Hassan made his way to the exit, his mind adrift in a sea of thoughts. The echoes of his economics lecture reverberated in his head, the professor's insights weaving through his consciousness like a persistent melody.

As he neared the door, a flicker of movement caught his eye. His steps faltered. Slowed his pace and had to process the sight in front of him. There stood a girl, enveloped in a modest abaya, her demeanor a blend of elegance and uncertainty as she scanned her surroundings. Her bright, curious eyes flitted about, searching for the girls' exit.

The clouds did it's magic and turned a shade darker, adding more feel to her appearance. It felt as if the cloud had so many unshed words and it was all about to be shed when their paths crossed.

His gaze instinctively followed hers, noting the confusion that marred her features. Her thick lashes fluttered in a beautiful pace. The intricate designs of her abaya whispered tales of a rich cultural lineage.

She appeared disoriented, her eyes darting between the signs and the maze of corridors that surrounded her. Her search was unknown.

Hassan keenly observed her without revealing his presence. Her hands were clasped tightly, fingers fidgeting as she sought a way forward.

Their paths nearly converged, yet she remained blissfully unaware of Hassan's quiet observation. He tried his best to not come off creepy. He found himself captivated as she finally caught sight of a sign and made her way toward the girls' exit.

As they parted ways, the image of that girl lingered in Hassan's mind. A new found interest that he wished to hold onto forever. Her grace, even amidst her evident uncertainty, left an indelible mark on his thoughts.

Pushing open the door, he stepped into the embrace of the warm sunlight. The vibrant sounds of college life—laughter, animated conversations, and the roar of motorcycles—surrounded him, yet his thoughts remained tethered to her.

Who was she?

Questions swirled in Hassan's mind as he walked toward his part-time job, his heart racing with a newfound sense of curiosity. On his way he told about the girl to his friend.

Unbeknownst to him, fate was weaving their stories together in ways he could not yet imagine.

The next day, Zainab emerged from the gates, her eyes gradually adjusting to the brilliance of the midday sun. Before her lay the vast expanse of college's campus, a whirlwind of emotions-excitement mingled with relief-swirling within her.

Her choice of college had not been born of desire but rather of necessity. Back home, the weight of societal expectations and familial duties had shaped her educational journey.

"Stay close to home, Zainab. It's safer that way."

"But I yearn to discover more."

"Your safety comes first."

The college stood as a middle ground-the only institution her family considered appropriate.

At least they permitted her to pursue her studies.

Zainab's mind wandered to her parents' encouraging words:

"Make us proud, Zainab."

"You will succeed, insha'Allah."

A surge of determination filled her.

As she made her way toward the cafeteria, Zainab felt the weight of curious stares. She didn't know if it was normal or she looked weird. Her abaya, a testament to her modesty and faith, often attracted attention.

Inside the bustling cafeteria, she joined the queue. The food was greasy, yet it included some of her favorites.

"Hey," an energetic voice chimed in beside her.

Zainab turned to find a friendly smile awaiting her. "Hi."

Amna, another Muslim student, initiated a conversation. They exchanged thoughts on classes, professors, and the nuances of college life.

Zainab's initial anxiety began to fade, replaced by a comforting sense of belonging.

As they settled down to eat, Amna inquired, "What made you chose this College?" It sounded more like 'you could've done better why this shit hole?'

Zainab paused, contemplating how much to reveal. "Family choices," she answered, keeping it brief.

Amna nodded in understanding. "Sometimes, it's not about the place we find ourselves in, but how we choose to thrive within it."

Zainab smiled, appreciating Amna's kindness.

As she meandered toward her next class, lost in her thoughts, she inadvertently collided with another person. Without pausing to glance back, she murmured an apology and continued on her path oblivious to the pair of eyes smiling at her.

The distinct scent lingered in her senses, weaving through her mind like a gentle breeze. It enveloped her in an unexpected warmth, a soothing presence she couldn't quite understand.

The memory of that first day lingered vividly in my mind, the moment he confessed that he had noticed me long before I was aware of his gaze. A rush of joy surged through me as he recounted the details of that fateful encounter, each word igniting a flurry of butterflies within my chest. I could listen to that tale a thousand times, and each retelling would breathe life into those fluttering feelings once more.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed beside me, a gentle reminder that a message awaited my attention. I opened it, and a bittersweet smile crept onto my lips. It was from my husband, the one I cherished as my other half.

Is it permissible to harbor such feelings for someone who has departed while I stand committed to another?

“Did you have lunch? I’m at work and I’m sorry I didn’t call you when I woke up.” His words were laced with concern and affection.

Do I truly deserve this man’s love?

Once again, my gaze drifted to the diary resting nearby.

With the diary cradled in one hand and my husband’s message in the other, I found myself lost in thought, questioning whether I was betraying my husband by embracing the role of a loving wife or betraying my own heart by clinging to the past.

But the reality is, I am nowhere near moving on. I remain ensnared in that corridor of time, trapped in a moment that refuses to fade.

I apologize to my lover, to my husband, and to myself.

"And what I really intended to say in the end remains unsaid."

-Franz Kafka