ANTI'AL-HAYAT

The evening air carried a gentle chill. Sunlight filtered through the hospital windows, scattering golden impressions across the white floor of the ward. I stood by the reception counter, leaning against it, a phone in my hand—lost somewhere deep in my own thoughts—as if all colours around me had faded, and the noise of the crowd had dissolved into a faint hum behind me. Suddenly, it felt as though time had paused—every person, every sound, every glimmer of light turned into a still image, and only I remained suspended within this silent dance, as if my body had stopped in search of peace, but my heart continued to wander.

The clammer of the hospital moved around me, yet within, a strange calm descended. Absentmindedly, I turned my head. Down the corridor—where countless people passed each day—a different kind of light had stepped in.

It was as if an unspoken prayer drifted through the air, carried by a fragrance that touched the depths of the heart. Time seemed to hold its breath, as though the universe itself had bowed in anticipation. It felt like a story was about to be born—a presence beyond words, yet capable of awakening an entire world within the heart.

A strange, wordless feeling brushed against my soul—deep and inexplicable—as though someone had erased every distance and placed a dream close enough to touch.

And then… she appeared.

That girl… walking beside her mother, her steps so light that even the ground seemed shy beneath them. Her abaya flowed in shades of green and black—as if spring and night had merged into one being. The breeze played with the edge of her scarf; loose strands of hair caught the sunlight as if it were theirs to hold. Around her, the sunbeams seemed to halt—as though even time itself respected her passing. For a fleeting instant, it felt she was no mere human but the answer to a silent prayer, accepted after centuries.

Her movements were graceful, measured, her gaze lowered—as if each step left traces of modesty upon the earth. The moment felt suspended in the very breath of the cosmos. She paused, lost in an unseen thought, and I—somehow—found myself stepping out of my own world.

Light touched her face as though the sun itself had written a secret upon her skin.

Her eyes—deep yet silent—seemed to hold the passage of time. On her lips lingered a smile so delicate, it felt the wind might scatter it away if it dared blow stronger.

I found myself in quiet confusion. My heart quickened, though I couldn’t tell why. It felt as if the storm within me had suddenly gone still—and only one feeling remained: that this moment, this face, this presence—was somehow known to me. Perhaps I had seen her before—in a dream—or perhaps this very moment had given birth to the dream itself. She was only a few steps away. I tried to look away, but time refused to let me.

She stepped forward, gently adjusting her abaya, her gaze still lowered.

That simple, modest gesture—so ordinary yet so breathtaking—stirred something new within me. Her every step carried the quiet dignity of someone guarding her grace with care. For a few seconds, in the depth of her lowered eyes, I saw a silent beauty—the kind that teaches respect without ever demanding it. Then, with a faint tilt of her head, elegance and composure shimmered through her form—each subtle motion echoing through my heart, not with boldness, but with a quiet, sacred mystery.

I had never seen anyone steal attention with such silence. As she passed before me, the air itself grew gentler; the fabric of her abaya whispered softly across the floor.

That abaya—woven in the hues of green and black—did not merely conceal her beauty; it revealed her poise, her refinement.

Every graceful sway, every flutter of cloth, convinced me she wasn’t just a person—she was an entire universe wrapped in one soul. Her eyes remained lowered, the light of modesty flickering softly within them, and I realised—this moment, this grace, this walk—were all silent messages of her being, speaking directly to the heart. And I was capturing that moment within my very soul—as if time itself had stopped, just to keep it between us.

A tender breeze brushed her abaya, tracing delicate lines upon its folds; slowly, she lifted her gaze.

For a single, fleeting instant, my eyes met hers—and the world forgot how to turn.

In her gaze, I found everything I had been waiting for: quiet hope, peaceful mystery, and an unspoken invitation to simply exist. That moment was so fragile, so sacred, even words trembled before it. Then, with the faintest movement, she looked down again—perhaps hiding that moment of eternity within her silence. She walked on, leaving behind an essence in the air—as if her presence itself had chosen to stay when she moved away.

Finally, I moved towards my room, each step heavy yet floating, as if walking on memories. The room was the same—silent walls, machines softly breathing, and the faint scent of medicine that always pulled me back to reality. Yet today, reality felt distant; I was lost in the moment where her fragrance touched my being. Familiar voices echoed—perhaps my sister, perhaps a nurse calling—but my mind remained across the window, stuck on that face where even silence spoke volumes.

After a while, reports and medicine slips came into my hands. I looked at them as if her reflection was hidden in every word. Then I noticed my sister emerging from her room, silently stepping outside. I paused, lingered a moment, then took the slips and stepped out myself.

