Two crossing paths

part 3: Nostalgia

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The brain has always fascinated me, with its intricate web of neurons, firing impulses like the circuitry of a vast server. Each impulse carries something different: a man's pain, a fleeting dream, or an emotional memory buried deep within the amygdala-the part of us that sets us apart from animals.

She moved through her room with a distracted air, packing her suitcase amidst the disarray. Her hands worked mechanically, filling the remaining spaces with anything she could find, striving for a perfect fit. Exhaustion weighed on her, but the sight of untidy spaces stirred an anxiety that kept her going. Her mind, however, was miles away, consumed by thoughts of the long journey home. It would be a tiresome ride, the bus winding through deserts, passing opulent villas and lush greenery, skirting the edge of the Nile, before finally reaching the concrete maze and frenzied traffic of Cairo-home.

As she sank into her seat on the bus, her loosely wrapped hijab framed her face, her white blouse and dark skirt a contrast against the sun's gentle rays that touched her cheeks, making her eyes glow. In that moment, she resembled a weary princess, though annoyance flickered in her eyes as she glanced at her friend Rawan, who sat beside her, chattering away. Finally, a moment of silence fell, and she welcomed it, allowing her mind to wander as her amygdala fired, triggering a cascade of memories.

They came in waves, each one stirring her emotions: the joy of her childhood in Nigeria, where she had grown up surrounded by kind neighbors and friends; the warmth of her years in Jakarta, filled with international friendships, the Syrian family next door, the maid who had been like a second mother, and even the Aussie teacher she had once harbored a crush on. But the joy was tinged with sadness as she recalled the move to Malaysia, a consequence of her father's job troubles. Yet, despite the challenges, there were moments of happiness as they traveled the world together. Still, a deep sadness settled over her as she thought of the years that had passed without her father, living with her mother and siblings, struggling to cope but somehow surviving.

Meanwhile Adam's mind was awash with a torrent of emotions carried by similar impulses. The recent loss of his grandfather weighed heavily on him, filling his heart with sorrow and grief. Yet, alongside the pain, there was a simmering undercurrent of anger and frustration. He thought about the endless family conflicts, the harsh words exchanged, and the way those fights had forced him to mature far beyond his years. He could now see clearly who was right and who was wrong, a clarity that brought its own burdens.

Then came the memories of disappointment, especially when he thought about the girls who had crossed his path. Trust, it seemed, was a rare commodity. He recalled one girl who had woven an entire life of lies just to get close to him, and others who had tried to play nice, hoping to catch his attention. But he had never cared. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he realized the irony: he had never actually approached a girl or dealt with those who tried to be friendly-not even his fellow doctors.

His smile grew as his thoughts drifted back to his school days. He remembered the time he had broken his leg jumping from the first floor, all to prove he wasn't a coward. The memory of a school friend asking the teacher for permission to fart made him chuckle, a moment of absurdity that still brought him joy.

He also recalled his time at the Catholic school, an unusual experience for a Muslim boy, yet one that he cherished. He laughed at the image of his younger self, proudly sporting a mustache, convinced that shaving it would somehow diminish his manhood.

Amidst these memories, a deep longing stirred within him. He sighed, his voice soft and wistful. "One day," he whispered, "I'll have a family of my own-a wife, and little kids. And I'll make their days the best, for the rest of their lives."