. . .
❝Once upon a time, a girl fell in love with her husband and made the stars realise that they'd gotten her soulmate wrong.❞
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It's a daunting thing, your first love. It's new, making you unsure and doubt whether it's love or just a mere...
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TIME.
It was one of the most real things in existence, but it wasn't visible nor tangible and was easily forgotten and sent to the back of our memory. But time could also have been an illusion. Something that was a figment of the human imagination; only, now we were all running to the rhythm that time led. It was the only permanent and never-changing aspect of life, but wasn't it funny how time wasn't an actual thing?
Time could be measured in so many ways. Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and the numerical list could go on forever. But time could also be measured in memories. In feelings. In emotions, whether it be the happiness you felt at one moment or the sadness you felt in the next.
Time was so infinitely finite, and it created a scary illusion in our world, not waiting up for anyone and ready to leave behind anyone who was a second late. Because that's what life was. It never waited around, almost becoming a competition to the point where humans were racing each other to become the winner out on top.
Only, the race ended with death. Only with death. And so, why were we chasing a win which would only be awarded at the end of our lifetime? Wouldn't it be easier to not view time as our biggest enemy, and instead see it as a friend, revelling in the quiet, tranquil moments with those who your heart felt at peace with? Instead of chasing something intangible, why couldn't we just be?
As surprising as it was, a six-year-old had made me realise that. He didn't do anything in particular, but his presence filled my heart with something almost nostalgic. I'd become used to his presence, his adorableness, but time just stood there like a huge hindrance, stopping me from revelling in the small joys I found in his eyes because of the impending divorce that would completely tear my husband's world from mine.
And so the only thing I could do was not to not take that time for granted, and not rush towards a future we were utterly blind to when we could peacefully revel in the present.
"Faithe, look, this is my mâmân," Riyad exclaimed in excitement, shaking my wrist. I looked at the picture he was pointing at in the album, seeing a woman who looked like the older, female version of Riyad. She was absolutely beautiful, which gave me insight into how Rafiq claimed he fell for at first sight, but it was upsetting to think how terribly she'd been treated and still wore that huge smile in the photo.
"You look exactly like her," I said, watching his eyes light up at my response.
"Really?" He flicked through the album, looking through it for something else. "You don't think I look like my bâbâ? My mamani says that I look more like him."
I didn't doubt she'd said that. But when I observed the second picture, there were very few similarities between Rafiq and Riyad. Possibly the slant of their nose and the shape of their eyes, but it was limited to that. Riyad was the complete clone of Naira. And I was glad he hadn't taken after that toxic, controlling asshole, despite how much of a good friend he may have been to Zayaan.
