A walk on thorns

Chapter 29| Open Hearted

Sabrina's POV

"I don't know," he whispered, his voice barely audible, like a secret he wasn’t ready to share with the world.

"You won’t have me harping in your ears, AbdulMajeed," I said, my voice steady yet laced with frustration. "But I need you to go back home and think about this. You don’t deserve this." I paused, my breath hitching as emotions threatened to spill over. "This is heart-wrenching." My words quivered, betraying the turmoil churning inside me.

"I know, Sabrina, I know," he said, his tone almost defeated. He let out a shaky breath, his fingers gripping the edge of the table as though it were the only thing anchoring him. "I’m just... clueless. Cracking out is so un-me. I’m not used to being rebellious. But I’m almost daring, almost ready. I’m thinking of dropping out."

The vulnerability in his voice struck me like a bolt of lightning. His confession felt raw, heavy with the weight of years spent suppressing his desires.

"AbdulMajeed," I said softly, leaning forward. I set my coffee cup down between us, a small gesture but one that spoke volumes. The space between us felt charged, the air dense with unsaid words. "I want to ask you something."

"What is it?" he asked, his voice cautious yet curious, his dark eyes locking onto mine.

"Have you ever viewed painting or photography as a job? Like, a life-sustaining job?" My voice softened, but my gaze stayed sharp, probing.

His face transformed in an instant. The gloom that had shadowed his features lifted, replaced by an undeniable spark of excitement. "Of course I do, Sabrina," he said, his voice rising with passion. His hands moved as he spoke, punctuating his words. "Do you know how much I can make from a sell-out collection of twelve? There’s so much money and opportunity in the industry. I know my way, Sabrina. I do. It’s just..." His voice trailed off, his gaze flickering away for a moment. "I don’t have the time."

I leaned back, studying him. The way his face lit up when he talked about his craft was mesmerizing. His enthusiasm was infectious, but the conflict etched into his features tugged at my heart.

"Then chase your dreams, MJ," I said, my voice low, persuasive, almost daring. "Chase them, even if it means dropping out of school. Chase them, even if it means breaking ties with your dad. Believe me, one day, he’ll claim you. One day, he’ll beat his chest and call you his son." I leaned forward again, my voice dropping to a near whisper. "I might sound like a bad influence, but I just want the best for you. I know your price, your capacity. I know your worth. But your end game? That’s yours to define. And if talent had a face, it’d look exactly like you, AbdulMajeed."

He blinked, startled by the intensity of my words. Slowly, a smirk curved his lips, a glint of amusement sparking in his eyes. "Would you do what you’re telling me to do if you were in my shoes?" he asked, leaning closer, his tone teasing yet earnest.

"You have no idea what I’ve done," I said, a hint of mischief dancing in my tone. I tilted my head, letting the moment linger before adding, "But if you need an answer, yes. I’d do it. Without a second thought."

His smirk softened into something warmer, something deeper. He nodded, impressed, his eyes never leaving mine. "I’m sorry for yesterday, Sabrina," he said, his voice low, tinged with regret.

"Put it behind you, MJ," I said, my tone light, dismissive, as I waved a hand.

"It was something. I was pissed off, and..."

"You weren’t," I interrupted, meeting his gaze head-on. "I was just worried you wouldn’t show up anymore."

A slow, teasing smile spread across his lips. "No way I’d ever do that, to you or Rubina."