Beinteha

11. Entwined Hands

༻✺༺

1 1 : e n t w i n e d  h a n d s

The more that you say, the less i know
wherever you stray, i follow
i'm begging for you to take my hand
wreak my plans, that's my man.

༻✺༺

WITH OUR HANDS intertwined, Azaan and I entered a recently inaugurated bistro, and the scent of freshly baked bread and roasted coffee beans wafted into my nostrils. The lighting was dim, but warm, casting a golden glow over the entire room. The interior was adorned with dark wooden walls, punctuated with gilded accents and vibrant bursts of metallic maroon and blue, exuding an air of sophistication and refinement. Soft jazz music played in the background, adding to the intimate and cozy atmosphere. Despite being a newcomer to Lahore's bustling food scene, the restaurant was curiously tranquil. Although I had heard of this place before, I hadn't had the opportunity to sample it.

"This place looks amazing," I murmured softly. Azaan did not reply, but lightly squeezed my fingers in response.

As we entered, the waiter greeted us with a warm smile, his eyes gleaming with hospitality. He gestured towards our reserved spot, nestled in a cozy corner adorned with plush velvet chairs and sparkling chandeliers that cast a warm glow over the area. The corner was secluded from the rest, allowing us to indulge in a more intimate experience. The soft music that played in the background added to the romantic ambiance of the place.

Azaan's hand engulfed mine, his fingers laced with mine like the intertwining of vines. With each step, his grip tightened, pulling me close to him as we made our way to the table. I couldn't help but marvel at the way our hands fit together, like puzzle pieces perfectly aligned. His thumb traced a path along the curve of my palm, igniting a wildfire of sensations that left me powerless in his grasp. The heat from his touch seared through my skin, leaving a burning sensation in its wake, sending my heart racing.

Despite knowing that I probably should have pulled my hand away, I just couldn't resist the warmth and comfort I felt from his touch. It was as if his touch promised a sense of security and protection that I couldn't resist. So I decided to let myself indulge in the feeling a little while longer.

The world outside was a blur, a muddled mess of colours and sounds. But in this moment, all that mattered was the feeling of his hand in mine. It was like holding onto a lifeline, an anchor in the midst of a storm. I couldn't deny the fluttering in my chest, the way my heart skipped a beat every time he squeezed my hand.

The heat of his hand against mine was a stark contrast to the coolness of the air conditioning, and yet it was a comforting warmth that spread through me. I felt cocooned, sheltered from the chaos of the world outside.

But with every passing moment, a nagging voice at the back of my mind reminded me that this was wrong. I was never one for physical touch, always preferring to keep a safe distance. And yet, here I was, feeling trapped and suffocated by the very thing I thought I despised.

Despite the inner turmoil, I couldn't bring myself to let go. It was like trying to grasp onto sand, slipping through my fingers no matter how tightly I held on. And so, for now, I held onto him, hoping that this feeling of safety and security was not just an illusion. And I was safe in a sanctuary I could only hope was real.

Tonight as much as I tried to resist his persuasive charm, Azaan's warm gaze and gentle persistence were too much for me to deny. And so reluctantly I found ourselves walking into the night, the city's neon lights casting a surreal glow over everything around us. His hand grazed my lower back when he guided me towards his waiting car, insistent that we go out.