The Artist And The Atheist

| 9 | REIFICATION |

بسْمِ ٱللَّٰهِ ٱلرَّحْمَٰنِ ٱلرَّحِيمِ
In The Name Of Allah, The Most Beneficent, The Most Merciful

⊱ ⋆ ⊰

The clacking sound of shoes against the marble floors of Seiga Headquarters in Texas echoes within the high-structured halls and glass windows as employees hustle and bustle with worry-filled eyes and terror-filled hearts with different documents grasped by their fingers.

In contrast with it, the meeting room is somewhat serene with the soft sounds of Ivan's breathing as he tactically arranges the twenty-eighth card on top of the pyramid of cards with his skilled fingers.

But who knew the tranquility would not last much longer?

The gold-colored beams of sunlight penetrate the window glass, illuminating the room, and falling over to the pair of saxe colored eyes, making them glimmer. Kyle reads the leaked article while sitting on the posh-looking meeting chair next to Alan. He then steals small glances at Wafa, finding her impassive, concealing everything her mind is conjuring.

It irks him.

Meanwhile, Alan lazily, for the nth time, bounces the ping pong ball on the conference table.

"Here is your drink." Sofia enters the meeting room and hands Wafa the glass of Mango juice with a polite smile.

But the vocalist's orbs are fixated on the screen, watching the video of her being hit by the metal rod by one of the thieves residing in Seagull Alley. She heaves a sigh and reclines back in her chair with stone eyes.

This is what caused a commotion to wreck in Seiga Headquarters, the leaked video.

Smith huffs, rolling his eyes. The last night's memories play in his mind in a loop over and over again, and as anger surges in his blood, he throws the ping pong with great force. As it collides directly with the pyramid and destroys it, Ivan cusses loudly while Alan only stares at him blankly.

"Oh, so now you will punch me too?" The chestnut-haired man mocks, and side glances at Wafa, sitting adjacent to him.

And she is aware but remains stoic, watching the screen as the video plays.

"Cut the crap, Smith." Kyle girts.

"Why?" Alan turns to the charcoal-haired man, his eyes challenging. "You worried about this crap?" He points to the article displayed on the monitor to him and scoffs. "Quite blinded by your love, I must say."

"Alan. Stop." Ivan icily warns him.

"What about the one your lover created last night, huh?" But the vocalist continues scoffing, glaring at Kyle and then at Wafa. "Perhaps all Muzlems have the tendency to cause violence. I know now why Islam is hated."

"ALAN!" Ivan, Kyle, Micheal, Mark, and Sofia all yell simultaneously.

And in an instant, all the leads in the room snapped their heads to him with disappointment evident on their faces.

Including Wafa's.

For the first time after last night, she, too, looked up at him with eyes as dark as the darkness of the deepest pit of the ocean. Her fists clench.

But Alan only cackles derisively, standing up from his spot. "Everyone, do you even know who Grayson Hart is? That," The chestnut-haired man fixates his sight on Wafa in utter disgust with fury raining on his form. "@#?& punched him!"

Taken aback by his actions, Wafa's orbs widen. Her breath abruptly halts and dies in her throat. It is as if he aimed the arrow straight at her heart. It pierces through her flesh and reaches her heart. Her throat closes up. How miserable it is. Indeed those whom you hold close sketches wounds deeper than the others.