Letters, Beirut and time.

Cherry

By bohodogon

Tue, 17 Dec 2024
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3 comments
 
It was the late 1990s when the world grew smaller and closer, one keystroke at a time. Chat rooms were new then—windows to places and people I had never imagined I’d encounter. For someone like me, a timid soul on the surface yet quietly confident underneath, this virtual world was a gift. I could speak, I could write, I could be fully myself without the awkwardness that often followed me in libraries or nightclubs. I’ve always been an enigma—even to myself—an introverted extrovert who craved connection just long enough before retreating to the quiet sanctuary of nature and animals, places where I could recharge and breathe again.
It was on an unremarkable afternoon in Oxford, still living with my parents, that I first met Rashid. Rashid, a confident Leo living in Beirut, a city that in 1996 was nothing but a whispered name to me, coloured by warnings id hear when i used to live in in Israel. Arabs, I was told, were dangerous. Dirty. Untrustworthy. The prejudice sat heavy in the back of my mind, yet something about Rashid broke through that noise.
We began writing to each other—long, poetic letters full of a yearning we couldn’t quite name. Our words connected us across thousands of miles, two strangers becoming intimately familiar. He poured Beirut into my imagination, and I filled his days with stories of my quiet life in Oxford. It didn’t last long—less than a year—but in that brief stretch of time, we existed together in a small, sacred space that life would soon carry me away from.
The late 90s were wild and alive with adventure. I met Zdenka, my fiery soulmate, the woman who became my shadow as we traveled the world, two girls chasing the horizon. Rashid faded into memory, just another story tucked away, another thread I thought had unraveled completely.
But fate is rarely finished with us.
Years later, I found myself in Beirut, tangled in love and uncertainty. I had moved there for Vrej, my Armenian boyfriend, who found us a small apartment overlooking the army barracks. He would leave for months at a time, swallowed up by his military service, while I remained behind in the quiet. Days turned to weeks, and I wandered aimlessly through my loneliness, adrift in a city that felt so foreign.
And then, as if to remind me that life is never predictable, I met a man in the elevator. He was tall and gentle, with funny glasses that gave him a boyish look despite his age. He told me he worked in television, that he was a graphic designer—a man with dreams in his eyes. His voice carried the same passion that Beirut did, a fire that spoke of longing and ambition.
One day, he invited me upstairs for coffee. We lived in the same apartment block. Out of curiosity—and perhaps loneliness—I accepted. He made me a strong cup, and we sat across from each other, talking about nothing and everything. And then, his voice lowered.
“You know,” he said, looking somewhere past me as if remembering a dream, “I once met a girl online. From Oxford. She had a way with words. We used to write each other such beautiful letters, but one day she just disappeared.”
The words fell into the space between us, and I felt my breath catch.
“Tell me more,” I managed to say softly.
He stood, rummaging through a drawer, and pulled out a faded printout of an old email. My words—my words—spilled across the page like forgotten echoes. My heart pounded, my hands trembling as I looked up at him.
“Rashid?” I whispered.
His face went pale. “Nicole?”
For a moment, time stood still. We stared at each other, two souls reunited by some unseen force, both breathless in disbelief. What were the chances? What cosmic joke—or miracle—had brought us back together? We hugged then, tears in our eyes, knowing that something larger than life was at play.
In the weeks that followed, Rashid tried to rekindle what had once existed in letters. He made grand gestures—one evening, I walked into his apartment to find a heart made of yellow candles, roses scattered like small whispers of love. It was beautiful, and I was grateful, but I couldn’t force what wasn’t there. I saw him as a brother, a friend, someone whose presence was comforting but not the kind of love my heart was searching for.
Still, Rashid remained close, even as my life in Beirut continued with its own complications.
Then came Christmas Eve. Vrej was back on leave, and we had plans to shop for gifts together at a crowded mall. But at the last moment, he had errands to run and left me to wander the shops alone. By chance—or perhaps destiny—Rashid was there, walking through the same mall. We bumped into each other, laughed, and spent the evening together while I waited for Vrej to return.
It was hours later when the call came.
Vrej’s car had spun off the road, flipping violently before a steel pole pierced through the passenger seat—the very seat where I would have been sitting had I left with him that evening.
I dropped the phone. Everything blurred. Vrej survived, but that pole—cold, unrelenting—would have killed me instantly.
I knew then, with a certainty that left me shaking, that Rashid had saved my life. Not through heroics, not through any conscious action, but simply by being there. Years earlier, we had found each other across a digital void, and years later, he had unknowingly pulled me away from death’s grasp.
Fate is not random. The universe leaves breadcrumbs—small, impossible moments that change everything if you know where to look. Rashid wasn’t meant to be my great love, but he was meant to be something. A guardian angel, a protector, a reminder that life is far bigger than what we can see.
People think the world runs on logic, on reason, but I’ve learned that it doesn’t. The threads of our lives are woven by hands unseen, pulling us toward places and people we are meant to encounter. Synchronicities surround us, small miracles waiting to be noticed.
And Rashid? He will always be proof that guardian angels exist—not in wings and light, but in strangers, in friends, in quiet acts that save us without us even knowing.
Certificate U
Biography
Autobiography

Comments

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

What a wonderful coincidence!

 

Submitted by Yutka on

Amazing story which keeps you captivated to the very end! I cannot wait to read on. Your life is truly very unusual, but so are you, an artist, a spiritual healer, a heart of gold.....

Yutka

 

 

Submitted by celticman on

coincideneces makes life seem solveable.