Life moves forward relentlessly. The world keeps me occupied—work, responsibilities, and the never-ending cycle of things that demand my attention. To everyone around me, I am just another person moving through life, seemingly whole, seemingly fine. But beneath the surface, there is a secret that only the night knows.
I wait.
Not for a message, not for a call, not for a sudden reunion that will never come. I wait for the night to fall, for silence to wrap around me, for the moment when I can finally close my eyes and see him again. The world sees me as strong, independent, busy. But they do not know that my heart still belongs to someone who isn’t here.
Jaun Elia once wrote:
ہم کہ ٹھہرے اجنبی، اتنی مداراتوں کے بعد
Hum ke thehray ajnabi, itni madaraton ke baad
"We remained strangers, despite all the kindness shared between us."
Perhaps that is what we are now—strangers separated by fate, by time, by choices that were never really ours to make. But in my dreams, we are not strangers. In my dreams, he still looks at me the way he used to, his presence as familiar as the beating of my own heart.
I live my life during the day, but at night, I surrender to the only thing I have left—dreams.
The Solitude of Waiting
There is a kind of loneliness that only those who have loved deeply can understand. It is not the loneliness of being alone; it is the loneliness of being surrounded by people yet missing only one. I do not expect him to return, and yet, every night, I prepare myself for the one place where I know I will find him.
Ghalib once said:
یہ نہ تھی ہماری قسمت کہ وصال یار ہوتا
Yeh na thi hamari qismat ke visal-e-yaar hota
"It was never in my fate to be united with my beloved."
How cruel is fate, that it lets me meet him in dreams but denies me the joy of seeing him in reality? I wake up each morning with the remnants of his presence still lingering in my heart. But as the day unfolds, the world reminds me that he is gone, that he was never truly mine to keep.
And so, I wait.
I wait for the sun to set. I wait for the world to fade away. I wait for the night to grant me another moment with him, even if it is only an illusion. I know it is foolish, and yet, my heart clings to these stolen moments, to these brief encounters where love still feels real.
Faiz Ahmed Faiz once wrote:
یہ رات اس درد کا شجر ہے، جو مجھ سے تجھ سے عظیم تر ہے
Yeh raat is dard ka shajar hai, jo mujh se tujh se azeem tar hai
"This night is the tree of pain, greater than you and me."
The night, for me, is both a blessing and a curse. It is where I find him, but it is also where I lose him over and over again. And yet, I wait for it, because even the pain of losing him in dreams is better than the emptiness of not seeing him at all.
A Love That Exists Only in Dreams
Some loves are not meant for this world. They exist in longing, in poetry, in the quiet spaces of the heart where reality cannot reach. My love, too, exists in that space—untouched by time, unchanged by distance.
Jaun Elia once wrote:
محبت اب نہیں ہوگی، یہ کچھ دن بعد میں ہوگی
Mohabbat ab nahi hogi, yeh kuch din baad mein hogi
"Love will not happen now, it will happen after a few days."
Perhaps that is what I tell myself, that someday, somewhere, in another time, in another world, we will meet again. Until then, I will keep waiting. Not just for the night, not just for my dreams, but for the day when waiting will no longer be necessary.
And if that day never comes, then let my dreams be enough.
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