Halfway to Nowhere
- The Aleph Review
- 9 hours ago
- 6 min read
Sonia Ahmed A moving short story underlining one man's swing between a peaceful sense of nihilism and a resigned acceptance of life. It’s such a beautiful morning.
The valley stretched far and wide below him, green and hushed, a kind of quiet that felt holy. The pine trees down there looked like something a child would build for a school project. Too small. Too perfect to be real.
Has it always been this beautiful? I never noticed before.
He had crossed this place so many times. Ferried wide-eyed tourists across it while they gasped and pointed and clutched the safety bar like it would save their lives. Some were terrified, others enchanted. But he never had the time to be either. His eyes were always ahead, his mind on the next thing. Keeping the ride smooth, making their visit outstanding, getting through the day, earning enough to buy the stuff on the list in his pocket.
He put his hand in his pocket. The paper rustled against his fingers.
He looked around with mirth in his eyes. The wind hummed softly, cool and steady. And the cable car swayed, soft and slow, rocking him gently.
He felt almost like he was the boy on those rare afternoons, when, after a busy day, his father would stop the cable car mid-crossing. They’d nibble on dried apricots or phitti, watch the valley in a silent companionship.
I wish I had some apricots right now. Or a piece of phitti with a cup of chai.
As he looked around, his gaze drifted away from the valley, as if waking from a trance, slowly remembering where he really was. The chair swayed gently, a rhythmic lull.
How comforting.
The breeze brushed against his cheeks, steady and cold. The kind of cold that clears the mind.
Funny how peaceful it is up here. He chuckled silently.
That weightlessness. Silence.
For once, I don’t need to rush!
He shifted a little. The cables groaned overhead. He could feel the strain in the metal.
He leaned back, stretched his legs, arms behind his head, letting the sway cradle him as if he had all the time in the world. No one wanting him to hurry. No one waiting for him.
He took out the list his daughter had slipped into his pocket that morning… crayons, little things she wanted, detergent and sugar, and new laces for his son’s worn-out shoes.
He took out his wallet. Not enough money, as always, he chuckled as he put both back into his pocket. For once, it didn’t bother him.
No clock ticking over my head here. No debts chasing me. No mouths waiting to be fed the moment I walk in.
He took a deep breath, and a thought—soft, dangerous, and oddly gentle—started circling in his mind:
What if it all ends here.
What if, instead of scampering for another day, another shift, another list… What if I just stayed?
What if this is the peace I’ve been looking for?
He closed his eyes, like switching off the world after a long, punishing day. The wind brushed past his face, and he let it take the weight off his shoulders.
“Sir! Can you hear me? Please open your eyes!” A packet fell inside with a thud.
He blinked, squinting against the light. There was a man hanging mid-air beside him, suspended from a thick rope and shouting over the rotor blades of a helicopter.
“Please eat these snacks and drink some water! There’s a calming medicine inside too!”
The voice was sharp and far too loud, like someone ripping the peace in half.
“We’ll rescue you soon!”
Rescue.
Of course.
They found me.
He kept still, staring at the man dangling mid-air. A voice was still shouting, but it all sounded far away. As if, it were meant for someone else.
“Only one cable broke. The rest are intact. You’re not in any danger. We’ll pull you out soon!”
They’re here to pull me back.
Back to the streets and chores, to the effort of surviving another day.
Back to the list in my pocket…
He stared at the rescuer for a second longer than he should have, then nodded.
The rescuer’s relief was visible. He made some gestures to the people in the helicopter above.
This chair... it’s the safest I’ve felt in a long time, hanging by a thread. And now he’s here, tethered, urgent, trying to pull me back.
He sighed and half-closed his eyes again.
Just a little longer. Just a few more minutes.
But no.
Ropes tightened around his chest, a harness clamped shut.
“Sir, are you hurt? Can you speak? Open your eyes! Please don’t fall asleep!”
Fall asleep?
I want to. God, I want to.
No clock ticking over my head here. No debts chasing me. No mouths waiting to be fed the moment I walk in.
And just like that, he was ripped from the cradle, rising fast, up through the air and into the chopper. He could feel cold metal biting into his skin, then there were shouting voices and hands all over him.
Then it was the ground. And the blaring sirens.
"Are you dizzy?"
"Do you remember your name?"
"Can you walk?"
He nodded once. Answered quietly. "Yes."
The questions kept coming. He wished they’d stop.
They ushered him into an ambulance. A flashlight in his eyes. Two fingers at his wrist.
A woman in a white coat clicked her pen and leaned over.
“Name?”
He told her.
“Pain anywhere?”
He shook his head.
“Do you remember what happened?”
“I was just sitting.” His voice was dry. “Looking.”
She paused, studied him.
“Shock,” she said to someone behind her. “Possibly mild hypoxia. He’s stable though. He can go home.”
Home.
I’ve been released.
They marked things on a clipboard. Gave him water.
“You’re very lucky,” they told him.
He didn’t feel lucky. He didn’t feel anything.
Until he saw them.
His wife’s eyes were wild and red. She clutched his face like she needed to make sure it was really him.
His son, usually so loud, was silent, his face streaked with tears and snot, hands balled into fists.
His daughter was staring up at him, eyes wide, her small body still trembling, those quiet,
involuntary jerks that come when the tears have run out but the fear hasn’t.
"Abba! I told them not to let you fall!"
He didn’t remember falling. Only floating.
He held them. Let them cry. Let them squeeze him. But it all felt distant.
The doctor walked over. "You’re okay now. It’s over." Then softer, almost hesitant, "Do you want to talk to someone?"
He blinked. Thought for a moment. Then shook his head.
The doctor gave a small nod. "That’s all right. Sometimes the body catches up before the mind."
He looked down at his family. His son was clinging to his leg. His wife still hadn’t let go.
“They said you might not make it,” she whispered.
He pulled them close. Their warmth. Their smell. Their panic.
And suddenly, it hit him.
If I had gone, if the rope had snapped, they would’ve waited for me forever.
They would have never known I was at peace.
He felt something rise in his chest. A quiet flood of guilt. Of love.
Of something else...
I should be thankful. Grateful.
And he was.
But a part of him, a quiet, traitorous part, still longed for the silence of the sky.
For the chair that rocked like a cradle.
For the wind that didn’t ask anything of him.
He kissed his daughter’s head, picked up his son, held his wife tighter, and said, “Let’s go home.”
His voice was steady. But inside, a cable car swung, tethered by a single rope.
Sonia Ahmed is a storyteller drawn to the quiet ways life changes us. She tells culturally rooted stories about stillness, identity, and inner conflict, often unfolding in the quiet moments of everyday life.
Shahzadi Ayesha is a Lahore-based multidisciplinary visual artist and researcher whose practice blends traditional craft with contemporary expression. Currently pursuing her Ph.D. in Fine Arts at Lahore College for Women, she holds an MFA and an MA in Painting from the College of Art and Design, University of the Punjab, along with a Master’s degree in English Literature from the University of Lahore. Ayesha is known for her intricate cross-stitch embroidery that explores themes of trauma, resilience, and cultural memory. In her recent series, Life Amidst the Chaos, she reflects on the lived realities of Palestinians—capturing the endurance of displaced communities and the silent strength of survival. Her work has gained national recognition; in 2023, she received the Best Artwork Award and was listed among the Top 10 artists at the 19th Alhamra Young Artists’ Exhibition—Arriving. She has exhibited nationally, and she was a selected artist in the fifth edition of Stars of Tomorrow, a global platform highlighting emerging artists worldwide.