When It Returns

It returns when my skin feels the warmth of the sporadic sunlight, bringing life to my bones. It returns on the long chilly trail from the classroom to the dorms in the evenings, as the cold creeps up through my feet. It returns during my adventures inside the library, as I come across a section dedicated to Iqbal. It returns.

It returns during my frequent labors in the kitchen, as the aromas of various spices dance throughout the room. It returns as I smell the chai(tea) someone is drinking next to me, whose promising calls I still resist. It returns as I go outside and petrichor rushes through my nose, making me wish the air around me was humid instead of cold. It returns.

It returns as I listen to ‘Zamanay kay Andaaz Badlay Gaye’ by Junoon late night, remembering how it played in the corners of my old room. It returns as I hear English being spoken all around me, my ears yearning for a faint trace of Urdu through all the noise. It returns as I walk on the side of a busy road, expecting the long lane to be screaming with car horns eventually. It returns.

It returns as I walk around in Westminster Abbey, remembering the grandeur of the Badshahi Mosque and its red bricks. It returns as I see the long queues in the supermarket nearby, reminded of the chaos at Alfatah on a Saturday night. It returns as my eyes trace the numerous pictures from friends and family bombarding my Whatsapp, realizing that I was once in them. It returns.

That indescribable feeling, returns.