Sweat poured down his brow. His breathing was fast and heavy. His pulse was rapid. His clothes sticking to him due to his excessive perspiration. He could hear the shouts and cries of the crowd. Syed ran towards his opponent. Lunging at him and connecting his right fist at his opponents face. Syed watched as his opponent went down. His eyes closed. Syed felt satisfaction as he walked away. Everyone making way. Getting on his bad side was something everyone tried to avoid. They know his arrests. They know his fights. They can see the scars on his body. Syed walked up the stairs.
He suddenly felt a jolt of pain in his arm. He ignored it as he started walking towards the street light. Night time in Minneapolis was beautiful. Unless you are Syed. Then you only focus on one thing. Your fighting. Fighting is his life. What he does. Life or death does not matter for him. He crossed the street. Walking into a building he ran up the stairs. Unlocking the door to his small apartment. Once he entered he looked at all his old photos. Some with friends. A few with his mom. And one with a girl. He sighed as he saw her and walked to his living room. Switching on the small television.
He laid down on his brown plush couch and closed his eyes. As he fell asleep he felt the jolt of pain in his arm again. He ignored it. No pain, no gain he thought to himself. As he fell asleep with the television on. The sirens and noises of the people. His neighbors banging on the wall. Most likely their kids looking for attention. Syed fell asleep. To a dreamless sleep.
YOU ARE READING
My Habibi
RomanceIslamic romance in the western world. Where culture and religion collide. Is it possible to find true love? Or just an idea we tell ourselves?