“You haven’t seen fireflies?” he asked me.
“Nope, never in my life.”
“Not even one?”
He was incredulous, and that pricked my pride- made my world seem too small, missing things.
“There weren’t any in Karachi.” - I was defensive but beginning to feel uncertain.
“I’m not talking about Karachi, I’m talking about Rochester. It’s July. It’s firefly season.”
“I haven’t seen any.” I stammered. I hadn’t, but I still felt like a child caught in a lie.
“Is there still light there?”
I looked up at the sky. I was walking home from campus. It was 9 pm but the flotsam of daylight still loomed over nightfall. Early stars and a slice of moonlight.
“Look around yourself.”
“It’s been raining, there won’t be any-”
“Abay look 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 na.”
At first, nothing. Just the darkening suburb with a single pool of streetlight at the end of the street. Then I saw a glint, like when dust motes catch light. As my eyes adjusted, off the phone screen, I began to see more- a thin-spread smattering of these illuminated particles.
“I see them”
I stopped in the middle of the street. They floated around in gardens on either side of me, as if they had always been here, merry barely-there golden flickers. I felt like I couldn't speak. I felt my world spread itself outwards- perhaps a centimeter wider.
Deleted this by mistake earlier <\3