Twice Shy

01 Prologue

ELEVEN MONTHS AGO

I think I am in love.

If I am not, it is simply the definition behind the word that is faulty. I believe in fate, which translates to co incidences. Ilyaz is a co incidence in every way and form, an assimilation of them in fact, like a perfect collision of each and every happenstance.

Our names itself fit the definition perfectly: Ilyaz and Ilyana. Truthfully, I can already imagine our wedding invitations, such names sync perfectly. I have known him since I was four years old. It was an immature, thoughtless game of house we played, star wars theme as the backdrop. It ought to be extravagant, after all in my head I had been a noble presence in the past. Did he mind little Ilyana's monologue? No. This man kept up with her tantrums, he even stuck a vintage praxinoscope out of the prohibited cupboard to imitate stars, and handed her a crown out of his garden's flowers. 

Fast forward twenty years and nothing has changed. He looks up from tying the gajra over my wrist, his eyes reflect jade from the traffic lights when he turns to me. His gaze is so much like clear frost, it's a myriad of blue and green.

It's out of instinct when I avert my gaze, breaking the contact first. The scent of his pinewood cologne is a stark contrast against the tonka fragrance which I've applied heavier than usual. This is a battle field for inexperienced ones such as myself, and I have come with an armour. 

I hope he kisses me tonight.

I have applied enough highlighter to be reflective to passing cars, while the gloss was designed to magnetize his attention, and the nibbling was as dramatic as fanning peacock feathers. He must have received the hint until now, or else the number of times I've tasted product on my hair whenever it stuck to my glossed lips were all for nothing.

My expectations begin to wither when he looks at me and quickly looks away. Self conscious thoughts begin to cloud my mind like a wild fire, until I see it. Two trident wrappers lying inside the cup holder.

Two! He's doubling it up. It is so perfect, I almost question if I've used magic on him to lure such a handsome man into marrying me. I like everything about Ilyaz. He has perfect grammar while texting, and he doesn't care he can only get food poisoning out of my dishes.

"Ilyana?" he says, and I blink.
"Huh?"

He smiles, and it's so soft I smile too. "Do you like this song?"

I do recognise the song, it's White Ferrari by Frank Ocean. But the answer to his question is, "I don't care," because I am shamelessly admiring his profile and my heart is playing an entirely different song. Saxophones, maybe, with Careless Whisper.

"Zone out a lot?"
I feel myself flush. "Yeah, I'm sorry. It happens often,"

He grins, "I could get used to this,"

He could. I feel my heart glow, the rhythm of my pulse is a chant. Yes! Yes! Yes!

Ilyaz faces towards the radio and plays with the dices until the static clears, and it is a new song. Like Real People Do by Hozier. It is raining, and the road sits between forests. I feel my throat close up, everything about this moment is extra ordinary. His shoulders are stiff, and the realisation dawns on me that he is so quiet because he is nervous.

But then, Ilyaz turns towards me, and something in his gaze is so sincere. Like a promise, and I notice the sharp, edged silver strikes in his eyes. Like snowflakes, it is a different pattern every time I close my eyes and open them. I know I look manic, I'm staring at him as if he is not real.

I cannot believe he is real.

He faces me fully, and it stuns me when I notice his fingers are shaking above my skin. I should be the one who is nervous, he's the one that is perfect. My heart skips when he dips his head an inch closer. Then another.

"Ilyana," he whispers above my lips, his tone quietly yearning like he is asking for permission. My arms lock behind his neck, I give him the permission he asks.

Then he kisses me. And just like that, I'm a goner.

Ilyaz Zaviyar Ali was nothing short of magical and brilliant.