The Day Time Stopped for Me

By.Muhammad alam

They say time waits for no one. But that day, for me, it did. It stopped—not on a clock, not by a machine, but in my heart, in my soul, and in every breath I struggled to take.

It was a cloudy Tuesday, and everything seemed normal. The usual chaos in the streets of Lahore, the honking, the chai stalls buzzing with life, and me — rushing through my day like always. My phone buzzed continuously with reminders: meeting at 11, pick up Ammi’s medicines at 2, call Ali at 4. Life was loud, fast, and unforgiving.

But everything changed at 2:17 PM.

I had just stepped out of the pharmacy when I got the call. It was from an unknown number. I almost ignored it, but something in my chest tightened. I answered.

“Is this Adeel?” the voice asked.

“Yes,” I replied, my heartbeat already quickening.

“I’m calling from City Hospital. Your younger brother, Hamza, was brought in... there was an accident.”

The next few minutes were a blur. I don’t remember crossing roads, sitting in the rickshaw, or how I even reached the hospital. But I do remember one thing very clearly—the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears. Loud, fast, and scared.

When I reached the emergency room, I saw him.

Hamza.

My baby brother, the quiet one, the one who always wore headphones and hummed to himself, who hated crowds, who loved cats and comic books. He lay there, still, pale, and broken.

The nurse said he was hit by a speeding car while returning from college. He wasn’t breathing when the ambulance arrived, but they managed to revive him.

I sat there, holding his cold hand, whispering things I had never said aloud.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you last night.” “You can take my headphones from now on.” “Just... please open your eyes.”

That’s when time stopped.

Not physically, of course. The world moved on. People came and went. Phones rang. Doctors walked past. But for me, everything froze. All my to-do lists, work calls, WhatsApp messages—none of it mattered anymore. Life had pressed pause.

In that frozen time, memories flooded me.

The day he was born. How I held him awkwardly and promised to protect him forever.

His first day of school. How he hid behind me, scared of the big world.

The fight we had last Eid over a phone charger. The way he slammed the door but later quietly left a piece of cake at my table.

He was not just my brother. He was a part of me I never appreciated enough.

Hours passed. I didn’t move. I didn’t eat. I didn’t even check my phone.

And then, at 7:43 PM, a miracle happened.

He moved his fingers.

Slightly. Just enough for the nurse to notice. Doctors rushed in, ran tests, and confirmed he was stabilizing. He was not out of danger, but he was fighting.

Tears streamed down my face like rain finally breaking a long, dry spell. I whispered a silent Alhamdulillah, and for the first time in my life, I realized how fragile love is, how easily we forget to value people, and how one moment can change everything.

Time started again.

The clock ticked. My phone buzzed. Life resumed. But I wasn’t the same.

Since that day, I make time for those I love. I listen more. I speak less. I say “I love you” even when it feels awkward. Because now I know — in just one second, life can take everything away.

That day, time stopped for me.

And in that silence, I heard the loudest truth of my life.