Istanbul, Türkiye.
31st December,2018.
•ASLAM.
It's New Year's Eve. We've just finished dining, and we're sipping some Turkish tea. The entertainment on the cruise by belly dancers has just ended. I glance at Amna, who's recording the elderly Turkish singer and his band on her phone. She's been smiling all night, completely absorbed in the ambiance, and it's contagious. I can't help but smile too.
Around us, the few people on board begin counting down the final seconds of the year. We join in,
"8..."
"7..."
"6..."
"5..."
"4..."
"3..."
"2..."
"1..."
A largest firework exploded in the sky, followed by another and another, each one painting the dark sky above the Bosphorus Bridge in brilliant colors and illuminating the bridge.
I turn to Amna, who is standing just inches by my side, her face illuminated by the dazzling fireworks. "Happy New Year, Amna," I say, raising my voice because of the loud blasts of fireworks.
She looks up at me, her eyes sparkling. "Happy New Year!"
"Cheers to a beautiful 2019," I say, raising my teacup toward her. She mimics the gesture, and we clink the edges of our cups together before taking a sip.
I have so many reasons to be grateful for the year that has passed. As the fireworks continue to light up the sky, I find my gaze drifting back to Amna. She is sitting now, her thoughts seemingly elsewhere, eyes focused on the bursts of color overhead. Her hands are tucked beneath the cozy cashmere blanket draped over her legs. She takes another sip of her tea, then turns to catch me staring at her.
"What?" she asks, a playful glint in her eye. "You're scaring me. Am I safe?" She chuckles softly.
I shake my head, smiling. "Nothing."
"Nothing?" she repeats, narrowing her eyes at me in suspicion. "You've been looking at me like that, and it's nothing? Tell me."
I hesitate for a moment, then decide to steer the conversation in a different direction. "What are your resolutions for the year?" I ask.
"Ohhh, let's see," she begins, biting her lower lip—a habit of hers that I have noticed. My gaze darts to her lips, lingering there for just a moment too long before I quickly reprimand myself. No intrusive thoughts, I remind myself. Not today.
"You know," she continues, "I always think having a few realistic resolutions is better than making a plethora of them and then never actually doing any of it."
I nod in agreement. "I agree. Unrealistic resolutions can become an unnecessary burden."
"Right?" she nods. "All I can think of for this year is to try and be a better person... for myself, a better Muslim, daughter, sister, friend... generally."
I nod again, this time more slowly, taking in her words. There is something so pure about her intentions, something that makes me want to be better too.
"What about you?" she asks, turning the question back on me.
"Well," I begin, pausing to gather my thoughts. "I want to live every moment. Take things a step at a time. Laugh more. Love and be loved. To be more present rather than dwell on possibilities and the future."
"That's a good one," she says, her smile returning.
As we sit there, the last of the fireworks fizzling out over the Bosphorus, I realize just how much I have come to cherish these moments with her—moments where the world seems to shrink down to just the two of us, where everything else fades into the background, leaving only the simple, undeniable truth that this—whatever this was—feels right.
