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    	<hl1 id="Headline1" class="1" style="Headline1">
		<lang class="3" style="Headline1"  font="Myriad Pro" fontStyle="Black" size="75">THE AUTHOR</lang>
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     <p style=".Bodylaser">
	<lang class="3" style=".Bodylaser" font="ITC Giovanni Std" fontStyle="Bold" size="10">ZAREEN MUNIYAT
</lang>
</p>
<p style=".Bodylaser">
	<lang class="3" style=".Bodylaser" font="ITC Giovanni Std" fontStyle="Book" size="9">We live in a world in which we are born with a timer engraved on our wrist. A countdown to the exact moment a person meets his/her soulmate. The person who was born to be ours. This has always led me to picture my life like a novel. The chapters have already been inscribed and my faith has been surrendered to the author’s whim. 
</lang>
</p>
<p style=".Bodylaser">
	<lang class="3" style=".Bodylaser" font="ITC Giovanni Std" fontStyle="Book" size="9">It’s a kind of blissful existence, with the thought of our destiny already decided. I can’t BEGIN to imagine the pressure of writing my own fate. It seems tiring. Now, we know we are exactly where we are supposed to be, doing exactly what we are supposed to be doing. All the time. 
</lang>
</p>
<p style=".Bodylaser">
	<lang class="3" style=".Bodylaser" font="ITC Giovanni Std" fontStyle="Book" size="9">I was born with my timer at 18 years:4 days:15 hours:11 minutes:6 seconds. Right now, it is at 6 hours:15 minutes:32 seconds. 
</lang>
</p>
<p style=".Bodylaser">
	<lang class="3" style=".Bodylaser" font="ITC Giovanni Std" fontStyle="Book" size="9">Only one other person in the world has the same countdown as me. I’ve been waiting for this day. I’m about to meet my person. 
</lang>
</p>
<p style=".Bodylaser">
	<lang class="3" style=".Bodylaser" font="ITC Giovanni Std" fontStyle="Book" size="9">My mother says it’s okay to be nervous. When she was about to meet dad her pulse went up so high, she had to be rushed to the hospital. And there he was! Dad, his charming self, coincidentally being a doctor there. Mother says they clicked the very second the timer struck zero. Their eyes met across the hall, and they knew. 
</lang>
</p>
<p style=".Bodylaser">
	<lang class="3" style=".Bodylaser" font="ITC Giovanni Std" fontStyle="Book" size="9">I’m wearing my favourite red dress. It has polka dots. The Chinese believe that red is a lucky colour. Although I don’t think I need any ‘“luck” today. My parents’ story reassures me that things will go right. No matter what. 
</lang>
</p>
<p style=".Bodylaser">
	<lang class="3" style=".Bodylaser" font="ITC Giovanni Std" fontStyle="Book" size="9">I try to imagine what he might be like. Will he have hazel brown eyes complementing his dark smoothe hair? Will he be rugged and unbothered, or boyish and shy? Will his eyes sparkle when he laughs like the way I imagine they would? 
</lang>
</p>
<p style=".Bodylaser">
	<lang class="3" style=".Bodylaser" font="ITC Giovanni Std" fontStyle="Book" size="9">I double check myself in the mirror before heading out. 
</lang>
</p>
<p style=".Bodylaser">
	<lang class="3" style=".Bodylaser" font="ITC Giovanni Std" fontStyle="Bold" size="9">30 MINUTES:20 SECONDS 
</lang>
</p>
<p style=".Bodylaser">
	<lang class="3" style=".Bodylaser" font="ITC Giovanni Std" fontStyle="Book" size="9">Frankly, I don’t know where I’m supposed to be right now. What if there is a small ripple in the grand perfect scheme of the universe and I don’t get to the right place at the right time. No, that can’t happen. Follow your guts, it’s never wrong. 
</lang>
</p>
<p style=".Bodylaser">
	<lang class="3" style=".Bodylaser" font="ITC Giovanni Std" fontStyle="Book" size="9">I start walking to my favourite spot in the city. A small park. I also have a favourite bench there. I imagine the two of us sitting there someday, hand in hand, talking about the mundane details of our day. Old and wrinkly. The thought spreads a smile across my face. 
</lang>
</p>
<p style=".Bodylaser">
	<lang class="3" style=".Bodylaser" font="ITC Giovanni Std" fontStyle="Bold" size="9">2 MINUTES:5 SECONDS 
</lang>
</p>
<p style=".Bodylaser">
	<lang class="3" style=".Bodylaser" font="ITC Giovanni Std" fontStyle="Book" size="9">It’s almost time! My heart might leap out of my body with the pace it is beating right now.
</lang>
</p>
<p style=".Bodylaser">
	<lang class="3" style=".Bodylaser" font="ITC Giovanni Std" fontStyle="Book" size="9">As I’m about to cross the street, I see him. I KNOW it’s him, even though he looks nothing like I imagined. He looks like what love would look like. I thought I saw a stranger I knew very well. 
</lang>
</p>
<p style=".Bodylaser">
	<lang class="3" style=".Bodylaser" font="ITC Giovanni Std" fontStyle="Bold" size="9">0 MINS:30 SECS 
</lang>
</p>
<p style=".Bodylaser">
	<lang class="3" style=".Bodylaser" font="ITC Giovanni Std" fontStyle="Book" size="9">He looks up at me. We exchange a warm, knowing smile. As if we can already see the years ahead. Together. As if he’s not a stranger at all, but a soul that parted with mine long ago, and is now being reunited. This is my person. 
</lang>
</p>
<p style=".Bodylaser">
	<lang class="3" style=".Bodylaser" font="ITC Giovanni Std" fontStyle="Book" size="9">He starts crossing the street to get to me. What happened next will always be a blurry nightmare. I saw the speeding car coming towards him, everything seemed to slow down, and then the car hit him. He reached his hand out to grab mine. We were inches from each other but a lifetime apart. 
</lang>
</p>
<p style=".Bodylaser">
	<lang class="3" style=".Bodylaser" font="ITC Giovanni Std" fontStyle="Book" size="9">There it was. His lifeless body in a pool of red. 
</lang>
</p>
<p style=".Bodylaser">
	<lang class="3" style=".Bodylaser" font="ITC Giovanni Std" fontStyle="Bold" size="9">0 MINS:0 SECONDS 
</lang>
</p>
<p style=".Bodylaser">
	<lang class="3" style=".Bodylaser" font="ITC Giovanni Std" fontStyle="Book" size="9">This wasn’t supposed to happen. My knees got weak as I looked at my destined future, completely undone. It felt like the pavement under my feet cracked and the Earth was swallowing me whole. The author will continue my story for the rest of my miserable life, but our chapter is over before it could begin. For the first time, I wished I was the one holding the pen.</lang>
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