The Stranger Beside Me
“Ma’am, please fasten your seatbelt,” a voice nudged me awake from my deep slumber. Still groggy, I realized I was on a flight preparing to land. My heart raced with excitement—I was finally returning to my homeland after three years and looking forward to reuniting with my parents. I miss my home.
There’s a reason I’ve been away from home for three years. I’ve always been the type who misses my room, my bed, and everyone around me even if I’m away for just a day.
In my enthusiasm, I blurted out to the stranger next to me, “I’m going home after three years!” His puzzled glance seemed to say ‘it’s not a big thing’.
“I’m going home after seven years,” he replied with a grin, as if to say, ‘I’ve been away longer than you.’
“I’m Sultan,” he introduced himself.
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “You don’t quite look like a Sultan.”
“I get that reaction often,” he shrugged, “I’ve grown used to the mockery. Just call me Sul.”
He appeared young, maybe a student or a worker. His eyes were striking—perhaps they were what inspired his name. He was on the middle seat while I was by the window.
“You didn’t share your name,” he said.
I hesitated. “I don’t say my name to strangers.”
“No problem,” he smiled, “I’ll call you ‘3-Year Return Girl.’”
“Then you’ll be ‘7-Year Return Boy,’” I joked, finding the nicknames amusing.
My phone rang—it was my dad.
“Dad, we’ve landed. Are you at the airport?” I asked.
“We’ve been waiting outside for 30 minutes,” he replied.
“Who’s with you?” I inquired.
“Give me the phone,” Mom’s voice came through as she took the call, “There’s a surprise for you!” she shouted.
Dad’s voice interrupted, “Don’t spoil it!”
“Okay, Mom, I’ll call you back,” I said, hanging up. I was eager to find out more about surprise but couldn’t.
“Didn’t you bring a handbag?” Sultan asked as we were about to walk out of the flight.
I smacked my forehead, realizing I’d forgotten it. I was too excited to run and join my family. I fetched my handbag from the plane and found Sultan waiting. I didn’t understand why he stayed but chose to ignore him.
“Do you need help with your bag?” he offered.
I kept walking ahead, not responding.
After clearing customs, I waited for my luggage. Everyone else had left, and I was alone with one trolley. Sultan approached again.
“What’s wrong?” Sultan asked.
“One of my trolleys is missing,” I replied.
“Check over there,” he pointed to a corner.
I ran to investigate and found my missing trolley.
“Who put this here?” I asked, annoyed.
“Your name must be Hala,” he said, noticing the label on the trolley.
“Yes,” I smiled, relieved.
“Is it you?” He asked, showing my profile on Instagram.
I gave a stare at him.
“I sent you a friend’s request.” He said.
“I don’t accept stranger’s friends requests.” I said.
“I know your name, you know my name, we are not strangers.” He said.
“Will anyone become friends just by knowing their name? Then when we scroll on social media, we can know everyone’s name,” I said.
“Tell me your story then.” He said.
“I don’t share my story with strangers,” I said.
“Okay, then I will share my story, the story I have never shared with anyone,” he continued, “and I’m sure after listening to my story, you will extend your hand for friendship.” He said as we exited the airport together.
I looked at his eyes, his green eyes spoke a lot of stories I felt, I could feel a deep pain in those eyes. His eyes were trying to say something. But before we could speak the next word, or share his story, I was circled by my parents and all of my family members.
and I was overjoyed to see around 20 family members—cousins, aunts, uncles—waiting to welcome me. I was thrilled by the surprise. I never expected everyone would come to welcome me!
“Surprise, welcome home!” they shouted excitedly. For a moment, everyone in the airport around turned to look at us. A staff made a gesture to maintain silent.
As I greeted my family, I noticed Sultan getting into a taxi, alone. After seven years away, no one was there to welcome him. His gaze lingered on me as he drove off. His eyes wanted to say his story. A curiosity urged inside me to know his story. A question popped in my mind, ‘should I accept his friend’s request?’ And I accepted. Because I wanted to know his story. My curiosity was at a high level.
