Sanam Khana-e-Khayal (The Temple of Imagination)

🌹 The Temple of Imagination

Beginning

In the dim light of dusk, a young man sat lost in a world of thoughts. Outside the window, the branches of trees swayed with the wind, as if sharing in the restlessness of his heart. His name was Arsalan. From childhood, he had been quiet, a man of a different temperament. Unlike others, the noise, games, and clamor of the world never appealed to him. His joy was always found in solitude, in books, and in poetry.

But all of that was only until he discovered the most beautiful truth of life—love.

And that love was tied to a single name—Zohra.

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The First Meeting

Arsalan and Zohra first met in the university library. Arsalan was always buried in books, but whenever Zohra entered, the whole atmosphere seemed to change. Her face carried a glow, her eyes a calm depth, and on her lips rested a smile that, for the very first time, made Arsalan’s heart race with intensity.

Time passed. Their conversations grew. First greetings, then small talks, and gradually longer meetings. There was no pretension, no artificiality—everything was simple, yet deeply moving. For Arsalan, this bond became the most precious thing in the world.

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The State of the Heart

Yet one thing always troubled him. Arsalan never expressed his feelings openly. He feared that if he confessed, Zohra might drift away. He did not want to weaken the beautiful thread of friendship that bound them together.

So, he imprisoned his voice within poetry.

Often at night, when silence reigned, Arsalan would pick up his pen and pour his emotions onto paper. Those were the hours when his poetry gained a new life. His verses reflected beauty, love, longing, and pain—all at once.

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Separation

Life is never as easy as dreams. One day, destiny shifted. Circumstances led to Zohra’s marriage being arranged elsewhere.

For Arsalan, the news struck like lightning. His heart wanted to scream, to cry, but he remained silent. On her wedding day, Zohra cast one final glance at him—a glance that carried everything words could never convey.

She was gone. And in Arsalan’s life, only memories remained. But those very memories became the wealth of his poetry.

He often said:

"Love is not about possession. Love is about living it."

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That Night and the Poem

One night, when moonlight spread across the sky and silence thundered inside his chest, Arsalan opened his diary.

That night, his pen birthed a ghazal—a poem that immortalized his heart’s deepest state.

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✨ Poetic Verses

Sweet lips reveal the secrets of paradise,

Dark tresses sway with waves of passion.

In those waves, storms of ecstasy rise,

And within the storm, desires melt tenderly.

Her words echo like the clink of a wine glass,

And in that sound bloom the songs of spring.

Grace in her limbs, sweetness in her speech,

Light in her eyes, colored with the hues of imagination.

In those hues lie hidden truths,

And within truths, unfathomable mysteries.

The source of my poetry, the spring of thought—

It is she, my temple of imagination. ❤

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Silence After the Poem

When the ghazal was complete, Arsalan placed his pen aside. Tears fell upon the paper, staining it with his soul. These were not mere verses—they were his cry, his confession, his love poured into words.

Zohra was no longer present in his life, yet her spirit remained inseparably tied to his own. Arsalan knew he could never have her, but he also knew that his love had been made eternal in his poetry.

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Fame and the Secret

Time moved on. Arsalan’s poetry began to win hearts everywhere. His verses were recited in gatherings, and people praised him. All agreed that there was a mystery in his work, a beloved hidden within—but who she was, no one knew.

His students often asked, but he would only smile and change the subject. For Arsalan, Zohra was not just a person—she was a secret, one he never wished to reveal to the world.

He used to say:

"She is not my beloved; she is my thought. She is my temple of imagination."

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In Old Age

Years passed. Arsalan’s hair turned white, his body frail, yet his heart remained young.

One day, a student pressed him with a question:

"Master, tell us—who is the beloved in your poetry?"

Arsalan sighed deeply, looking out the window at the sky. The moon was shining in all its brilliance. His eyes moistened, a smile touched his lips, and he whispered:

"She is the secret of my life. She is neither in my arms nor in my reach, but she lives in every breath of mine. She is my temple of imagination."

The student fell silent. In that moment, he realized that love is not about holding—it is a light that illuminates the entire soul.

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Conclusion

Thus, Arsalan’s life itself became a poem—an endless ghazal. Every breath, every thought, every word carried the image of Zohra.

People read his verses, admired them, praised them, but no one ever knew that behind those words lay a love story—unfinished, yet the most beautiful of all.

That is the miracle of love: even if incomplete, it keeps the heart alive forever.