In the Interlude

Chapter 24 - Sleepless in Paris

Aïcha woke up bright and early on Tuesday after the most relaxing sleep in forever. She felt refreshed and ready to face her week's immense to-do-list.

Her stomach growled loudly as she retrieved her phone. She hadn't eaten anything since the dried-up sandwich on the plane the day before. A nice breakfast in a café nearby was what she needed.

Looking at her phone, she found one missed call from her friend Sofia and one text from Tom.

You, thinking of me just before you go to sleep, has kept me sleepless. I expect you to make it up to me on Thursday.

Oh, Tom. The things you do to me. She sighed loudly, rubbing her face and eyes with her hands.

Aïcha remained sprawled in bed, her heart racing in her chest. Tom had the power to rattle her up just with a few words. She also witnessed firsthand how his touch and lips made her dizzy. Thursday was going to be interesting, to say the least.

But today was Tuesday. And the walkthrough with the tenants and the reparations on her flat were not going to be done by her secret army of elves. She needed to buckle up. Thoughts about Thursday will have to wait.

And they waited.

They waited, before coming in full force on Wednesday night.

Aïcha attempted to fight the conflicting thoughts and feelings disrupting her sleep, to no avail. They had spoken earlier on the phone and agreed to meet the following day for dinner in an Italian restaurant she suggested. Her nerves were already wracked, knowing damn well that Thursday was the day. Or the night.

She had to make a decision. She couldn't even rely on alcohol to give her some courage. No, she needed to make the decision all by herself, as the grown-up woman she was.

Aïcha tossed and turned in a half sleep, the rain pounding against the window not helping a bit. She managed to snooze around two in the morning, only to wake up a couple of hours later, troubled by the weirdest dreams. She tried to go back to sleep but kept checking the time, calculating how much sleep she would get if she only could fall asleep at that exact moment.

This is driving me crazy.

At half-past five in the morning, Aïcha had had enough of tossing and turning and checking the time. She promptly got out of bed getting a head start on her day, already planning a well-deserved nap in the afternoon.

And she did try to take a nap only to fail miserably, her nerves continuing to build up inside her. By the time she had to leave for her date, Aïcha was dealing, yet again, with conflicting emotions rearranging themselves like mismatched pieces of a jigsaw.

She was scared of having physical intimacy after all these years, of showing how vulnerable she really was. She was scared of feeling guilt, or even worse, shame. She was scared of showing her body, of being touched, of letting herself go.

Did she still know how to give pleasure and how to be on the receiving end? Was she going to cry, or run and hide in the bathroom? Oh, God. I don't even want to think about how embarrassing that would be.

Aïcha was sitting in the métro, oblivious to the people around her. She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing, inhaling, counting to five, exhaling, counting to five, inhaling ...

The métro arrived at her destination and Aïcha walked the 400 metres separating her from the restaurant and Tom.

He was waiting for her outside, looking dapper in a fitted navy suit and a crisp white shirt. She was pleasantly surprised to see him without his beard, finally getting a glimpse of his perfect jawline.