"Mujhe jhelna mushkil hai nader," she said with a smile while her gaze was fixed on the table.
("It's difficult to tolerate me, Nader")
"Main jhel lunga," I replied.
("I'll manage")
She looked up towards me, then continued.
"Mai khubsurat nahi ho...
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Yaah Allah, if Appi wanted to go shopping with me, she should have come herself, or let me go with Ezzeh. I don't know which driver she sent, who isn't even bothering to show up. I thought while waiting for Appi's driver outside the house.
Five minutes later, a black Porsche pulled up right in front of me, and Appi's driver, dressed in a white uniform, wearing white cap, was approaching with his eyes lowered, moving with such ease as if he owned the place.
Then that person finally looked up, and my eyes forgot to blink.
Everything started to feel like a dream, a beautiful dream that I had always wished for.
That person was walking towards me, the face I always see before closing my eyes.
The person who still lives in my heart as if he was the rightful owner of that place.
The one I still haven't been able to move on from, and how could I? When I still love him.
Samir, dressed in a driver's uniform, stood in front of me.
"Samir Farsi, at your service, madam," Samir said, bowing slightly.
Then, as he lifted his head, he gave me that slight smile I had always been craving to see.
He was saying something, but I couldn't hear anything. It felt like my ears didn't want to listen anything right now, and my eyes only wanted to look at him.
Wanted to see his face, his smile, just wanted to look at him and nothing else.
"Sahara!" I snapped back to reality when I heard my name from his lips.
"Don't take my name," the words escaped my lips, something I never thought I'd say to him.
"Ms. Reza, then?" Samir asked, smiling.
"You lost the right to call my name, Mr. Farsi," I said sternly.
"Mohtarma, let's go. Bhabhi sent me to bring you." He said still not taking anything seriously. This man could never be serious.
''Allah must have skipped the part about shame when He was making you. He must have thought, 'Why would he need it? Shame itself would be embarrassed in front of him,'" I taunted sarcastically.
"If you're done with the taunts, shall we go, MOHTARMA?" He used that word again. How could you fall in love with someone like him, Sahara? I asked myself.
"The surprising thing is, you still love him," my heart taunted.
"I feel like hitting you with something else right now, Mr. Farsi," I said with the same sternness.
"Then do it," he said, opening the trunk and pulling something out. After a minute, he came to me holding an empty vase and extended it toward me.
"Agar mujhe maarne seh, tumhara dukh kam hota hai, toh maarlo yaah mardo mujhe, Sahara," he said softly. (If hitting me lessens your pain, then hit me, or kill me, Sahara)
