(A Wattpad Featured Story)
Is love always give and take
or is it okay to feel it alone?
sometimes heartbreaking
and other times, making the organ skip a beat
What will you do when more than one person loves you
or when you love somebody while
you a...
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His long fingers grazed the end of the sliding glass door.
He closed it shut and turned on the shower, his face facing towards the water that started to rain on him. Droplets of water seeped through his chin and down through his lengthy throat. His Adam's apple bobbled up, gulping at the cold rush that oozed inside him.
He tended the midnight black strands of hair to fall back with his fingers and looked down, exhaling and then he leaned on the wall.
For a few minutes, he stood there, his hands steadying him while the shower of rain continued to rain on his scalp, and then went down to his naked back. His back muscles contracted and relaxed to the chillness, his earthy skin wet with life.
Just as his loquacious eyelashes closed, small droplets of water dripped down his cheeks. His thoughts again wandered to a particular girl. For the hundredth time he sighed, his soaked lips opening up.
A girl in a wheelchair.
A girl who cannot walk. Yet had effortlessly walked inside his heart and occupied his mind.
Whenever he thought of her, his heart lurched. She has become a craving for him. To meet her, to see her, talk to her, or at least listen to her, tease her, make her laugh, and enjoy her company.
He, at last, sighed in defeat with the Almighty. Oh! How beautiful did he make her?
His eyes opened but he couldn't see the gray-marbled wall. He envisioned himself in Shabna's backyard, Asma turning around and looking at him. Her piercing eyes, drilled into his soul. Subconsciously he went back to
where he was immersed in watching the flipping of her hijab as she called him, "Asad."
Her whispering his name had almost killed him.
He then recalled the first time he met her in person when she had arrived at the airport, he had been spellbound, the four chambers of his heart forgetting to pump blood, instead, it felt like they pumped butterflies. "Is this beauty Asma?" He had asked, too mesmerized for others to notice that he had forgotten to breathe.
"Asma," his plump lips tested her name, a strange taste of enchantment spread out on his tongue. Making him feel things.
Asma. Oh! the things she made him feel. He recalled her talking to Lucy. Of her calling her disability a blessing. Her tender face had grown soft, a light smile gracing her lips. She wasn't offended, she wasn't hurt. The goodness of her heart and her strength made her a magnet that pulled him in.
"Oh! Asma. What are you doing to me?"
And then he was back to reality, he relinquished the water that soaked his light brown skin. He turned around to the glass door but the foggy glass failed to show him his reddened face. He could still hear his thumping heartbeats and the race of the organ in which it is bound to fail.
