How To Hate You

chapter 8

"In my defence, I didn't touch anything."

~•~•~•~

May,

2015

"But still, I feel like I'm the only one talking." Ikram struggles between the balance of the phone crammed between her left ear and shoulder,  and the rustic legs of her easel. "And it doesn't help that I'm a chatterbox." She sighed, finally getting it on a solid stand.

"Well then, shall we talk about Harry Potter?" On the other end of the line, Sameera skims through the pages of a book she had once kept on her bookshelf two years ago. It had a long title she didn't bother reading. She recalled buying it from a sale when she had got a cute pink bookshelf that would match the gold sun hat and black sunglasses on the cover.

Now that she goes through the pages__ predominantly at the absence of what to do__ she learned, judging by the minute italicised alphabets scrawled all over, that it was best suited in its former position; on her bookshelf, right beside the snow globe her father gifted her for her fifteenth birthday, and right above their photograph three years ago in front of the Eiffel tower.

"Oh please." Came Ikram's voice muffled a bit along the transmission. "Not Harry Potter. A real man. You must have one, of course. You do right?" Only Ikram can be sure of something, and yet still very unsure about it. She was Ikram, she was many things. The most genuine person in her life, the most caring, the only person that was keen to listen even while she spoke nothing. The one person she's afraid she might break.

Sameera had no man. It was not because they weren't any flaunting themselves at her, promising her all the good life had to offer. No. It was because there wasn't anyone like him. And there wasn't anyone like him whose heart wasn't claimed by someone else.

"No. I'm afraid not." Sameera picked her words carefully. Yet she knew, no matter how carefully she arranged those words, they weren't really what spoke for her. It was the tone, the features on her face, and the beat of the heart they came from.

"I'm a horrible liar. But I bet I can do better." Ikram tapped the speaker icon and placed the phone on her dresser. She runs her hands through the blank canvas resting between the top and bottom canvas holder. The passel of woven cotton making her eager to stroke it with her brush.

"I guess there's one man." Sameera puts the book back on her bookshelf. She sits on her desk and logs into her laptop. "But I'm not sure I'm the woman."

"Meera, trust me, you are the woman in any man's life. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?

But not your man. Maybe.

"But... what if he doesn't know?"

Ikram dropped the stiff-bristled brush she was priming the canvas with and sat by the edge of her bed. "Then you tell him. And if he doesn't hear, you show him."

"Is that what you did to Nabeel? Did you also tell him or show him?"

"Yes. Everything needs a little push. Even love. When I had no more doubts with Nabeel, when the world made more sense when he was around, I told him. I told him I was ready to be a part of his life, I was ready for him to be a part of my life. Forever. "

"How did you know that that is what you wanted?" Sameera goes to the most frequently visited file amongst her folders. She scrolled through it, searching for something.

"You just know Meera. When the time comes, you will know."

Sameera double-clicked her mouse. A picture of the crisp sun filled the expanse of the screen. And beside it, on top of a mountain, at the edge of the cliff, stood a man in olive green shirt and black faded jeans.