A Look at the Earlier Days by Imran Zarif, chocolate coffee

Some places become particularly important in life because of the time spent there with special people. Arman’s old home, where he had once talked, laughed, and shared moments with his loved ones, was now just a silent witness. Those close to him had departed, leaving only echoes of their voices. As he stood beside the sofa covered in dust, looking at the old walls, chairs, doors, and fans, he realized that these were just materials before, but now, they felt like pills of nostalgia. It was as if he was having a conversation with the souls who had once lived with him.

He turned toward the corner of the room, and in his mind’s eye, he saw the faces of his loved ones smiling at him. Their expressions carried the warmth of old days, the silent longing of memories that could never be relived. Different happenings surfaced in his mind, but when he tried to remember the exact days they had occurred, he found it impossible. Time had stolen the small details, and now, no matter how hard he tried, he could not recapture the same feelings of those moments.

Arman tried to figure out the trivial details that made those moments special. The wrinkles on the faces of his elders, the warmth of their hugs, their voices—everything had faded, leaving behind blurry images in his memory. He longed to touch them, to hug them as he once did. But now, they were no longer as familiar as they had been. Time had created a distance that could not be crossed. Those people had moved on—some were busy making memories in other stories, while others had gone forever, their absence permanent.

He sighed, his heart heavy yet full. He had learned a lesson: to pay attention, respect, and love those around him before they, too, became distant memories.

Arman stood at the entrance of his childhood home, now worn with time. The walls, once filled with laughter, whispered tales of the past. Everything happens on time, he thought. With time, we evolve, we part our ways, and we grow in different directions. Just as a seed becomes a plant, then a tree, and in the same tree, different branches grow in different directions. The memories he had with people were part of his life, and they had made his journey brighter in their own way. The promises, the shared moments, all reminded him of how much had changed and how much had been lost. Yet, he reminded himself that these memories were not a burden but a strength.

The future awaited, offering him the opportunity to brighten someone else's journey, just as others had brightened his. He knew he would play the same role in others' lives as others had played in his. The future was waiting with the promise to transform the new house into an old one with love, respect, care, and a vast network of memories.

As Arman walked through the rooms, he closed the doors gently behind him, not just in farewell but in the hope of making new memories with the people still in his life. He reminded himself to respect and love those around him, to pay attention to the minute details that made them unique so that he would never feel the same for them. Someday, when he would look back at these memories, he knew he would have a clear picture with all the details he wanted.

About the Author:

Imran Zarif is a Pakistani writer passionate about English literature. He writes short stories, essays, poems, and non-fiction, exploring themes of society, gender roles, traditions, and blindly followed rituals. His work delves into human experiences, decision-making, and cultural norms, offering thought-provoking narratives that challenge conventions and inspire reflection.