It was a series of impossible events, I got the car in the middle of the day when I wasn’t expecting it, my boss stepped out for an unexpected meeting during lunch so I could take off for half an hour, and on the way back the road that’s always blindingly empty was clogged with trucks and containers because Musharraf or S. Aziz was passing by exactly at that time. And my CD was stuck, so I was forced to listen to FM, which I never do usually. I heard the most hauntingly beautiful Sarah Mclachlan-like voice singing a cover of Hallelujah. Stuck there in a God forsaken traffic jam in the middle of Karachi heat with my boss tapping her foot waiting for my write-up, I forgot everything. Her voice is the closest thing to the transcendental experiences that Blake and the Metaphysical's talk about. I’m thrilled that Pakistan has such a person to boast off (its about time!) I wish Arooj Aftab the best of luck in whatever she plans to do, she deserves it. This story, in a weird way, was inspired by the song. The plot itself has no connection whatsoever to the song or the singer, so don’t look for any.

Soulmate

She sits in the dark, the solitary lamp throwing harsh shadows on her face, waiting, listening.

The room is huge, with a high ceiling, a wooden floor and echoes of library shelves in the shadows. She sits in a leather armchair in the center, with a gramophone by her side. She stares at nothing, just listening to one song. Again. And again. And yet again. Till the grooves are scratched and the needle blunt. And she continues listening, straining. Hoping.
She’s knows there’s something in the music, a sign, salvation. But no matter how many times she replays it, there is nothing but the same old guitar strains. But every time it ends, she picks up her skeletal, fleshless arm, replaces the needle to the groove. And with the start of each note, she listens with renewed hope, simply knowing that this one might be the right time, and the eons would be worth it.

She sits in the dark, the solitary lamp throwing harsh shadows on her face, waiting, listening.