This morning, Dubai disappeared.
Not dramatically. Not with thunder or rain or a storm that announces itself. It simply softened. The towers dissolved into milk. The horizon folded into silence. Even the usual certainty of edges… buildings, roads, distance.. was gone.
And there he stood.
Between two white curtains, in his blue slippers, looking out at a world that refused to show itself.
There is something about fog in late February here. It feels like a pause before the furnace doors open. Before the air thickens. Before summer claims the sky for months. This is the last stretch of gentleness. The last mornings where the city exhales cool breath.
He doesn’t know that yet.
To him, this is just mystery.
Children stand differently in front of fog. Adults look for clarity. We want outlines. We want to know what is behind it. We check the weather app. We think about traffic delays. We measure inconvenience.
But he simply watches.
He is not frustrated that he cannot see the skyline. He is not trying to solve the fog. He is letting it be.
And I wonder when we lose that.
When did we begin to resist what is unclear? When did we start needing visibility as a condition for peace?
Fog is an honest teacher. It tells you: you will not see far today. Walk anyway.
Life has seasons like this city. There are months of sharp clarity where everything feels defined and bright. And then there are mornings like this. Soft. Uncertain. Edges blurred. The future standing just beyond a veil.
Before summer sets in.
There is tenderness in that phrase. Before the intensity. Before the tests. Before the long stretch of heat that asks more of you than you think you have.
This morning felt like mercy.
He stood there quietly, his small silhouette framed by white, staring into a sky that had erased the world. And I thought: maybe this is what trust looks like in its purest form.
To stand at the edge of what you cannot see.
To not panic.
To not rush.
To simply watch.
Dubai will return by noon. The fog will lift. The buildings will reappear as if nothing happened.
But for a brief early hour in late February, the city remembered how to be gentle.
And he was there to witness it.
By the way, did you know that I’m actively writing in malayalam also these days. Find them here. I’ve written a small book as well if you’re into that. If you like listening to stuff, do scroll through the selection of podcasts. If you’ve time, have a look at the visuals I’ve made. And please come back soon : )