had not stood up to assuage his anguish, the tears would have swamped and inundated the entire house.
Eventually, the episode of torture ended and Ahmed went to his room.
25 May. 2025 12:21 PM
SERIES 8TH
Sadaf had not intended to read it. The letter had somehow ended up in her hands—tucked inside a crumpled old book Ahmed had once returned to her. She didn’t even know it was there. She had opened the book absently, flipping pages with no real purpose, until the single sheet slipped out and landed on her lap.
Curiosity didn’t kill her. It wounded her.
The handwriting was unmistakable—slightly slanted, inconsistent in pressure, a mix of bold loops and trembling lines. She had seen it before, years ago, when Ahmed would pass her folded notes between classes, all wrapped in metaphors and half-expressed feelings.
But this letter... it wasn’t like those innocent exchanges. This was raw. Unfiltered. It bled.
She unfolded it slowly, as if afraid it might tear just by her touch. The paper was wrinkled, corners curled like dried autumn leaves. He had written it from somewhere deep within—the kind of place people don’t even speak to themselves from.
The first line made her throat dry.
“I saw you that day, Sadaf. And I swear, the universe folded itself just to frame you in my eyes.”
She paused, her breath catching. She could hear his voice in every word, see him writing it on a cold night, maybe under the weak light of a table lamp, fighting sleep, or maybe pain. She imagined his face—tired, with longing hanging heavy under his eyes.
Line after line, he spoke of moments she never knew existed—of days he followed her just to catch a glimpse, of nights he lay awake naming the constellations after parts of her face. He had painted their memories not with facts, but with feelings, the kind that don’t fade.
“If love had a weight, I’d be buried under it by now. But even if I drown, I won’t stop swimming towards you.”
She folded the letter again, slower this time, but not because of care. Her hands were trembling. Her eyes welled up, and for a moment, the world became foggy.
She didn’t know what to feel.
Guilt? For not knowing. Pain? For not being there. Or something heavier? Something dangerous?
Love?
She stood up, as if distance could help her breathe. Her thoughts raced—was he still the same? Did he still feel this way? Did he even know she had read it?
No. He didn’t.
And perhaps, he must never know.
But the damage was done.
She couldn't unsee what she read. Couldn't unknow what he felt.
Some truths don’t knock. They enter silently and shift everything around.
SERIES 9TH
“The soul doesn’t always speak in words. Sometimes, it just weeps silently.”
That night, Sadaf couldn’t sleep.
Every time she closed her eyes, the letter would appear—not just in her mind, but in her chest. It had carved something inside her. A hollow space. A deep ache that refused to settle.
She lay in the dark, curled up on her side, the folded letter pressed against her chest like it could somehow stop her heart from breaking. But it didn’t. It beat harder. Louder. As if it wanted to escape her body and go to him.
To Ahmed.
She tried to hate him—for loving her so much. She tried to blame him—for writing things that made her breathless. But how could she? How could she punish someone whose only crime was loving her beyond reason?
She remembered his eyes. The way they used to follow her—not shamelessly, but with quiet admiration. With worship.
And she remembered something else.
The day she broke his heart.
Not with cruelty, but with silence.
She had pulled away—not because she didn’t feel—but because the world had told her that some loves are too wild, too inconvenient. She was taught to settle for stability, not storms. And Ahmed? He was a storm. A beautiful one.
And now, years later, that storm had returned—softly, through a letter.
Tears slid down her cheek, warm and confused.
She whispered his name into the darkness like it was a prayer.
“Ahmed...”
And she wondered, was he sleeping peacefully somewhere? Or was he awake too, wondering if she ever thought of him?
She sat up, clutching the letter, and did something she hadn't done in years.
She replied.
Not with pen and paper—but in the air, in her mind, in the space between two aching souls.
“Ahmed, I never stopped carrying you. I just forgot how heavy you were until tonight.
I buried you beneath choices, beneath fears, beneath what people expected of me.
But you were always there—breathing, burning, waiting.
I don’t know if we’ll ever meet again.
But if love could speak, mine would only know your name.”
And then, with tears that refused to stop, she clutched the letter to her chest, not like a piece of paper, but like a part of him.
And for the first time in years... she let herself miss him.
Truly, madly, and without guilt.
SERIES 10TH
“Some love stories are written not to be lived, but to be remembered forever.”
Ahmed waited.
He waited for a sign, a word, a glance—anything that could pull him back from the edge of his longing. But the world remained silent.
Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months. The streets he once roamed, searching for her shadow, grew empty and cold. The letters he sent drifted into oblivion, unanswered. The dreams that once held her face now faded into mist.
He knew, deep down, what the truth whispered softly between the cracks of his heart:
They were never meant to meet again.
Sadaf’s letter, that fragile bridge between two broken souls, had reached him like a gentle sigh. It told him everything without saying much.
Her love was real—but life had chosen different paths for them.
Ahmed kept that letter close, worn at the edges from reading it over and over. It was a treasure and a torment. A reminder that sometimes, love is enough—even if the lovers cannot be.
He never blamed her. Nor himself. Because love, in its purest form, isn’t possession. It is freedom. It is knowing someone so deeply, and letting them go with grace.
In quiet moments, when the world was still, Ahmed whispered her name—Sadaf—with a smile that was both warm and sorrowful.
And somewhere far away, under the same vast sky, Sadaf looked at the stars and whispered back.
They lived separate lives—carrying the same silent melody of love and loss, forever connected in a world where some meetings happen only in dreams.
Sometimes, love’s greatest act is not to hold on, but to let go.
And so, their story ends—not with a goodbye, but with a heartbeat echoing across time.
In silent nights, their hearts still meet,
Across the stars, in dreams so sweet.
Though fate has drawn them far apart,
They hold forever in their heart.
No farewell spoken, no last goodbye,
Just whispered love beneath the sky.
Two souls who loved, yet never stayed
A timeless bond that won’t fade away.
Owais Wani
Comments
Post a Comment