His Past

Tripping for You

Mashal's Perspective

I stifled a curse, my anger simmering just beneath the surface. "Little piece of..." I stopped myself short.

"Why are you always so angry with me?" he asked, his voice tinged with frustration.

"Oh, so I have to explain that to you too?" I retorted, my eyes rolling in exasperation.

"Listen, I couldn't be with you for a reason," he began, his words laced with an air of justification. "Then you claimed you had moved on, but you still seem bitter about it. Are you sure you've really moved on?"

"You see why I'm salty? Because you're an asshole. It's not just you, it's your narrow-minded mindset. I'm so relieved I never ended up with you. You're a pathetic, self-obsessed, attention-seeking, sexist, narrow-minded prick," I whispered fiercely.

The irony was not lost on us; we continued to dance around the truth, pretending that everything was fine.

"Enough said," he hissed back tersely.

"And you're rude," I added pointedly.

"We both know who's being rude here," he replied, a chuckle escaping his lips.

"Yeah, and that would be you," I shot back, my irritation showing. "You influenced your friends to stop talking to me after they replied to my stories, and then you cut off their communication, even though they were the ones who initiated it."

"That's because you might develop feelings for them," he claimed.

"What the hell, even if I did develop attachments with your ugly friends, why would you care? Weren't you the one who said, 'I have a past, I can't be with you'? So why can't you go and [expletive] yourself?" I nearly shouted.

He was utterly pathetic.

"It's because you deserve better than that," he stammered, his words contradicting his actions.

"Sure," I replied sarcastically, finally pulling away from him before the partner switch in our dance. I made my way out of the ballroom, which was, in reality, our sports hall, and headed through the main building's corridor, leading to the library corridor.

"Wait, Mashal," I heard Yousef calling out from behind.

"What is it?" I asked, my anger evident in my tone.

"I swear it's not what you're thinking. I know I felt pressured during our conversations, but..." He didn't get a chance to finish.

"Cut the crap! I get that. What about the birthday wish? I wished you, and it's still marked as 'delivered' after two months. I know I shouldn't have noticed, but I couldn't help it," I admitted.

"Umm, I deleted the snap as soon as I received it because I knew it was just a birthday wish," he explained, his response triggering a sudden surge of anger within me.

He was the one who had unleashed this anger in me; it wasn't there before. So, he deserved every bit of it.

Without a second thought, I clenched my teeth and delivered a powerful punch to his face, catching him off guard.

"Consider it a free plastic surgery for your crooked nose, asshole!" I spat out as he winced in pain.

He was dumbfounded, cradling his injured nose, and then he glared at me, clearly seething.

"And also, if you have any dignity left, sue me," I quipped, then turned and walked out of the building.

As I walked away, I felt nothing but relief - no regrets, no shame, just peace. I took an unfamiliar route, unsure of my destination. I couldn't walk all the way home; it was too far, and I hadn't even informed Gigi.

I strolled alone along New Walk, enjoying the cool breeze, lost in my thoughts. Perhaps I would just keep walking in circles until Gigi arrived. Then again, my feet were aching from the heels, and my gown was cumbersome, with its long, glittering train.

My mother had bought me this traditional, sand-pink gown for the event, adorned with glitter and intricate netting. It was stunning, even though I had wanted to wear size four jeans, which seemed impossible at this point. My waist was a size six now.

My phone chimed, and I checked it as I unfurled my arms, feeling the chill in the air. It was a message from Gigi.

Gigi: Bruv! Where are you?
Me: Near the oval, remember? We used to meet there.
Gigi: What are you doing there?
Me: I'll tell you everything. So much happened. 😂
Gigi: Interesting. Just come closer to the main road. I'm walking towards the parking lot. I'll pick you up soon.
Me: Okay.

I turned on my heels and attempted to walk toward the road. The darkness engulfed me, and the lone streetlight cast a feeble glow. I wasn't aware that I had tripped and fallen until I found myself face to face with my one true love—the ground.

The street was damp, and where I had fallen was now a small mud puddle. I couldn't help but notice that my sand-pink gown was now a muddied, dark brown mess. The glittering rose gold shoes were tarnished.

Pain radiated from my ankle; I had forgotten about my previously broken ankle.

Suddenly, I felt a presence approaching from behind. I glanced at the shadowy figure, realizing that perhaps I had fallen asleep. I had been working with my psychiatrist on these dreams, but this was definitely not the right time to be dreaming.

Or was it a dream? First, I was dancing with a handsome guy, then I punched my ex-crush, and now I had tripped in front of a boyfriend—the ground.

"Hey, are you hurt?" a deep, masculine voice broke through, and in the next moment, the person extended a hand to help me up.

"Umm, yeah..." I began, but I couldn't complete my sentence properly. The pain in my ankle made it difficult to stand up.

"You don't seem hurt at all," the man observed, and he offered his other hand for me to hold. I looked up at his face as the dim streetlight revealed his features. He had a sharply pointed nose, perfectly groomed eyebrows, and a dimple on his right cheek. His hair was neatly combed back, with subtle highlights. His eyes were a dazzling blue, almost like he was wearing contact lenses. Upon closer inspection, I realized they were indeed contacts, clear ones.

I sighed, realizing this man was quite impressive. He had a chiseled jawline, and his well-defined beard connected seamlessly.

"Hello, are you there?" he asked, snapping his fingers lightly in front of my face.

"Yeah," I said, holding onto his hand.

"Would you mind leaning against the wall while I fetch some water from my car?" he suggested.

"Sure," I agreed, doing as he instructed.

He swiftly made his way to his car, opened the trunk, and retrieved a bottle of water. I couldn't help but wonder how wealthy he must be; he was dressed in a black Armani suit with a white shirt and impeccably polished shoes. Meanwhile, my once-glimmering heels were now muddy.

He returned to me promptly