Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 | Page 138

A heartsick, ethereal melody.
My heart sings along.
Yes. Yes, I will come back.
“For the treasure out there?” the man whispers.
I glance at him, and at my cabin. My cluttered cabin piled with souvenirs.
His question takes me back in time, until there’s only me, my heart and the wisdom and kindness
I’ve learnt.
The beautiful unimaginable I saw.
The trials Allah threw at me. But I had leaped over them easily, hadn’t I?
And it’s there, and I suddenly understand now.
What use are these pretty objects, we collect, anyway?
No.
The fruit was the journey.
The journey for me.
For me and my heart.