Soul of Me // cathartics one shot

in which she learns "jaaneman"

As I sketched Rose's new tattoo, a snowflake, she peeked her head inside the room, and pulled a chair next to me. She watched me intensely as I drew what felt like her hundredth tattoo, when in reality it was like her fourth. There were times when she told me that she wanted another tattoo, only to back out as I was about to press the needle into her skin. So much for getting over her fear of needles. Sometimes I had no idea what went through that pretty, intelligent mind of hers.

"I thought all your tattoos were supposed to have some sort of deep, sentimental meaning," I remarked after finishing her drawing.

She gasped, "Excuse me, there is sentimental value to a snowflake!"

"Oh really?" I raised an eyebrow, "enlighten me."

Rose shrugged, "I don't know. I guess it's because when I was little, I used to love snowflakes and the snow and snowflakes are so pretty, I just... It's stupid." After she said that, she looked down and played with her hands, looking sheepish.

I walked over to her and knelt to her size, kissing her shoulder. "Aw, that's adorable," I cooed.

A light shade of pink spread through her whole face and I resisted the urge to "aw" again. She loosely wrapped her arms around my neck placing feather-like kisses along my jawline. I threw myself back, causing her yo fall out of her chair and on top of me. The both of us lightly laughed at my sudden impulse to do such thing. She rolled off of me, standing up. She extended her arm to me to help me stand up. I find it weird how even after constantly holding hands and hugging and exchanging physical contact, I still feel a small shock of electricity that awakened my insides.

"You're my jaaneman," I announced with a sweet, loving tone.

She looked at me with a confused look, crooking her head a little to emphasize confusion. "What's that mean?"

"I am shocked, flabbergasted, staggered that you, Rose Armel, the walking dictionary; the walking encyclopedia; the walking glossary, don't know what that word means," I exaggerated to mess with her.

"Well, excuse me, Malik! That doesn't even sound like English," she laughed.

"It's Urdu," I said with a low tone, trying to hold back my laugher.

She let out a cute, innocent giggle that caused my heart to flutter, "I don't know Urdu!"

"You seem to know words that sound like some random made-up language, though," I defended my point. "It wouldn't surprise me if you had actually known that word," I added.

She laughed while walking closer to me, pressing her body tightly against mine in the most innocent way possible. She kissed my collarbone, which was directly across from her lips. (And I can't deny that I felt goosebumps spreading through my body.) "Seriously, what does jaaneman mean?"

It was my turn to blush and look down now. "Its literal meaning is soul of me. I basically called you my soulmate," I stuttered out. She makes me so nervous and shy and I just got this indescribable feeling when I was around her.

"You are such a cutie," she pinched my cheeks, and I groaned. "I'm sorry, but you really are a sweetheart and I love you with all my heart and soul and you, mister, are my jaaneman too."

I chuckled, leading her to the oh-so-familiar chair. "C'mon let's get you tatted up."

As we walked over to what she said was her "death chair", my thoughts wandered back to the first time I saw her; the first time I kissed her; the first time I made her mine. She was mine. I was hers. And quite frankly, I don't think there is anything that could change that.

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small one shot for the extremely talented cathartics. reading your story, stories actually, have brought me great joy and bliss, and it is an honor to write for you. happy early birthday, by the way! hope you have a good one!