Chaley bhee aao key gulshan ka karobaar chaley. I want to remember this light again — on your face, your hands, from that early spring, a season when there was so much magic, and healing. And I remember your face, in that pale golden light, your eyes closed. You were trapped, but happily in that moment. There were leaves all around us, almost as if the spring was pretending to be autumn. Teri surat sey hai aalam mein baharoon ko sabat. I wish I could’ve held onto my heart strongly then, and could’ve told you how much that light and your face in that light made me calm. And how in that moment I didn’t care about zamaaney key gham. But instead I looked down at my hands and lit a cigarette. You talked a lot that day. You talked about how before your father died, you were obsessed with space and time, and time travel. You used to hide inside your mother’s cupboard imagining it was a spaceship. You had visited an art installation at MoMA in Brooklyn when your father was still alive, and you decided then that you wanted to be an astronaut. Your father had smiled and had ruffled your hair. You laughed a little as if you remembered something from another time. And then your voice got softer, the light shifted, in such a gentle way, that the shadows themselves softened. It was as if you commanded these seasons, their light with just the way you talked. If I had even the slightest courage, I would’ve kissed you then. But I didn’t, as much as I loved that moment, that light on your face, your hands, your voice remembering your father — I kept my heart to myself. I am sure that if this was a story on a loop, from backwards to the beginning, or in any order, I would play it repeatedly, and know every time that this moment was exactly the time I realized (every time and in every order, right in the middle of the story) that I had unintentionally loved someone wholeheartedly, completely. And now whenever I see the sky with stars, I imagine you light years away, perhaps in search of your father, floating through space, away in another time. Perhaps an astronaut inside a floating sputnik, looking for his way back home to his father. But always, with light on his face.