I’ve got this thing with curiosity—once it grabs me, there’s no escape! Sure, it’s gotten me into a few messes, but hey, sometimes it brings the best surprises too! So here I am, ready to press that ‘yes’ button again and see where it takes me!
The Weight of Unsaid Truths
For the next two days, I barely had a moment to breathe—caught up with cousins, friends, and family. Every minute was filled, leaving no room for reflection.
“Did you enjoy living in the UK?” my cousin and best friend, Raya, asked. We’re the same age, went to the same school, and even studied fashion design together. But while I chose to pursue my dreams in the UK, she married the love of her life. Meanwhile, I chose to break up with mine.
“I don’t know,” I responded softly.
“Why did you break up with Faraz?” she pressed. No one knows the real reason behind our breakup.
“After you left, he came to me several times, asking why, but I didn’t have an answer because you never told me. But I truly believe he deserves to know,” she said gently.
“He knows why,” I said, my voice firm. “Let’s not talk about him anymore.”
If something brings me pain when it’s talked about, I won’t go there, and I won’t let anyone else bring it up either. Why put myself through more hurt? Even if we’re really close, some things are better left unspoken.
Invisible Wounds
Later, when things finally slowed down, I checked my Instagram. Three messages from Sultan. The first one read, “So, the stranger finally accepted my friend request.” Two laughing emojis followed. He had sent the message the day before.
I ignored his previous comment and replied, “Hi.”
Though he was offline, he responded almost immediately. “Hi, how are you?”
“Good.” I found myself scrolling through his profile. He was a traveler, an adventurer.
“Your grid looks amazing,” I wrote. “I love traveling too, but I’ve never really made it happen.”
“We could take a trip together sometime,” he replied.
“Where’s your next destination?”
“I don’t plan my trips,” he said. “I pack my bags first, then choose the location.”
“That’s wild!” I laughed. “Most people plan first, then take action.”
“In my world, planning doesn’t work. I don’t believe in it,” he said. “I just go. I keep moving until the blur fades, and clarity finds me.”
“That’s interesting,” I mused. “Maybe I’ll give it a try one day.”
He shifted the conversation. “There was quite a crowd waiting for you at the airport.”
Curiosity finally got the better of me. “Not a single person waiting for you—why?”
“Because no one knew I was coming,” he said, “I just packed my bag one day, like always, and decided my destination would be home. So, I got on the flight and reached home.”
“Why didn’t you tell your family?”
“I just didn’t want to.”
“How did your mom react when you showed up unexpectedly?” I asked.
“She passed away seven years ago,” he replied and then he went offline.
Guilt gripped me instantly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know,” I typed quickly, but he didn’t see my message. Hours passed. The next day, I checked my phone again—he was still offline, not having read my message.
It all made sense now. He must’ve left for abroad after his mom passed away—or maybe he was already there and couldn’t make it back in time for the funeral. Whatever the case, the pain still lingered.
“I’m really sorry if I hurt you in any way,” I messaged again. But he remained offline.
I know that everyone has their hidden pain, and I carry my own deep inside. When someone touches that pain—whether they mean to or not—it rushes to the surface, bringing tears and sadness, turning it into a “bad mood day.” Meanwhile, the person who triggered it is off enjoying themselves, while I’m left suffocating under the weight of that awakened pain.
I felt guilty for possibly stirring up some of Sultan’s pain. I really hope I didn’t do that.
The wounds within me
may remain unseen by others,
Yet others hold the power
to trigger my pain at any time.
The moment they press that button,
It awakens the pain, leaving me numb.
No matter how much time has passed,
Some of my pain never fades—
My emotional scars can’t be erased or undone;
They linger, unchanged forever.
It burns me from within,
Like I’m slowly turning to ashes.
10 Lessons You Can Learn From This Chapter
1. Home Is Where the Heart Is
Hala’s deep longing for home highlights the emotional weight of returning after years away. Her excitement shows how essential a sense of belonging is to one’s identity.
