we're all children--we've just gotten older.


we were lying in bed, she was almost asleep. i looked out the window, watching the moonrise. i wondered if she'd noticed it's beauty. she rolled over and looked at me...i admired her childlike innocence--the tired glow in her eyes.
just then the light fell. silence broke:

'can i ask you something?'
'ofcourse, what is it?' i was intrigued. she spoke in this timid, reserved tone. a soft, sleepy kind of mumbling, but a brand of seriousness i'd never encountered with her before. the maturity of immaturity. [it's not as much a contradiction as you might think.]
'i was just wondering....'
'it's alright. go on--'
'do you ever get that feeling that something is going to happen, so you won't see someone again?'
i was stunned. i couldn't do anything but sit there, watching while she wrung the blanket between her hands. she kept going.
'i mean, are you afraid sometimes, especially when you're away from Home, that someone will be gone when you get back? or while you're falling asleep, do you ever get scared that someone you love very much will be gone when you wake up? maybe not dead, just gone, so you're left with an empty place.' i couldn't find the words to respond, 'do you know what i mean?' her face longed for an answer.
'i do. i know exactly what you mean...'
'does it go away? do people stop being afraid when they get older?'
i shook my head, swallowing the lump of dry words i was struggling with. 'not so much. and yes--i get very much afraid. everyone does, i imagine, at least a little.'
'oh. it's good to know....i'm not the only one. that i'm not alone.' her eyes closed and she yawned, practically asleep again, but deeper this time.

i kissed her forehead and called her jaan. i honestly don't know what came over me. i remember hearing myself in a muttered whisper before i drifted to sleep--'it's alright. it's alright to be afraid...but you'll never be alone.'
wonder if she heard me that night. wonder if she knows.