بسْمِ ٱللَّٰهِ ٱلرَّحْمَٰنِ ٱلرَّحِيمِ
In The Name Of Allah, The Most Beneficent, The Most Merciful
⊱ ⋆ ⊰
Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport, Texas:
Anticipatedly, people wait for them to leave the car, and monitoring as the car door opens, their curiosity rises to the heavens.
As soon as the Velvet band members exit the vehicle one after the other, the camera flashes, and the clicking of pictures lightens up the atmosphere. Their admirers scream their names, pushing each other to get a closer look at their faces, shoving their mobile phones, hoping to get at least one selfie with them. The guards line up protectively, walking with the pop stars while taking big steps.
"Move, please. Make way!" Mark, the head of the band's security, yells at the crowd.
But the love of people for the Velvet band members has overtaken their sanity. They circle them, hoping to find a space closer to vocalists like moths attracted to a flame.
A little girl jumps into the crowd with a mobile device in her grip. Alan hurriedly kneels down and hastily snaps a selfie with her while grinning widely, showing his set of pearly teeth. Patting her head, the chestnut-haired man gets up and snaps another selfie with his other fan while not before exchanging quick greetings. He then looks over his shoulder and passes a smug look to Ivan, but it vanishes from his face and transits into a scowl as he sees the Spanish man taking pictures with four other people simultaneously.
Whoever takes the most pictures with fans wins. And the loser will have to foot the bill for two grand meals for everyone.
After all, it was the dare Alan came up with, and now he slightly regrets it. The chesnut haired vocalist rolls his eyes. His gaze falls to his right, seeing Samantha, Wafa's bodyguard, holding her hand while striding quickly, protecting her form from colliding with other people.
Another admirer calls out Alan and asks for an autograph.
He whips his head to the caller and quickly takes the pen, messily scribbling his signature over the picture of his own face while maintaining his pace, but his mind runs elsewhere.
Alan sighs. He wanted to ask Wafa to accept the dare, yet his ego took the best of him, and after having at least an hour-long lecture from Micheal and Ivan, and some beatings from those big heads, aqal finally possessed the chestnut-haired man.
(intelligence)
He smiles while patting the box tucked securedly in the side pocket of his jacket. And in no time does he find himself going through immigration customs. Alan Smith bites his nails while looking at the young maiden, who is standing about a meter away from him, passing her luggage to the guard.
A whack across his head causes a yelp to escape his lips. The chestnut-haired man snaps his head back with a murderous look, to see Ivan with a big smirk plastered on his face.
"Are you waiting for a written invitation?" The Spanish man tilts his head and inquires with a lazy visage.
The latter mutters something inaudible on his breath. Turning his head away from his friend, Alan chews his nails more stressfully.
Another smack across his head brings out another yelp of pain. "STOP IT, WILL YOU?!"
"Stop devouring your nails, then." The Spanish man cocks an eyebrow at him, suppressing his lips to expand into a triumphant grin.
After all, Ivan Moreno is clearly enjoying Alan Smith's frustration.
"Do you know what Wafa did when she saw me biting my nails?" Ivan pulls out his lower lips, exposing the inner side of his lips scarred with a red cut. "She hit me with her purse and gave me a bloody bruise."
YOU ARE READING
The Artist And The Atheist
Spiritual❝ I Had Closed off all avenues to Your grace, But then, I found myself at her doorstep, seeking solace and pace. And what an astonishment that You made her to heal and renew Me, So with gentle care, she led me back to You. ❞ -extended summary inside-
