1.00 AM on a cold winter night. While the wind passing through the leafless trees makes patchy yet distinctive noises, I ponder over the possibility of an uncertain future. Are there going to be turns on the road, tomorrow? Will the trees lining the road still be there after an overnight battle with the winds? Will the bus driver wear his blue hat tomorrow? Will the relatives be there? Will the relations be there? Will the friends be there? Will the friendships be there? How will the coffee taste tomorrow? Will all the traffic signals be green on my way to work? Will there be a possibility, tomorrow? Will there be a possibility of a possibility?
There are approximately 300 sextillion (3 X 10^23) stars in the observable universe. What are the chances that in this chaotic mirage of construction-deconstruction, perceivable reality of randomness, unobservable and incomprehensible vastness, there lies another earth? More importantly, what are the chances that somewhere out there, circling a remote star, there is a planet made entirely out of chocolate?
What are the chances? What are the chances that we have lived our future, and past is yet to come? What if at some curvature of space-time, there is a sign-board pointing towards a small town named ‘Nothing’.