‘Describe your best friend (May’14) ‘ by Ilsa Tariq


My day would pass by in anticipation and impatience, waiting for the clock to strike three so that my best friend would arrive. Calling him my ‘best friend’ has always felt like an understatement to me because of the plethora of other elements he was made of– not just a ‘best friend’.

When he arrived, it seemed as if a cool, refreshing breeze had engulfed the hot air, taking all the unpleasantness and worries with it. That was what he was– the solution to my troubles and the calmness to my fears.

He was like the gleaming northern star in the sky studded with a million other faded ones, mostly unnoticeable.

When I would hear the bell ring, I would run as fast as I could, oblivious to everything around me so that I could wrap my arms around him and feel secure in my safe haven– his heart where all of my heart lies. I hugged him tighter day by day, not ever wanting to lose him, not ever wanting to let go of what I treasured so deeply; so much that I would not ever trade him for the whole wide universe.

I admired him closely as he walked in his immaculate, khaki-coloured uniform with a multitude of twinkling, colourful gold and silver badges, jingling softly as he marched in the platform with a tall, sharp platinum sword.

I admired him as he gradually stepped up to a higher rank until he reached to the highest of all. I admired every bit of him, day and night, thinking of how blessed I was to have him as a huge part of my life.

I loved him very much while he loved me more than my heart could have ever imagined. Again, I was blessed to have a heart made out of the purest of golds to have loved me to the very fullest and a heart which was as beauteous as an oasis in a barren desert full of dry briars.

Truthfulness reflected from his whole-hearted smile which held rare veracity as he gave alms to each and everyone who arrived at his door.

He was a man with brilliance, honour, poise and of course, love. He loved those around him, regardless of race, colour and creed. He loved to be in the company of others and loved having them love him as much as he loved them.

He was like a spring flower– bright, lovely and charming.

We would never forget to stroll in the large garden, plucking the loveliest of flowers while I looked in his bright black beady eyes until he meet mine and laughed heartily at my intimidate glares.

As I recall the most prized memory with him, I am reminded of the day when the soothing wind brushed us as we walked along the lush green fields, having plucked most of its spring flowers.

I said, “Why are there such dry flowers left in the field!“

He looked at me amusingly and replied thoughtfully, “Which people does God lift to the heavens the earliest?”

I thought for a while and spoke back with an answer I believed in, “The most beautiful ones.”

Little did he know that he was one of those flowers– the most beautiful ones.

I now look at each one of the blossoms plucked three months back with my eyes welling with a fountain of tears. They lie in the basket, withered and rusty.

My swollen eyes then glance at the coffin ahead of me which held a spring flower which once blossomed with life. My spring flower, my love, my best friend.


About froebelianwriters

I am an English Language teacher teaching O'Levels Edexcel and CIE A Levels at Froebel's International School, Islamabad. I am also working as a Subject Specialist Literacy consultant for the same school. Writing and reading has always been a passion and I try my utmost to instill these habits and hobbies in my students as well. I can be reached/contacted at fabbas227@hotmail.com or 03365287335 Happy reading!

Comments are closed.