The path was unchanged, yet everything felt different. Every wall, every step, every breath carried her shadow. At the pharmacy, my sister stood gathering medicines. I gently said, “You go, I’ll get it…” The words left my lips, but my heart held them captive.

The pharmacist glanced at me but said nothing. Perhaps he read the story in my eyes that I was trying to hide from myself. I took the medicines, lifted my gaze, and the same delicate fragrance lingered in the air—the scent that clung even after she passed by, as if the very air had grown accustomed to her presence.

I stood there while the hospital walls watched silently. Golden waves of the sinking sun spilled across the windows, and my heart wished—if only time could pause, if only the moment could freeze, and she could appear before me once again. But evening fell, the light dimmed, faces blurred, and in the crowd, I remained a traveller who knew his destination, yet whose path was lost in the prison of a fragrance.

They say some meetings need no long conversations—just one look, one breath, one fragrance… and the whole being is written in her name.

The walls of the room bore witness to a story unlike any other that day. The crowd was such that every person peered through the door, uttering the same words before moving on—“Perhaps there’s a place… perhaps somewhere…” People hurried past, voices echoing, even the cold tiles beneath seemed restless. The day was fading, yet in this corner of the hospital, life and anticipation sang their own tune.

I sat in a quiet corner, lost in the forest of my thoughts—when suddenly, a shadow fell across the doorway. The door creaked open slightly, and the senior doctor—the one who visited each morning to check on patients—stood silently at the threshold. I lifted my gaze—and then time seemed to pause.

Behind her… yes, the same girl—the prisoner of my eyes, the refuge of my thoughts—stood with her mother. Allah! That scene… That moment etched itself into my very breath. My eyes met hers, as if two worlds had merged for a fleeting instant. On her face rested that same simple calm, that innocent modesty—shyness itself seemed enamoured of her.

I looked at her, and felt that perhaps all definitions of beauty fell short today. This was no mere face—it was a prayer answered, a dream stepping out from the shadows and into reality.

The doctor’s voice pulled me back to reality for a moment—“Today the rooms are full, the rush is overwhelming… so these people will stay in your room tonight.” Words I had held back gathered at my lips. Hesitantly, I said, “Doctor… this is a male ward. My sister is with me, but they—there is no one with them. Kindly shift them to the female ward…” The doctor spoke gently, “Just for one night… by morning, everything will be better.”

I turned towards my sister, and she smiled, saying, “It’s okay, let them stay… it’s just one night.”

And then—she stepped inside. Oh God!

It was as if the most beautiful dream of the universe had crossed my threshold and become reality. My heart stirred like an ocean, thoughts, emotions, and heartbeats colliding in unison. The one I had been searching for hours, the one I had been seeking in every face—stood before me, inside my room.

And in that moment, I realised—this was no mere coincidence… this was the chapter destiny had paused at, waiting to be written fully in the pages of my life.

My sister kept insisting, repeating the same words, as the girl softly spoke, “Mother, please allow me. Let me make the porridge myself for my sister. I’ve never made it before, but I wish to try.”

Her mother, with a touch of disbelief, interrupted gently yet firmly, “No, my child has never done such things. She cannot. She’s a make-up artist, a hair stylist — that is her world. From morning till evening, her hands are meant for brushes and colours, not spoons and ladles. She has never cooked a single thing.”

But the girl — she didn’t stop.

Her tone was pure, tender, and strangely resolute, like a prayer refusing to fade.

She smiled faintly, and with a voice that could melt away denial, she whispered again,

“Mother, please let me go. She’s unwell, and her brother doesn’t know how to make it. It’s only porridge — I can manage.”

Her mother shook her head in refusal, not out of cruelty, but out of unfamiliarity. They didn’t yet know us, didn’t know my heart or the quiet sincerity behind that request. And so, she held her daughter back — drawing invisible lines between care and caution.

Inside me, however, a strange storm rose. My heart ached to say yes, to see her come with me, to walk into the kitchen together, to watch how her delicate hands might hold the ladle for the first time — perhaps clumsily, perhaps gracefully — but beautifully, all the same.

Yet my wish dissolved right there, unspoken and ungranted.

After her repeated, tender insistence was denied once more, I swallowed that moment, forced a smile, and turned away. I left with my friend towards the kitchen — every step heavy, unwilling — to make the porridge myself.

And when I returned, bowl in hand, something in the air had changed. What I saw then…Breaths caught, and my eyes were imprisoned by a scene too incredible to grasp. Time itself seemed to forget its pace—and a single heartbeat waited, suspended, for the revelation of the next moment.

What did I see?