After breaking my fast at iftar, I found myself seated at Khoka (a familiar bench spot at LUMS). As I settled in, my gaze naturally drifted upwards towards The Sky, a habit I had recently developed. There, I was greeted by the sight of a delicate crescent moon, its concave facing upwards. Moon sightings had never held much fascination for me before, but in that moment, I found myself captivated.
From where I sat, the moon hung just above a tree, its leaves catching the glow of the nearby streetlight, casting a soft, ethereal filter over the scene. Mesmerized, I watched as the moon slowly crept closer to the tree, its movement almost imperceptible yet undeniable. Despite my reluctance to see it disappear behind the leaves, I couldn't tear my eyes away.
With each passing moment, my anxiety grew, and I found myself leaning forward, straining to keep the moon in sight for as long as possible. Never before I shared the fascination and obsession of people with moon. I had an opinion on it yes, I called it "Romance of lahasil", but never before had I experienced it more than at that moment.
In that fleeting moment, the romantic allure of the moon took a backseat and the urge to prolong its presence took over. As the moon edged closer to its inevitable rendezvous with the tree, I stretched my neck further, desperately hoping to delay its disappearance for just a few moments longer until eventually there was nothing there to be seen anymore. Something too familiar about this entire scenario.
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