The Artist And The Atheist

| 12 | NOSTALGIC |

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

⊱ ⋆ ⊰

Nostalgic; that's all he feels.

The young man strides slowly behind his bandmate under the night sky. The chilly air swirls around him, teasing him with glimpses of memories he thought he had long forgotten. It riles up his emotions. It irks Kyle Lee Vincent because the said man is unable to put his finger and solve the mystery.

He lowers his head. The dusky sky smiles at him, watching his bangs poking his lens. The devastated man, then with a weary sigh, pulls back his hair and slides the hood over his hair. He adjusts his mask, and his perceptive gaze scans the crowd.

Kyle used to think only Wafa, and he was crazy enough to stop by an archaeological site in the middle of the night, but after watching the mass of people ambling to Hagia Sophia, he now thinks otherwise. And judging by the content visages of people, Kyle is certain they are not insomniacs like them.

The air again tingles his skin and giggles at his restlessness. The leaves rustle, and the ones laid on the concrete tiles aimlessly crunch under their shoes. The duo stops a meter or two away from the gate, eyeing the architecture. The brick walls stand proudly in the dead of night, and riveted iron gates are all in their glory. Had it not been for the few light poles, this place at this time with little to no people would've been intimidating for him — in a haunting way.

"Are you sure this is the right entrance?" He quizzically looks at the girl standing in front of him. Her back faces him.

Wafa bites the inside of her cheeks. She looks down at her phone and then scrutinizes the area and the people.

"I think so. That's where everyone is going." She replies with doubt lacing her words.

And at her statement, the vocalist gets baffled.

"What the @#.."

"HEY!"

With the speed of the thunderbolt, Wafa snaps her head to him and places her palm over his lips.

The only thing? Air is sandwiched in between their contact.

The young man eyes the stretched-out palm a few centimeters away from his mask, and then his gaze slowly travels to hers. Their eyes meet just like that nostalgia again rains on his form, and goosebumps arise on his skin. His eyes drink her veiled form.

Something like this happened-- before, right? His mind ponders over and over again.

Kyle looks directly into her eyes intensely, trying to decipher what is it that caused such restlessness inside of him, oblivious to the abnormal beating of her heart. Wafa steps back from him and quickly averts her eyes, feeling uncomfortable being a hostage under his penetrating gaze.

"Umm-- I...I'm sorry." Wafa says, completely looking elsewhere but at him, fidgeting her fingers subconsciously. "It's just-- It's a sacred place, you know. It's disrespectful if you curse like that."

She glances at him for a second then turns away, finding him stilled and-- his eyes lingering at her. Her heart thumps uncomfortably. Her conscience scolds her for reacting without thinking. The maiden strolls a few steps away from him.

What's wrong with him? She ponders. Akhir meri bhi tou sirf ankhein hi nazar a rahi hain. Shayid isi wajah se he's looking soo deeply into them.

(after all, only my eyes are seen)(perhaps that is why he's looking soo deeply in them)

Noticing the change in her demeanor, Kyle snaps out of his thoughts. His cheeks color out of embarrassment. But he is grateful that the darkness of the night and the covering over his face can conceal the flustering fact.