When Sand Falls

The Witch appeared to me for the first time when I was ten. She was nothing like the witches I'd heard about in stories. She looked young, with long, silky black hair and flawless skin. Her teeth were pristine, perfectly aligned. There was no trace of incense, herbs, or any foul potions clinging to her. She seemed entirely ordinary, just like any other woman. 

With her delicate, graceful hands, she offered me an hourglass. It wasn’t too large—just slightly bigger than my own. Inside, shimmering gold sand filled the upper chamber, glowing like the glitter I once used for school projects. 

"Keep it safe," said the Witch, her voice low and deliberate. "When the last grain falls, so will your life."

A chill ran down my spine. "How long do I have?" 

"A very long time," the Witch replied, her tone soothing. "Don’t worry. There’s still a long life ahead of you."

I breathed a sigh of relief. 

"But be careful," she added quickly. "Every time your heart breaks, the sand will flow faster than before."

"You mean I’ll die sooner than I’m supposed to?" I asked.

The Witch didn’t respond. She simply stared at me for a few more minutes.

"Just remember to keep it safe." With that, she vanished into thin air.

For a few nights afterward, I convinced myself that my encounter with the Witch was just a dream. But even after days, weeks, and years, the hourglass remained, and the sand continued to flow.

So I made the choice to follow her advice: to keep the hourglass safe as if my life depended on it. That was fifteen years ago.

***

My first heartbreak happened when I was 13. For the first time, I had a crush on a very popular boy in my class. On Valentine’s Day, I gathered the courage to confess to him. It turned out he was already dating my best friend at the time. I cried for days and stopped being friends with the girl.

That was when I noticed the first changes in my hourglass. Just as the Witch had said, after my heartbreak, the sand began to run a little faster. When I looked closely, I also saw that the glimmers in the sand were starting to fade.

I blamed my best friend and my crush for this. 

If I died sooner than I was supposed to, I thought, then it would be their fault.

The next heartbreak came not long after that. A few days before I turned 14, my dog passed away. My dad said it was time; he was too old, far beyond the average dog’s age. I had been told to prepare for this after my dog got sick, but the pain still hit me hard, no matter how much I anticipated it.

Just like the first time, I noticed another change in my hourglass. Now the sand was flowing even faster, and the glimmers were fading more. A sense of fear began to creep in me. 

In the years that followed, heartbreak after heartbreak crashed over me like waves. With each one, the sand in my hourglass grew dimmer, racing through the glass faster and faster. 

The biggest heartbreak struck when I lost my mom to cancer. Not long after, my boyfriend of four years left me for someone else. My heart shattered like never before, the pain so intense and torturous that, for a while, I didn't care if the sand ran out and took my life with it. It felt like too much to bear.

But when I watched the sand racing through the hourglass—flowing like seawater caught in a fierce current—I was suddenly engulfed by a surge of fear I thought I had lost after all the grief. It hit me then: I wasn’t ready to die.

So I made a decision. I locked my hourglass in a glass cabinet in my living room. To keep it safe, just as the Witch had instructed. As I secured it inside, I felt like I was burying my heart alongside it. I vowed to myself never to love again, not even to animals.

Because that was the only way I could keep my hourglass—my life—safe

***

It had been five years since I last felt heartbreak. Every day, I looked at my hourglass and felt relieved to see the sand still flowing steadily. There was plenty of sand left, and with each passing moment, I felt hopeful. At this rate, I was sure I could hold on to my life for much longer.

One night, after twenty years, the Witch suddenly visited me again. It was the first time I had seen her since our first encounter, but she hadn’t changed a bit. She was still just as beautiful as I remembered.

"How is your hourglass?" she asked.

"I’ve kept it safe," I replied proudly. "Just like you told me to."

She looked intrigued, tilting her head slightly. "And how have you managed to do that?"

"By avoiding heartbreak," I stated. "It’s been five years since I last felt any pain in my heart."

The Witch blinked at me a few times.

"I see," was all she said in response.

She leaned against my windowsill, her eyes flickered to the night sky. She remained quiet for a while.

"It wasn't easy, you know," I added quietly. "Keeping my heart from breaking all these years."

I didn’t know why I was sharing this with her. Maybe I just needed someone to talk to after keeping it all bottled up for so long.

The Witch turned her gaze toward me, her expression unreadable. "Is it worth it?"

"Of course," I replied matter-of-factly. "I’ve managed to save years of my future life, haven’t I?"

"So you're happy?" she asked again. "With your life?" 

It took me a moment to respond.

"Perhaps," I said, feeling a bit hesitant. "I think I am content—at peace, really. No more tears or heartaches."

Once again, the Witch simply murmured, "I see."

I sensed that she wasn’t satisfied with my answers. I expected her to congratulate me for keeping the hourglass safe, but instead, her expression was one of concern. I wanted to ask her why, but before I knew it, she vanished like a wisp of smoke.

***

I managed to keep my heart from breaking for another three years. I hadn’t cried in so long that I was starting to forget what it felt like, or even how tears looked.

Every day, I stuck to my routine, gazing at my hourglass as if it held the key to my survival. I watched the sand flow, ensuring it hadn’t changed—that my life remained safe and steady.

However, unlike three years ago, I no longer found joy in this routine. I didn’t take pride in how I kept my hourglass and my life safe anymore. Instead, an emptiness settled in, as if something essential was missing.

That’s when the Witch returned to meet me once again.

"Were you waiting for me?" was the first question she asked. 

"I want to ask you something."

The Witch nodded. "Go on."

"I’ve done what you told me," I said. "I’ve kept myself from heartbreak. My hourglass still flows normally, and my life is safe."

