Drowning

Twenty Five;

"I think I'm in love with you."

Now, I wasn't deaf. Nor was I incapable of understanding basic human terminology, but to hear those words, come from Zahara, somehow shocked me more than anything ever had before in my life. See, she didn't seem the type to ever be readily, openly, vulnerable. I never, though I seldom thought of it, thought I'd hear her say such a thing. I couldn't think about it, because a part of me 'knew' that she never would.

"You really do surprise me every time you open your mouth," I say, my eyes involuntarily wide and unable to hide their shock.

"You don't need to say anything," Zahara says, taking a deep breath. Her once tired eyes now looked wired and alive; an entire opposite to what they were before.

"I just-" I begin, but take a breath as I collect my thoughts again. "It's not that I don't feel the same way," I say.

"But?"

"But, I'm scared you don't mean that," I say, exhaling a shaky breath. Zahara nodded her head in understanding.

"I can see why you'd think that," she nods. "It's okay."

"But-"

"Another 'but'?" she says.

"Yes. But, I think being in love is about being vulnerable, isn't it?" I say, looking into her eyes which were so desperately trying to read my own.

"I guess so. I've never felt this before." she mumbles.

"So, Zahara, I don't just 'think' I'm in love with you- I know that I am. In fact, I've never been so certain of something, ever." I say, feeling my palms sweat as I stood in the kitchen and confessed my love for the girl in front of me. Because it didn't matter if she'd be scared now, or later. Perhaps she would run one day. Perhaps she didn't mean it. But I did. And I wanted to tell her.

"Please kiss me," she says, looking at me with her doe eyes and a small, but present, smile.

"Okay." I say, not needing to be asked, or told, twice.

I took a step forward, as did Zahara. Our lips connected in a kiss that felt the equivalent of a drive at night with your favourite music blaring. Or a walk through fields of daisies on a spring afternoon. Or the first warm day after a harsh winter. Maybe even all of those things combined and more. All of those combined with the feeling of belonging; returning, arriving. All of those, combined, because it was her heart poured into my heart, and my heart poured into hers, and now something as seemingly simple as a kiss felt so new, so raw.

Our lips disconnected momentarily, our eyes fluttering open simultaneously. My hands were on her cheeks, and she looked so, so beautiful.

"I promise I won't run," she whispers.

"Good because I'd hate if you did," I say, reconnecting my lips to hers.

Our kiss turned into something deeper, but I stopped it from progressing any further. Although I badly wanted it to, it didn't feel right, given the circumstances. Given the fact that, I knew Zahara had previously used sex self-destructively, or as a distraction. And I didn't want to enforce that habit, even if it wouldn't be because of that. I also didn't want to trigger her in any way, at all. Or make her feel like she had to. I didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable in any way. I'd never forgive myself.

"What's wrong?" Zahara asks, looking up at me through her thick black lashes. 

"I don't want to make you feel like you have to do this," I murmur.

"Harry," she whispers. "You are my safe space. I'd never feel unsafe with you, or forced, or like I was being messy." she says slowly. "I just- I want to be close to you,"