“Home isn’t just a place; it’s a feeling that wraps around you like a warm embrace.”
2. The Importance of Connection
The unexpected interaction between Hala and Sultan reveals how relationships can blossom from simple conversations with strangers, enriching our lives.
“Every stranger carries the potential to become a friend; all it takes is a moment of openness.”
3. Everyone Has a Story
Sultan hints at a complex background that Hala is curious about, illustrating that everyone has untold experiences that shape who they are.
“Behind every smile lies a story, waiting for someone to listen.”
4. Communication Matters
Hala’s initial reluctance to share her name and story with Sultan underscores the barriers that can hinder connections. When she finally engages, it paves the way for understanding.
“Words are bridges; they connect us in ways silence cannot.”
5. Curiosity Drives Growth
Hala’s curiosity about Sultan encourages her to accept his friend request, which could lead to a new friendship and a deeper understanding of others.
“Curiosity is the spark that ignites the flame of discovery.”
6. Understanding Grief
Sultan’s revelation about his mother’s death illustrates the profound impact of loss and how it shapes our journeys, reminding Hala to approach others with empathy.
“Grief is a silent companion, often hidden beneath the surface, but always present.”
7. Planning vs. Spontaneity
Sultan’s carefree approach to travel contrasts with Hala’s more structured life, suggesting that both spontaneity and planning have their own merits.
“Life’s most beautiful adventures often begin with a leap into the unknown.”
8. Empathy in Communication
Hala’s unintentional hurt to Sultan when asking about his family highlights the need for sensitivity in our interactions with others.
“Empathy is the lens through which we see the world’s hidden struggles.”
9. Acceptance and Forgiveness
Hala’s reflections on her past relationship indicate a journey toward self-acceptance and the importance of letting go of past grievances.
“Forgiveness is not forgetting; it’s letting go of the hurt that holds us captive.”
10. Strength in Vulnerability
Sultan’s willingness to share his story shows that vulnerability can foster deep connections and understanding between individuals.
“True strength lies in the courage to be vulnerable and share our truths.”
This chapter highlights several key lessons about emotional scars:
- Emotional Scars Are Hidden: Sultan’s deep pain, stemming from the loss of his mother, is something he doesn’t openly share until prompted. Emotional scars often remain hidden beneath the surface, only revealed when trust is built or a situation triggers them.
- Everyone Carries Unseen Pain: Both Sultan and Hala have unresolved emotional wounds—Sultan’s from his mother’s death and Hala’s from her breakup. The chapter teaches us that we often carry emotional scars that others might not see, but that doesn’t make them any less real.
- Triggers Can Be Unintentional: Conversations can sometimes unknowingly touch upon sensitive areas, as when Hala innocently asks about Sultan’s family, not realizing she is stirring up painful memories. Emotional scars are easily reopened, even without malicious intent.
- Coping Mechanisms Vary: The chapter shows how different people deal with emotional scars. Sultan travels impulsively to distract himself from his pain, while Hala avoids discussing painful topics like her breakup. People cope with their scars in unique ways, some by escaping, others by burying their emotions.
- Emotional Pain Lingers: Even after years, Sultan’s grief over his mother’s passing is still raw. This suggests that emotional scars may never fully heal, but instead become part of a person’s ongoing emotional landscape.
- Empathy Is Crucial: When Hala realizes the depth of Sultan’s pain, her immediate response is empathy and guilt. This teaches the importance of being sensitive to the emotional scars others may carry and responding with care when they surface.
- Healing Takes Time: Sultan’s withdrawal after sharing his story shows that emotional scars can take time to heal, and those who carry them may need space to process their feelings. There’s no quick fix for deep emotional wounds.
A Question for Readers
Are you aware of the invisible wounds people around you might be carrying? Share your thoughts in the comments below. Let’s start a conversation about how we can be more empathetic in our daily lives.