The Witch held my gaze, her expression hard to read. She remained silent, patiently waiting for me to finish my question.

"But..." I hesitated, feeling a heavy weight in my stomach and a tightening knot in my chest—a sensation I had been grappling with for some time now.

“But what, Child?" the Witch replied carefully.

"But..." My voice quavered slightly. "Why do I feel so empty?" 

The moment the question slipped from my lips, I sensed my whole body trembling. A strange feeling stirred in my heart, the only emotion I had known lately—like a part of me was missing something crucial. I didn’t know what it was, but it made me miserable. It was a new kind of sadness, equally bitter to the heartache I had felt before.

The Witch didn’t answer directly. Instead, she studied my expression carefully.

"Let me ask you this question again," said the Witch. "Are you happy with your life?" 

I remembered how certain I had been three years ago when I confidently expressed my peace and comfort with the life I had. But now, I was unsure of my own feelings.

"Is it a difficult question?" the Witch asked again, noticing my silence.

"I..." My breath felt heavy in my chest. "I don’t know."

I reflected on the past eight years of my life. I had been so careful with my heart, locking it away just like the hourglass, determined to avoid the pain I had experienced before. While I felt a small sense of accomplishment in keeping my hourglass safe each day, deep down, nothing had truly changed. I was still unhappy.

"I think I miss feeling love." 

I never imagined I would say something like that, especially to the Witch. After losing so many people, I knew all too well how terrifying it could be to love someone. In my case, it was a risk to my very life.

"If you miss it so much," the Witch said, "why not start doing it again?"

I looked at her, puzzled. "Falling in love, you mean?"

The Witch tilted her head to the side, a hint of curiosity in her eyes. "Isn't that what you truly want?"

Maybe. But doubts flooded my mind. What about my hourglass? What about my life? There’s no guarantee my heart won’t break again if I start loving.

"You're afraid."

I looked up at the Witch. She was studying my face intently. Her eyes bore into me as if I were the most fascinating subject she had ever encountered.

"Of course I am," I replied, my voice quivering. "You said it yourself. Every time my heart breaks, my life is at stake. I’ll die sooner than I'm supposed to."

"I never said that." 

"Yes, you did," I countered. "You said my sorrows would make the sand flow faster. That’s why you told me to keep the hourglass safe."

"That’s true," the Witch replied. "I did tell you to keep it safe. But I never said that a broken heart would mean you’d die sooner."

Her words left me silent. Thinking back, I realized the Witch had never mentioned anything about dying—neither three years ago nor during our first meeting.

"It's true that love comes with risks," the Witch continued. "To love is to be vulnerable. It can break you, and you may suffer because of it. But would you rather live a lonely life, isolating yourself in fear, than seek happiness simply because you’re afraid of getting heartbroken?"

It was the first time I had ever heard the Witch speak so much. And for the first time in eight years, I felt my eyes grow hot and my vision blurry with tears.

I thought I had safely guarded my heart. So why did I feel like crying now?

"Oh, Child," the Witch softened her voice. "Loneliness is no better than grief, is it?"

A tear slipped from my eye, rolling down my cheek. I realized then, that feeling lonely was just as painful as having my heart broken.

"Don't choose solitude over love, Child."

I shook my head. "It’s not worth it."

"Is it?" the Witch replied, her tone gentle. "What is life if not for the love you share?"

"But..." My voice cracked. "What about the hourglass?"

The Witch fell silent for a moment, her gaze drifting away as she pondered. "When I first gave you the hourglass, I never intended for you to live a solitary life like this.”

"Then why did you give it to me?"

"Maybe I just wanted to understand how the human mind works," she said after a moment's thought. "Whether you would choose love over loneliness."

I stared at the Witch, my heart racing. “So, you were testing me?”

“Not quite,” she replied, her voice softening. “I wanted to see if you would realize the value of connection despite the pain it can bring.”

The weight of her words hung in the air. “But isn’t it safer to stay guarded? To avoid the risk?”

“Safety doesn’t always equate to happiness, Child,” she said, her eyes searching mine. “Sometimes, the very thing you fear can lead you to the most profound joy.”

Was what she said true? After keeping my distance from love for so long, I could hardly tell what was truly worth it anymore. I thought avoiding heartbreak was the best solution, but now I learned it wasn’t enough. Doubt clouded my mind, leaving me unsure of everything.

I bit my lip, feeling anxious about the uncertainty. “What should I do now?”

"It's up to you," she replied gently. "In the end, you're the one in control of your hourglass. What will you choose?"

I looked up at the Witch, her eyes reflecting a depth of understanding. For the first time in years, I felt a flicker of hope. 

“I’ve spent so long guarding myself, afraid of losing what little I have,” I admitted, my voice steadying. “But maybe... maybe it’s time to let love in, even if it means risking my heart again.”

The Witch nodded, a soft smile forming on her lips. 

Taking a deep breath, I felt the weight of the past lift slightly. I finally understood that living in fear would only lead to loneliness—a different kind of pain. 

“I choose to love,” I declared, a newfound determination rising within me. “I choose to embrace the messiness of life.”

As the Witch’s smile widened, I felt a warmth spread through me, like the sun breaking through clouds after a storm. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but the thought of opening my heart again filled me with a sense of freedom I had long forgotten.

“Then go, Child,” she said, her voice a gentle encouragement. “Let your hourglass flow with love.”

So, that night, after the Witch vanished again, I made my way to the living room. I unlocked my glass cabinet and retrieved the hourglass I had securely stored for years. Cradling it in my hands, I stared at it with a whirlwind of emotions. Just as I chose to stop locking away my hourglass, I would also begin to open my heart again.

***