Arzu was sitting in the back of the car. A distant look in her eyes. He hadn’t even stayed till morning nor waited for her to wake up.
“Why can’t you just live in the penthouse bought for you?” Pasha questioned acrimoniously as he stopped at a red light. Qais had sent him to drive her home and reform the security around her place, much to his dismay.
Arzu looked at him through the rearview mirror. He had that everpresent sullen look as if he was forced to do something very beneath him. Her existence was a nuisance to him. She didn’t blame him; sometimes she agreed with him.
“I like my home.” She answered hoarsely. It was half a truth. It wasn’t the home she liked, it was the memories of Qais and her there.
Pasha made a sound between a grunt and a scoff. “That whorehouse?”
Arzu’s fingers twitched.
“I don’t get it.” He continued, either oblivious or unbothered by her reaction, “He’s giving you shelter, food and a life of respect, why won’t you accept it?.... Or is it the attention you crave?”
There was so much derisiveness in his voice, it made Arzu feel cold and foreign in her skin.
“Its none of your business what I do or don’t. It’s between him and I–“
“Theres no him and you. Don’t be deluded.” Pasha cut her short.
This had Arzu recoil. She shifted from the mirror to the passing building outside to detach herself from his words.
“Whatever you had before it doesn’t exist for him now. “ He continued mercilessly, driving his point home. “Stop grasping at straws–"
“You don’t know him like I do.” She fought back through tears, desperately clutching at her delusions.
“No, it’s been years since you once knew him. He’s not the same Qais anymore.” Pasha’s voice was loud and piercing, and then low and haunting, “You have no idea who he is anymore.”
The glass world she had built, cracked deafeningly. Like a blind man forced to look at a ruined world.
Tears ran down her eyes. She wanted to cover her ears. She wanted him to stop the car and get out. As if she could somehow run from the truth. But like a cruel siege that had stormed in through all her locked doors this excruciating reality had already made home on the broken remains of her heart. She’d known it since his return, but she’d confirmed it yesterday. Pasha was merely putting salt on wounds.
The bed dipped under the weight of her tremorring body beneath him, hot tears running down her temples and into her brown tresses. But her shaky, frail hands clasped onto his lapels for dear life, rambling a broken record of pleas in between her sobs.
The ocean eyes watched her with a myriad of emotions. Each conflicting the other. There was pity, and there was guilt, there was adore, and grief. But there was also dejection and burden of duty, there was reluctance and distance. There was a longing to console, but also a hesitance to dare do so.
“It hurts…it hurts… all over… its hurting me…” And she rambled on in hiccups and tears, shaky desperate fingers clutching onto him like a child scared of being carried away. “Wash it away… wash it away…”
And how could a heart not melt then?
With a wavering sigh he went to wipe her tears, and she leaned in to the warmth of his hand by instinct, each and every fiber of hers seeking a reliance on him.
“Please…”
And he felt a voice inside damn him to hell. Because even then his treacherous eyes searched for the familiar inky locks and honey eyes. How terrible he was. A feeling of derisiveness invaded him, not directed to the frail life under him but to his own self. Because he was truly terrible. No matter what he did he would be a heartless idiot. He gazed at the agonizing Aarzu. Either he betrayed her, or himself.
“Please.. qaisi…”
Finally, he reached for the lamp, turning it off, leaving them in pitch darkness. Maybe if he couldn’t see the difference between the shades of browns, it would be easier.
The clothes crumpled by the foot of the bed. Her torn pieces lying next to his suit coat.
It was like picking out pins and needles from a gaping wound. The gentleness of his over the rough bruises. Like warm water over a blistering burn. He made her skin feel hers again. Erasing every vile touch that made her want to rip it off her bones. She stopped crying, but the shaking remained.
Unbeknownst to him, as he caressed away her fallen tears his subconscious searched for the familiar mole under her eye or the soft feeling of virgin hair, or the scent of jasmines on a summer evening. He forced himself to forget, to instead remember the anatomy of the one under him that he was so used to, that he knew best and longest. But it had become all too unfamiliar.
His hands suddenly froze by her waist.
In the faint moonlight her teary eyes opened up to him, pain masked with confusion.
Qais stared directly at her for a moment.
A moment in which Aarzu saw an eternity slipping away. The realization had the pain in her eyes turn unbearable.
Qais had now pulled away from her completely.
Aarzu waited for him to say something, but no words came from him. She could see him struggle to form a sentence that wouldn’t crack her already vulnerable state. And she appreciated his consideration but even done kindly, it hurt like hell.
“Why…”
He looked at her with conviction. “I’m sorry.”
“You’ve lost your feelings for me.” She let out, voice rising and cracking with a sob.
A voice inside laughed at her. Did he ever really hold any in the first place? Was it really a love, or just each other’s refuge out of their cruel realities? In retrospect, he’d never once told her he loved her. It was always…. I’m sorry Aarzu. A ripple ran through her at the realization.
“Aarzu… you’re dearer to me than my own being.”
YOU ARE READING
QAIS
Romance"She was his mirage, a dream he could only chase. He was her living hell, a nightmare she could not escape." Layla Mustafa is the only girl in her family allowed to go to university. Belonging to a strict patriarchal background, Layla, the shy and s...
