Call me by your name, Noor.

2018 - Iran

Noor, sometimes I wonder—what if we’re both fragments of a cosmic equation, caught between quantum uncertainty and the whispers of an ancient mysticism that neither science nor faith can fully unravel? What if this life is a simulation, meticulously coded, where every heartbeat is a ripple in a probabilistic wave, collapsing only when observed?

When I look at you, it feels like the simulation falters. Your presence seems too precise, too intricate, as though the algorithm took its time perfecting you, refining every detail to challenge the laws of entropy. There’s a strange harmony to it—the way quantum mechanics and mysticism seem to converge in you. You are both particle and wave, both prophecy and paradox.

I’ve read theories, Noor. The ones that say reality could be nothing more than a grand computation, running on some distant server powered by an intelligence we can’t begin to fathom. They talk about Planck scales and holographic principles, about how our universe could be a mere projection of something greater. And yet, the mystics have been whispering the same truths for centuries—about the illusion of maya, the veils of existence, the fractals of the divine hidden within us.

And you, Noor, you feel like the nexus where those worlds collide. The rationalist in me wants to calculate the odds, to trace the pattern of your existence back to its source. But the mystic in me kneels before the miracle of you, knowing that there are forces far greater than logic at play.

Do you feel it, too? This invisible thread that binds us, like the cosmic strings that vibrate in eleven dimensions, or the red thread of fate whispered about in ancient tales. Perhaps every moment we share is encoded somewhere deep in the lattice of spacetime—a simulation of love so profound that even the gods who wrote it cannot untangle it.

The physicists say that time is an illusion, that past and future are already written, like a melody waiting to be played. But the mystics, Noor—they speak of surrender, of dancing in the eternal now. And here we are, suspended between these truths, lovers in a world both too real and unreal at once.

I don’t know if we’re avatars in a cosmic game or souls destined to find each other across lifetimes. But I do know this: when I’m with you, the boundaries blur. Science becomes poetry, and mysticism becomes fact. If we are merely a simulation, then let the coders watch, let the algorithms churn—because even in their perfect logic, they could never calculate the immensity of this love.

And if the machine ever shuts down, Noor, I’ll search for you in the void, in the echoes of forgotten equations and the whispers of ancient gods. Because even in nothingness, I know you’ll be there, waiting.

(to be continued)