It was 2014, and I had planned a short trip to Dubai for leisure. One of my besties was living there at the time, and I decided to visit him as well where I had the pleasure of meeting his wonderful family. We all spent time together—his sisters, himself, and I—planned to go out the next day.
Those who have seen Dubai Marina know how beautiful it is. We went there to enjoy some water sports—specifically, jet skiing. There were five of us. The plan was for four people to ride in pairs on two jet skis, and the fifth person would ride alone. I chose to be the solo rider, as I wanted to drive by myself.
We had one hour in total on the water. For the first forty-five minutes, I was having an incredible time. The thrill of speeding across the water, the warm sun, and the wind against my face was pure joy. I pushed the speed confidently, weaving through the water, feeling in control and alive.
With only 15 minutes remaining, I slowed down and pulled to the side so we could all regroup and decide where to meet up before returning. All five of us spoke briefly near the shore. Then, in a split-second decision, I turned the handlebars sharply and pressed the accelerator—hard, so hard. I pressed it so much that the jet ski spun rapidly.
Just then, a guy who had just started riding was approaching me. Before I could react and reduce the speed, I realized we were about to collide—but it was too late. It happened in a flash. I don’t even remember the actual impact. All I recall is darkness— greenish black darkness . Then, the next moment, my head emerged from the water—I had fallen in !
My friends, seeing what had happened, rushed toward me from all directions. One of them later told me that he suddenly heard a loud boom, a collision sound, and as they turned their faces toward it, they saw my head surfacing from the water. We all had life jackets on, thankfully, which helped keep me afloat. I swam toward the shore and one of my friends helped pull me out.
Oddly enough, I didn’t take it seriously. I hadn’t lost my senses, and I still wanted to enjoy the remaining time. I got into another jet ski with my friend. Everyone was shocked that I still had the energy and spirit to continue. They kept asking if I was okay and hoped I hadn’t been hurt.
What none of us realized at the time was that I had just narrowly escaped a fatal accident.
Then another friend, worried a little, yelled from a distance, “Noorin, that’s enough. Come back!” I got off the ski and, as the adrenaline wore off, I began to feel slightly dizzy. My lip was cut and bleeding a little, but I hadn’t even noticed it earlier due to the rush.
The boy I had collided with was in worse shape—he was bleeding from his mouth.
My original jet ski wasn’t flipped over, but there was a deep hole near its center. Had the collision occurred just a fraction of a second later, the other jet ski could have pierced my left kidney. The boy’s jet ski had its entire front broken. Two people came and pulled him out of the water, holding him by his arms. The Marine Police Officers had arrived too, without me even noticing. They checked us both, and once they saw that we were alive and conscious, they simply left.
My friend was anxious about what would happen next, but I remained strangely calm, not even considering that there might be any proceedings or consequences. Soon after, the owner of the jet ski came and demanded compensation for the damage. Once that was settled, we all headed home.
This incident taught me something deeply profound: Death can come in the blink of an eye. You don’t even see it coming. That day, I felt like I brushed past it, but fate chose life for me instead. Real death transfers us from this world into another realm—into invisible, unknown conditions. But from the perspective of this physical world, it can arrive in less than a fraction of a second.
Noorin Khwaja Eshaan 