Burn the truth (ENG)

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I spent all day cleaning up our four-bedroom, one-story house.

Imran had left for work hours ago and I didn't even try to leave my room to say goodbye.  There was an akward atmosphere between us and I had no idea how to pass him.

After I had thoroughly cleaned everything, I fell exhausted on the bed.  I had reached that point of exhaustion where I wanted to sink under the cracks of the wood and disappear forever.

The house smelled like a honeysuckle garden, fresh and inviting.

With closed eyes, I lay on the bed.  As I was about to fall asleep, I heard a car door close.

I heard Imran come in, throw his keys on the dining table and turn on the TV.

An unusual wave of nerves set me into action.

I trudged my way down the hallway, wood planks creaking under every step.  I had to bypass the living room where Imran was located to reach the kitchen.

Inhale and exhale.

With all my courage, I walked into the living room and saw Imran sitting on the couch in his work clothes.

I gave him a small smile and almost laughed at his sad attempt to mimic my action.

It was more of a flick of his lip that should have meant a smile, but more like a grimace.

"Hi," I said softly as I walked past.

"Hey," he muttered back.

I turned around a bit and saw his eyes still glued to the TV.  He couldn't even save me a glance.

Suddenly, I had the desire to run to him and jump on him.  Not in a crazy gorilla-woman way, but in an I-want-to-smother-you-with-my-love kind of way.

In my imagination, I saw his arms circling around me as his fingers tickled my stomach.  I laughed.  He laughed.  There was joy and love that filled our home.

The heavy gloom of disinterest disappears from the room as if by magic.

It was strange that emptiness could feel so heavy.

"Are you hungry?"  I shouted from the kitchen, not bothering to look past the counter where I had a perfect view of the living room.

Instead, I started taking vegetables out of the fridge.

"Yes," he replied without taking his eyes off the football game.

I made quick work of preparing spaghetti with vegetables.

Another uncomfortable meal ensued as Imran and I sat at the table.

"Oh, sister. How is he supposed to know why it hurts you so much if you don't say anything about it."

I knew I was lightly tapping the plate with my fork.  I had a horrible habit of getting so lost in my thoughts that I forgot to leave my cutlery alone, but Imran didn't even seem to notice.

It was obvious that he was caught up in his own thoughts.

Our eyes fluttered at each other now and then, but we made no move to strike up a conversation.

"Tell him, Zara. Tell him what you've been through and what wounds you've been left with."

I noticed at one point he was looking at me and I stopped tapping my fork to return his gaze.

It was such a weird feeling.  This tension.  I couldn't even describe what happened because it was bizarre.

We behaved like children.  It was as if we were mad at each other, but deep down we longed for each other.