The night air was cool, it had just finished raining and the earth had that sweet earthy smell to it . Musa pulled his worn shawl tighter around his shoulders as he leaned back in the old wooden relaxing chair outside his house. He was stargazing and just taking it all in, above him, the sky stretched endlessly, scattered with stars that shone like distant memories.
He had always liked nights like this.
At seventy three years old, there was little left to rush toward. Most of life had already happened. What remained was reflection and sometimes, if he allowed it, regret, we always have regrets, always have losses he always said.
A particularly bright star caught his eye.
“A wishing star,” he said softly, the words feeling both childish and sacred on his tongue.
He murmured under his breath. “What would an old man wish for now?”
But still, his mind wandered, what else was their to do.
First thought that came to his mind was him in a uniform.
He imagined himself young again, bubbling and strong, determined, stepping into the boots he never wore, but wished he did. In his mind, he was a soldier, standing tall among others, marching into danger. He saw flashes of things he had only ever watched in films, rescuing civilians, pulling a wounded comrade to safety, standing between chaos and the helpless.
He imagined medals pinned to his chest, not for glory, but for lives saved.
“I should have joined the army,” he whispered. “Maybe I could have made a difference.” or could have been dead his mind wandered.
The thought lingered, and he let his mind wonder again. In another life, perhaps he would have been brave in ways he never tested. His eyes drifted to another cluster of stars.
This time, he saw himself in a white coat.
A doctor.
He had always admired doctors and the respect they commanded, he pictured crowded hospital wards, the urgency of footsteps echoing through hallways, the weight of responsibility resting in his hands. He imagined the outbreak the one that had shaken the world years ago. He remembered watching helplessly as people suffered, as fear spread faster than the disease itself.
In his imagined life, he wasn’t helpless.
He was there, steady and skilled, offering hope, he saw himself working tirelessly, saving patients, comforting families, maybe even contributing to something greater a treatment, a breakthrough, something that mattered.
“I could have helped,” he said quietly.
Another wish followed.
He imagined himself as an explorer, traveling far beyond the familiar streets of his youth. He always was never one to leave his comfort zone and in all honesty it gave him a comfortable life. He imagined himself travelling, exploring, he wished he'd seen the deserts stretching endlessly under the sun, oceans vast and unpredictable, cities buzzing with languages he didn’t understand. He had always wanted to see the world, but life had demanded stability instead.
There had been bills to pay. Dreams that quietly folded themselves away and became lost in the shadows.
“I could have seen more,” he sighed.
For a moment, silence settled over him, broken only by the faint chirping of crickets and the distant hum of life continuing somewhere beyond his gate.
He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.
A sudden burst of laughter cut through his thoughts.
Musa blinked, pulled back from the vast universe of his imagination. The sound came from just beyond the balcony.
He turned his head to the right.
There, under the soft glow of a lights on the lawn, were his grandchildren. Running, shouting, chasing each other with the kind of energy only children possess. One of them stumbled and fell, only to burst into giggles instead of tears, then another tried to explain some elaborate game that made no sense but somehow meant everything to them.
His eldest son stood nearby, arms crossed pretending to be stern but failing to hide his smile. His daughter sat on a low stool, clapping her hands and calling out encouragements.
Musa watched them quietly.
The soldier he never became had imagined saving strangers, but here right in front of him, were people he had protected in his own way through years of work, sacrifice, and quiet endurance.
The doctor he never became in which he dreamed of healing the sick did not come to pass but he had been through their fevers in the night, through scraped knees and even broken hearts, through moments when his presence had been the only medicine needed.
The explorer he never became had wanted to see the world. But hadn’t he, in a way? Through the lives of his children, through the stories they brought home, through the growth of a family that stretched further than he had ever imagined
He exhaled slowly.
One of the children spotted him and ran over, small feet pattering against the ground.
“Grandpa! Come and play!”
He laughed.
“At my age?” he teased.
“Yes!” the child insisted, grabbing his hand with strong determination.
Musa looked up at the sky one more time. The stars still shimmered, distant and beautiful, holding all the lives he never lived.
He pushed himself up slowly, joints protesting but spirit lighter.
“Alright,” he said with a smile. “Let’s see what I can still do.”
And above them all, the stars continued to shine.
Images were generated with Gemini A.I
