“Thirteen days. Almost two weeks. And, just five days in, Laila had learned a fundamental truth about time: Like the accordion on which Tariq's father sometimes played old Pashto songs, time stretched and contracted depending on Tariq's absence or presence.”
In the novel "A Thousand Splendid Suns" by Khaled Hosseini, the character Laila reflects on the fluidity of time when spent with her love interest Tariq. This idea of time expanding and contracting depending on a person's presence holds modern relevance in relationships and the impact a loved one can have on our perception of time.
In this quote from Khaled Hosseini's novel, "A Thousand Splendid Suns," the protagonist Laila reflects on the nature of time and its perceived relativity. Through the metaphor of an accordion, Hosseini illustrates how time can seem to stretch out endlessly in the absence of a loved one, only to contract and feel fleeting in their presence. This analogy captures the emotional weight that relationships can bear on our perception of time, highlighting the profound impact that others can have on our experience of the passing moments. Hosseini's use of vivid imagery serves to deepen the reader's understanding of how the human connection can influence our perception of time.
In this passage from Khaled Hosseini's novel A Thousand Splendid Suns, the author beautifully illustrates the protagonist's perception of time in relation to her love interest, Tariq. The comparison of time to an accordion being stretched and contracted depending on Tariq's presence or absence showcases the depth of their connection and the impact of their relationship on Laila's perception of time.
Reflecting on this quote from Khaled Hosseini's novel, think about the concept of time and its impact on our relationships. Consider the following questions:
“Nine-year-old Laila rose from bed, as she did most mornings, hungry for the sight of her friend Tariq. This morning, however, she knew there would be no Tariq sighting.- How long will you be gone? - She’d asked when Tariq had told her that his parents weretaking him south, to the city of Ghazni, to visit his paternal uncle.- Thirteen days- Thirteen days?- It’s not so long. You’re making a face, Laila.- I am not.- You’re not going to cry, are you?- I am not going to cry! Not over you. Not in a thousand years.She’d kicked at his shin, not his artificial but his real one, and he’d playfully whackedthe back of her head.Thirteen days. Almost two weeks. And, just five days in, Laila had learned a fundamental truth about time: Like the accordion on which Tariq’s father sometimes played old Pashto songs, time stretched and contracted depending on Tariq’s absence or presence.”
“It is not Love that is the crime and it is not Love that is the sin. It is the absence of it!”ARcher Tariq - "A Rising Darkness”
“Tariq tucked the gun into the waist of his denims. Then he said a thing both lovely and terrible. "For you," he said. "I'd kill with it for you, Laila.”
“Inside Laila too a battle was being waged : guilt on one side, partnered with shame, and, on the other, the conviction that what she and Tariq had done was not sinful; that it had been natural, good, beautiful, even inevitable, spurred by the knowledge that they might never see each other again.”
“Only two weeks since he had left, and it was already happening. Time, blunting the edges of those sharp memories. Laila bore down mentally. What had he said? It seemed vital, suddenly, that she know.Laila closed her eyes. Concentrated.With the passing of time, she would slowly tire of this exercise. She would find it increasingly exhausting to conjure up, to dust off, to resuscitate once again what was long dead. There would come a day, in fact, years later, when Laila would no longer bewail his loss. Or not as relentlessly; not nearly. There would come a day when the details of his face would begin to slip from memory's grip, when overhearing a mother on the street call after her child by Tariq's name would no longer cut her adrift. She would not miss him as she did now, when the ache of his absence was her unremitting companion—like the phantom pain of an amputee.Except every once in a long while, when Laila was a grown woman, ironing a shirt or pushing her children on a swing set, something trivial, maybe the warmth of a carpet beneath her feet on a hot day or the curve of a stranger's forehead, would set off a memory of that afternoon together. And it would come rushing back. The spontaneity of it. Their astonishing imprudence...It would flood her, steal her breath.But then it would pass. The moment would pass. Leave her feeling deflated, feeling noting but a vague restlessness.”