Renderings Of A Mute Heart

Stereotype

Saif always had this one thing,he could not ask for anything.
He was usually trifling between to or not to.

The other side when Zeba could almost be upright and bold,he had a small heart.

The general draftings of the universe would abhor the idea of a feminine male but half devour in a sense the idea of a masculine female. Not in the sense of appearance or actions but in feelings...

Small,soft,delicate feelings.

Zeba could not feel much if she did,she would easily deny them. She was a mountain of strength and hard hearted.
Saif was a river,flowing,weeping drinking the bitter agony of denial.

If one would zoom out and see this overcrowded world so empty and hollow...useless..utterly useless in building of so emaculately decorated Stereotype you sigh, sigh once more and then feel alike,the sameness of the world would come to you,you would feel empty too.

Now Zeba was not wrong neither was Saif.

Her openness was not a fault ,his shyness was not a defect.

The neighbourhood ran this steep gossip that this two were in love.

A lady two blocks away had a strong opinion that Zeba should not marry Saif because he was impotent.

Little houses,little heads never could confirm that dainty hands made stronger men.

The lady who lived just opposite to Zeba would come her mother and whisper to her ears,the eavesdropper.
Oh how strange their conversations were to Zeba. Her brother announced she had lost her mind, oh pity her,Love never keeps you sane.

When they both sat together the world had a lot to say. They had little.
Three words were never so plenty but for the boy who spent nights to fill up books about the girl he loved never could utter them straight. His lisp,sometimes it was his lisp other times just how Zeba looked at him,never softly almost angrily.

She wanted a confirmation,he was still somewhere slipping his confession.

She waited,mintues,hours,days,weeks,years. She was tired. For a girl who could never understand anxiety or shiver. Tremblings or lisps...oh she instantly said it first.
Impatient.

Saif....he heard but saying it back too needed effort he couldn't gather himself for.

But Love is strange.
Stranger then we know.
Knots are softer and hate is hard.
Though they both hated each other,that hate was hard,love was too easy.

Saif admired Zeba and her spine.
Her awarness,her noisy debates.

Zeba loved easy,for Saif was not hard to love. He represented water for her.
Clear and gentle. He was so transparent, Zeba entitled him as the Rain. He brought her calmness.
Unlike the buff male of her family,he did not learn manipulation or superiority. He knew meekness.

She was earthy and he was white.
Her dark hair were draped in his fingers like clothes to body.
Her eyes were dark holes of angst,his were lighter than fern.

She was roots,he was flowers.

So odd....for the world to accept a love so different.

Seven Years Later when the couple had child. A lady who lived blocks away said
"The child is a miracle but I am sure the mother is a dyke"

Original Story
©TwistedApology