The Day I Escaped Death by 5 Seconds

There are moments in life that stay tattooed on your soul — moments so intense that they make you question everything you thought you knew about fate, survival, and the fragility of time. This is the story of one such day. A day where I stood face-to-face with death itself... and lived to tell the tale.

It began like any ordinary morning.

The sun rose behind a curtain of dusty clouds, and I stepped out into the streets of Kabul, Afghanistan. The city was alive with the usual noise — street vendors shouting over the roar of passing vehicles, children laughing, horns blaring. I had a small errand that morning, just a 15-minute walk to deliver a document for my uncle.

Simple. Routine. Safe.

At least, that’s what I believed.

I took a shortcut — one I had walked dozens of times before — down a narrow alley tucked between old, weather-stained buildings. It was quieter than usual. Something about the silence felt wrong, but I shook it off. My mind was too busy thinking about the weekend football match, the message I hadn’t replied to, the exam coming up — all the little things that fill your head on a normal day.

Then it happened.

A single shout pierced the silence.

“RUN!”

I froze.

Seconds later, the earth beneath me cracked open with a deafening BOOM. A shockwave slammed into my chest, hurling me backward like a ragdoll. My ears rang violently, and the air was suddenly thick with dust, screams, and something far more terrifying — silence after the storm.

I blinked.

I was alive.

I looked to my right, and what I saw turned my blood cold. Just five steps ahead, the place where I would’ve been — the exact spot I would’ve crossed in five seconds — was gone. Blown apart. A gaping hole scorched black, surrounded by shards of twisted metal and splinters of human chaos.

A bomb.

Planted. Hidden. Meant to kill.

Had I left my house just moments earlier, had I not tied my shoelace before leaving, had I walked a little faster — I would’ve been torn apart.

I would not be writing this.



he rest of the day was a blur of chaos — sirens, panic, blood. I remember the cries of the injured, the trembling of my own hands, the sudden, crushing weight of how fragile life really is. I wasn’t hurt — at least not physically. But something inside me had shattered. My sense of safety. My idea that “it can’t happen to me.” That illusion was gone.

Death had come within five seconds of me — and I had felt its shadow.

In the days that followed, I kept hearing people say things like “you’re lucky” or “God was watching over you.” And maybe they were right. But to me, it didn’t feel like luck — it felt like a warning. A brutal, unspoken message that life can change — or end — in the blink of an eye.

I found myself unable to sleep for days. I’d wake up sweating, hearing the echo of that explosion, feeling the phantom blast hit my chest again and again. I couldn’t walk down that alley anymore. I avoided loud noises. I jumped at sudden sounds. I had seen death too closely.

But I also saw something else that day.

I saw how precious life is.

Every second became brighter. Every smile, every breath, every hug meant something deeper. I stopped postponing things I wanted to do. I reached out to friends I hadn’t spoken to in years. I hugged my mother more often. I prayed with more focus. I appreciated the small, quiet moments that I used to ignore.

People often talk about surviving as if it’s a destination. As if once you live through something terrible, you go back to normal. But the truth is, survival is a beginning.

That day changed me forever. It forced me to grow. To stop wasting time. To live more fully. To speak more kindly. To treat every moment as if it could be my last — because one day, it will be.

And when that day comes, I want to face it with peace — not regret

You never know when your life could change. We think we have time, but we don’t. We think tragedy only visits others, but it doesn’t. What saved me that day? Maybe it was luck. Maybe divine protection. Maybe chance.

But what I do know is this:

Life gave me a second chance.

And I won’t waste it.