Ballet on Glass

Omar: This Twine Can't Unwind

**

The elevator doors slide open and two bus boys proceed to help me carry my luggage to the entrance. The taxi I've booked to take me to the airport awaits, its driver is none other than Omar.

Our relationship has taken a more serious turn since that night.

Everywhere I am, Omar seems to be. He's there when I open my eyes in the morning, shows up magically for every event I go to in Egypt's capital city, and wraps me in his arms almost every night.

I think I'm falling for him.

And he feels the same way.

Omar hugs me tight just before I board my flight. "I'll always be with you, Danielle."

"Just don't follow me, love," I whisper flirtatiously in reply.

My gut turns and twists like thousands of rusted bolts have been shoved into it. Something's wrong, my gut tells me, but I ignore it and tell myself he just cares that much about me.

I don't realize how wrong I'll soon be.

*

"Hey, Dani. Someone's at the door, said they wanna speak to you."

I hop off my queen-size bed and scrunch my brows at my best friend.

"Who?" I ask Lena.

Lena shrugs and proceeds to resume gaming on the Mario Kart on my bed. With much skepticism, I head down to the front door and pull it open.

There Omar stands, looking like a completely different character from the bus boy et taxi driver role he played back in Cairo.

Excitement bubbles in my chest as I press my body to his. His clean shaven jaw brushes my cheek, his lips nibble on my earlobe as he whispers, "I'm here for you. Remember we're soul tied.

The rusty gear in my stomach revs up again, but of course, I ignore it.

He loves me, I assure myself.

He loves me.

Life takes a more interesting twist with Omar in Iowa. The dry cold of the dreadful blizzard does right in paling his tan skin in just a few days. My olive tone still thrives though, maybe because the weather understands my skin can't be anything but.

Omar takes me shopping, never fails to restock my fridge and is always magically there when I need a little more loving.

Like the night in Cairo, Omar wraps me in his arms after tonight's thryst and whispers in that accent I love so much.

"My sweet lovely Danielle, you'll always be with me. We're forever connected."

My gut doesn't protest this time, but my heart sinks down my throat in its place when his voice resonates in my ear. 

Something's wrong, the voice in my head yells, and deep down, I think I know exactly what it is.