The black cube that was once dyed in purple and red, has been a part of our lives ever since we are born. Once known as a universal shrine, it housed every recognised god of pre-Islamic Arabia. The religious life around it dates to the 6th century C.E. It is a center point of worship for Muslims who prostate in its direction five times a day. It was a chilly morning of New Year when I embarked on a journey to “House of Allah’.” As much as I was grateful for the unplanned trip and for the fazal I have been bestowed upon, I wasn’t thinking much about it except memorising the rituals of Umrah. The main focus remained to evade the anxiety and fear of flying, to keep praying that the plane doesn’t crash. To put it more honestly, I wasn’t thinking at all. I was largely numb with just Islamic verses on my lips. Thankfully, against my fears, the plane didn’t crash. I landed in Jeddah around midnight from where I headed to Makkah. It was two in the morning when I set foot on the holy land with a body completely worn out, mind still numb and soul elated. So, here I was, adorned in a long white scarf, reciting “Labaik Allahuma Labaik,” treading towards Masjid-al-Haram, which was now just a few metres away. The intimidation, the curiosity, and the ecstasy began to overwhelm my heart as my feet kissed the snowy-white-cold floor of Haram. The black cube I had seen all my life – on TV screens, in school books, in calligraphic paintings, as a piece of art that my father brought many years ago – was approaching fast. But little did my naïve-self know what else was approaching with it. Kaaba’s magic is such that the longing and desire to see it grows more, the more you see it It was there, running parallel to me, but I was yet to behold it as my father was taking me to the front-view of its entrance door. I was told by everyone that the first prayer I am going to make the moment I will see the black cube will be accepted. My selfish-greedy self was memorizing the prayers so that I don’t miss any. I wasn’t getting ready to see it because why would I, right? It’s a normal thing to see it as I have seen it all my life, right? It shouldn’t be a big deal, right? Poor me, completely unaware of what was about to transpire a few seconds later. Here it was. The black cube. The one I have known all my life. The one I have seen all my life. The one that should be felt normal when setting eyes upon. The sight of which shouldn’t be a big deal. I turned. I beheld. I was stunned. I kept staring at it in wonderment, in amazement, in awe. Its husan, Jalaal, and Noor got into me, shook me, broke my heart and left me sobbing loud with tears flowing like an endless stream. The absorbing capacity in me crumbled as some invisible striking power emanating from the mighty black cube made its way into me. All the logic, sanity and rationality ceased to exist as I wondered how a simple box covered with a black cloth could look so magical and spellbinding. Standing there, the worthlessness of everything, of myself and this world, overwhelmed me. I felt small, insignificant and my life seemed tiny. I felt Allah, I felt that it was Him. I felt His undeniable presence and all I wanted in that moment was to become pure, wholly, from heart and soul. I prayed. I cried. As long as I could. Once I was done, I felt my heart was irrevocably gone. I was smitten by something I have never seen this has been. I fell in love with. Love at first sight. The days that followed were no different. Kaaba’s magic is such that the longing and desire to see it grows more, the more you see it. The more you go nearer, the more it looks mightier, its grandeur multiplying multifold and the adoration for it becoming deeper and deeper. The eyes don’t tire. The thirst doesn’t quench. The heart doesn’t fill. The soul doesn’t satisfy. Every minute spent there was spiritually fulfilling. The rhythmic and poetic view of circumambulation, the heart-warming sight of blind circumambulating holding their canes, the handicapped by dragging themselves on the floor, the reverberating sound of Azaan, the mesmerising recitation of Quran, the little gestures of compassion from strangers, the deliciousness of Aab-e-Zamzam, the offering of prayers in unison, the chirping of birds making rounds, the flocking pigeons adorning the sky, the luminous minarets and the glowing and glittering Kaaba in the middle. Words can’t do justice to the peace, the serenity, the once-in-a-lifetime-experience one gets to live and breathe there. The days ended far more quickly than I thought. It was the last circumambulation. It was the last time I was seeing Kaaba. I sat and prayed and cried. Then I kept staring at it as I had to bid farewell. It looked more beautiful than before. I blew a kiss in obeisance and started to walk away. I kept looking behind catching every little glimpse I could from the inundated crowd. Looking at it like two beloveds look at each other before departing, before gradually letting go of each other’s hands, before saying a final goodbye. Until they meet again. The author is a freelance writer based in Islamabad