❝Assallam alay-❞
Holy chicken.
Hottie alert.
Does my veil look sexy?
The holy month of Ramadan; a month where Muslims are required to fast, abstain from sins, and connect spiritually with Allah.
It's also the month where Paulina Suarez--the pract...
a/n: update rn because why not? Paulina on top. Please vote comment and share x
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The first time I read The Fault In Our Stars by John Green, I laughed, I cried and I also found myself wishing to find a guy just like Augustus Waters.
Looking back on that moment now, I guess I should have worded my wish in a much more careful fashion.
I take a deep breath as I complete my ablution, dropping the sole of my right foot on the tiled floor before looking into the mirror. I wince slightly at my reflection—something I don't normally do.
My eyes are bloodshot and puffy due to my incessant crying the night before. Not even Dad—the amazing Álvaro Suarez—could calm me down. And that's saying something because Dad has a way of just making me feel better without saying a word. All he has to do is literally just...be there.
My normally tan looking skin looks pale, dry, and dull. My lips have teeth marks at the spot where I drew blood a few hours ago when I tried biting my lip to keep my tears at bay. My cheekbones lack their usual healthy rosy glow and all in all, I look like a zombie. A The Walking Dead character. I look like I'm...dying.
But you're not Paulina, my conscience reminds me quietly and this time, it doesn't sound like Ophelia. Damon is. The guy that you're slowly falling in love with is dying and there's nothing you can do about it.
I gulp in a futile attempt to refrain from crying. I'm not going to cry anymore. No way. I mean crying isn't for pretty girls like me. I'm not a cry baby—
"Oh, Paulina," Vanessa bursts into my bathroom with a sad look on her face. She's been low key crying on my bed too but obviously, she looks better because I'm a dam and she's basically a tap.
What do I mean by this metaphor? I don't even know what makes sense anymore. I don't know if I'm making sense anymore.
I clutch her tightly into a hug to seek comfort and she responds by rubbing soothing circles on my back with her palm.
"I-I...I think I'm falling for him, Vanessa," I whisper into her shirt. I hate how my voice sounds. Depressed. Confused. A little bit broken-hearted.
Vanessa doesn't reply. She continues to mutter apologies into my hair before leading me into my room to pray.
