Before we go…

Do you believe that some meetings are not random,
but quietly written somewhere beyond logic —
waiting for the right moment to unfold?

That among billions of lives moving in parallel,
there are rare instances when two paths intersect…
not always to stay, but perhaps to recognize something in each other.

There is a kind of attraction that cannot be explained.

Not desire in its obvious form.
Not curiosity.
Not even timing.

But something more subtle —
a pull that feels both unfamiliar and deeply known.

As if the soul remembers what the mind cannot comprehend.

I often think of Before Sunrise
and Before We Go.

Stories where nothing extraordinary happens —
no grand declarations,
no promises,
no future planned.

And yet… everything happens.

Two strangers meet for a brief moment in time,
and within that fragile window,
they reveal parts of themselves that the world rarely sees.

Not because they intend to —
but because something in the presence of the other
feels safe enough to be real.

The film doesn’t just tell a story —
it feels like an ongoing conversation between two souls,
lost in their own ways, yet finding each other for a brief moment in time.

The dialogues are not loud,
not trying to be philosophical —
and yet, they touch on the quiet questions
that most of us have asked ourselves at some point.

I’m reminded of a line by Rumi:

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there.”

Perhaps that’s true.

Right and wrong are rarely absolute
when seen through different experiences,
different perspectives,
different depths of the human soul.

And the heart…
has reasons that the mind will never fully understand.

There are encounters that confuse us —
not because they are wrong,
but because they are real in a way we didn’t expect.

And maybe…

what makes a meeting meaningful
is not how long it lasts,
but whether, in that moment,
we feel seen…
we feel understood.

And when it ends,
we return to our own lives —
but we carry something with us.

Something quiet.
Something light.

Yet enough
to make us want to become
a better version of ourselves.

And if a meeting can do that —
then perhaps… it was sacred enough.

Perhaps love, in its most refined form,
is not intensity.

It is not possession.
It is not permanence.

It is simply this:

to be fully present with someone,
even if only for a moment.

And then — inevitably —
the world returns.

Responsibilities reclaim us.
Identities reassemble.
Reality gently closes its hands around us again.

We leave.

Not always because we want to,
but because sometimes… we don’t yet know how to stay.

And yet… something remains.

Not loudly.
Not painfully.

But quietly —
like a soft echo that never quite disappears.

We remember:

the way they looked at us
the stillness between words
the version of ourselves that existed beside them

There are nights when we almost reach out.

A message half-written.
A name lingering on the screen.

A thousand impulses to call.
A thousand silent decisions not to.

Not because the feeling is gone —
but because we are still trying to understand it.

Some encounters are not meant to become long stories.

But maybe…
they are not meant to disappear either.

They stay somewhere in between —
unfinished, yet not incomplete.

In Before We Go, there is an unspoken understanding:

That what is shared in a single night
can be more real than what lasts for years.

Not everything meaningful needs to be defined.
Not everything real needs to be claimed.

Some things are simply… felt.

And perhaps that is why we remember them so vividly.

Because nothing after has diluted them.

Because they remain suspended —
unchanged, unbroken, and quietly alive.

Years later, in the middle of an ordinary day,
a song may play…
a city may return in memory…
a thought may pass through like light.

And we will pause — just for a second —
and smile.

Not with longing.
Not with regret.

But with a kind of quiet gratitude.

There was once a moment…
and within that moment, we met someone we were meant to meet.

Not necessarily to keep.
Not necessarily to lose.

But perhaps…
to understand something we didn’t know before.

There was once a moment…
and within that moment, we met someone we were meant to meet.

Not to keep.
Not to change our lives.

But simply to remind us:

That even in a world governed by reason,
there are still things
that belong only to the heart.

I like the quote in the end of Before We Go:

“Thank you for for teaching me that we can love more than one person in a lifetime.”