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Men don't cry

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Men don't cry.

He had always believed in that. He feared the process of tearing up his emotions and spilling them through his eyes. He thought it would not make him man enough.

But when he witnessed Asma talking about her feelings, expressing them on a raw plate, he couldn't stop those treacherous tears from welling up.

He cried seeing her cry.

And he didn't feel any type of remorse or shame doing that.

The only thing that bothered him was the intensity of her grief. The grief she very intricately hid amidst her smiles. He never had a clue that she came with a silver lining and when it was unwrapped, it had so many secluded layers. This was one among them, he was sure.

It astounded him, precisely, his tears astounded him.

He has never cried. Never the one to cry.

What is she doing to me?

Asad's hand tapped the steering wheel, then his fingers went to mess up his hair. The next second he was clutching the wheel again until his knuckles turned white.

He felt restless now. Leaving her and Jesima in the cemetery worried him. Will she cry more? The thought hardened his hold but he wouldn't do something, anything other than her wish.

Letting her walk on thorns, his heart felt each prick.

Each passing second increased his agony. Making him have second thoughts. Should he go out and check on her? What if they needed him?

His eyes searched the parking lot for the eighth time in the past hour and the ringing of his phone silenced his worries for a moment. He attended the call via Bluetooth, his vision traveling to the mirror, looking at his face. Crease lines, a frown, and disheveled hair. This was not Asad.

"Koun margaya?"

"Kya?"

"Who died?"

"I understand Urdu, twin," Asad rolled his eyes, combing his midnight-black strands of hair.

"Which important person died that you had to go to the cemetery, leaving my engagement?"

"No one. Is my absence bothering you?"

"Do you want me to write it on paper?"

"If you could-"

"Asad."

"Samad," He called his twin's name, the corners of his lips turning into a smile. "You are acting unlike yourself. The last time I checked you are getting engaged, not cutting ties with me. I got some urgent work dude."

"It's wrong of me to have called you, I now know. Even though it's gross to recall, we shared the womb. I misunderstood that we will be together on special days," Samad said, his voice lowering in a pitch, "Thanks for ditching me on my big day."

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