I crossed paths with S. the other day — the same way we always do: a bit by accident, a bit by orbit. Sometimes it’s at the beach, sometimes it’s elsewhere, sometimes it’s not planned at all. We’ve only known each other for about a year, but certain people slip into your life like they’ve been rehearsing it backstage for longer than you thought.
He’s in a different place now — literally, mentally, soul-wise.
A few months back, life forced him into a corner no one wants: his father passed away. It was sudden and sharp and stretched between countries and airports and phone calls you can never quite unhear. One moment he was in Pakistan, bedside, hopeful; the next, he was back in Dubai pretending routine still made sense.
And then it didn’t.
So, he did the only sane thing: he packed up, found a job elsewhere, and left. Saudi — Dammam, specifically. Fresh air, new rhythm, unfamiliar streets to quiet the too-familiar noise in his head.
Adjusting wasn’t smooth at first. Nothing to distract himself with, none of the usual beach squads, no weekend games to sweat the thoughts out. But instead of letting that silence choke him, he leaned in. He’s working, he’s building a new daily dance. And now he’s scheming up an idea he’s carried for a while — a sports camp, open-air, for people who crave movement and connection more than air conditioning and mall hours. He’s the kind who dreams and then quietly draws maps for it behind everyone’s back.
I admire that about him. I told him so, too. It felt right to say it out loud: I see what you’re doing — and I’m rooting for it.
We talked longer than usual this time. About the good chaos of Dubai, the quieter push of Saudi, how strange it is when loss rips a hole through your plans and somehow gives you new ones instead. And somewhere between all that, I caught myself realising how stale I’ve let my own energy get.
He’s moving — literally and inside himself.
Meanwhile, I’m still here, same girl, same questions, same calendar full of half-finished to-do lists and perfectly framed chaos.
I left that catch-up lighter than I arrived. Hope does that, sometimes — seeing someone else’s clarity when yours is still stuck behind old fears.
Of course, I promised myself I’d hold onto that feeling the next morning.
Of course, I didn’t.
That’s my problem: I hoard beautiful conversations and forget to turn them into action.
But maybe this one sticks. Or maybe I’ll forget again tomorrow — until the next accidental orbit brings S. back around, reminding me that changing your life is less about geography and more about finally daring to admit you want more.
And maybe — just maybe — I’ll remember it long enough to do something about it, too.
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