In the Interlude

Chapter 11 - Carpeing the Diem

Aïcha had trouble finding sleep that night. She kept replaying Tom's phone call in her head, thinking of when they would be meeting and what exactly she would be saying to him. She knew she had to talk about Mia and he would probably ask her why she hadn't mention her before. That she knew how to answer, truthfully. The problem would be talking about Mia's father, and she was not ready to tell him she was a widow.

People who didn't know her always reacted in an uncomfortable way when this subject was brought up. Some would have this involuntary step back as if widowhood was contagious. Others would want to know how her husband died and then proceed with stupid platitudes such as "at least he is no longer in pain" or "I know what you are going through" or "give it time"... and don't get her started on the pity looks that covered face after face. She just couldn't take it anymore.

They didn't know what she was going through, and they never would. They didn't know her world was upside down and she barely survived each passing day. They didn't know she felt lonely every minute of every day and that the only glue holding her together was her daughter, who'd never see her father again.

Aïcha was not prepared to relive this. She wanted this, whatever it was, to stay fresh and untarnished.

It was barely six o'clock in the morning when Aïcha woke up. She could hear the morning prayer from her bed. Still foggy from her interrupted sleep, she headed for a swim to kickstart her day. It wasn't until she put her towel down that she noticed that pool area was completely empty. No one was swimming. No lifeguard was on duty. It was weirdly silent.

Aïcha dove head first into the pool and inhaled loudly as the water felt cold on her skin, instantly refreshing her and kickstarting her brain, thank-you-very-much. She waited a couple of seconds, took a deep breath and dove down again, swimming underwater.

For the first time since Tom's call, Aïcha felt herself relax. The silence, the fresh water, the repetitive nature of swimming did wonders to calm her mind.

As she stepped out of the pool, draping a large towel over her body, she closed her eyes and turned her head towards the sun. Aïcha felt the first rays of heat coming through - covering her body, her heart, her soul. It was strong and healing and beautiful.

She finally made her way back to her room and took a shower. The small bag she packed with her for Marrakech saved her from wrecking her brain about what to wear. There was only one clean option left: a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

Aïcha looked at her watch. It was barely eight and she was almost ready. Time was running too slow for her sake. Fidgeting with her make-up bag, she put some foundation and mascara, packed her bag and her daughter's and sat in the balcony with her book, waiting for Mia to wake up so they could have breakfast together.

Breakfast was perfect if only she could eat. The restlessness Aïcha felt before was replaced by a sense of impatience. Were these butterflies she felt in the pit of her stomach? You need to get yourself together. What are you, sixteen? This was not what she had in mind when she came for the weekend to Marrakech. She needed to keep herself clearheaded, for her own sake.

Aïcha decided to walk to the place where she was meeting Tom. It was not far away from her hotel giving her time to calm herself. She arrived after a fifteen-minute stroll and stepped into a small villa. Its front walls were covered with magnificent red and pink bougainvillaea while the outdoor dining area lined with Moroccan tile tables.

Amal. Hope in Arabic. The name of the place was fitting at so many levels. The café/restaurant was an amazing nonprofit helping women from difficult backgrounds getting out of poverty. She loved coming here every time she was in Marrakech; the atmosphere was friendly and cosy, the food fresh and homemade. Dining with a purpose, it didn't get any better than that.

Once inside, her gaze scanned the place before it landed on who she was looking for.

Siting at a table in the garden, long legs crossed, Tom was looking at his phone, his white V neck t-shirt a sharp contrast to his newly tanned complexion. Still wearing the same baseball cap as when she saw him in London, still as handsome as in her memory of him.

He looked up and saw Aïcha standing there, a pair of golden hoops reflecting the morning's sun, strands of hair escaping her messy bun. In his mind, he was already twirling those around his fingers.

Tom smiled at her. Aïcha smiled back, her brown eyes searching his.

As she approached the table, Tom stood up, running his hand in his beard, unsure if he could hug her. Aïcha stepped forward, letting him know she was okay with a hug. Yep, he still smells like summer in a Mediterranean village.

"So.... how have you been, Aïcha?"

"Good, merci! How about you? You're here for a movie, right?"

"Yes indeed. We start shooting tomorrow."

One of the waitresses came by their table to take their order. A home-made iced tea for her, a Moroccan tea for him.

Aïcha waited for the waitress to leave before speaking. She felt she needed to be the first of them to start the conversation.

She drew in a deep breath and talked quickly, without missing a beat, as if afraid of losing her courage, "Tom, look ... I guess you saw me with my daughter on Friday. Her name's Mia and she's thirteen. You might be wondering about the father," she exhaled through her nose and added, "Well...he's not in the picture anymore."

Tom looked at her, frowning his brows. He wondered what the story was with her daughter's father. Divorced? Separated? Or had they ever been together at all? The possibilities were endless. But he respected her wish to not develop this further. He still didn't understand why she never mentioned her daughter, and he asked her that.

Here we go. "Honestly, I wasn't expecting to see you again. For me, Paris was this ... " Aïcha was looking for a word in English to describe what she meant and couldn't find any. " ...you know, a parenthèse enchantée? An enchanted interlude of some sort, a thing that happens once in a lifetime. Why would a famous actor like you, who meets all kinds of interesting people, would be interested in someone ordinary like me? There was just no point in telling you the details of my personal life."

Tom, puzzled yet considerate, said, "I'm so sorry you think so little of yourself... and of me. I can absolutely appreciate encounters and relationships outside of my professional work. And you certainly are no ordinary person, to begin with. I wonder what makes you think that?"

Tom leaned forward on his elbows. "Aïcha, I like you."

It hung there, in the air between them. Neither of them said anything further, the silence growing thicker by the second.

Aïcha's heart thumped erratically in her chest. Just as she opened her mouth to say something stupid, the waitress came by their drinks giving her some time to compose herself and think of something not so stupid to say after all.

"Well... I have come to the realisation that I was not indifferent to you, but I'm not sure what - " she stopped herself mid-sentence, her eyes looking everywhere but at the man sitting in front of her. "What I'm trying to say is this. I don't know what we are doing here."

She finally looked at him, his forehead furrowed with the barely visible scar inviting her to touch it with her fingers. But she didn't.

Tom had thought a lot about this before. He was not looking for anything serious. And even if he wanted to, there was no room for a steady relationship in his busy schedule. But Tom liked Aïcha. A lot. There was something about her that made him want to stick around for a bit.

"Look, here is the thing. I want to get to know you. I want to spend time with you. That's all I'm asking. Nothing more, no promises, no commitment. I don't know what tomorrow is made of, but I intend to seize each moment. And if some of them could be seized with you, then I would be a very happy chap. So, let me ask you: do you want to carpe the diem with me?"

Tom was looking intently at her face, trying to read her feelings. He had this look in his eyes, full of fun and hope that made Aïcha feel alive for a moment.

Taking a deep breath, she finally said, "You know what? Let's carpe the hell out of this diem."