"You can't love someone back to life, Israfil." She whispered. Her chest heaved with desperation, her heart throbbing against her rib cage.
He shook his head, "You can try," Israfil responded softly. "Let me love you, Farah."
-
In a society of lies...
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chapter five - qatim
qatim (قاتم) (noun)- darkness, evilness, devilry.
song of the chapter ; the broken hearts club - gnash
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FRUSTRATION IS BOTH infuriating and crippling at the same time. Israfil stared at his office door with a deep longing that only simmered into annoyance when his eyes shifted to the stacks of paperwork that lay in a piling heap on his desk. He had wished that they would burn to ashes from his heated glare, that they would simmer into the wind without a trace.
But nonetheless, the paper lay stubbornly across the mahogany wood.
Somehow, Israfil had convinced Farah to come stay with him until she had her life figured out, or so he said. He hoped that by the time she did, she wouldn't want to leave and instead would decide to stay with him. He was hanging on to the last tiny thread of hope he had, and he was not willing to let go, even if that meant his downfall. He had told her that she would have her own room and could eat anything free of charge.
And who was she to decline such a generous offer?
Although she had known him for weeks, her instincts told her to be cautious, on guard in case he turned out to be a total psychopath.
The ring of Israfil's phone had him leaning back in his chair with an annoyed groan escaping his mouth. He plucked the device from it's buried state from under the mounds of cluttered paper.
Mama.
The contact name flashed brightly on his screen, temporarily hinting his face with a white glow from the glare of the phone. He sighed and slid his finger across the screen, accepting the call before pressing it to his ear. "Marhaba, mama." He greeted in Arabic.
"Don't you Marhaba me, hamar!" His mother's voice was high-pitched and shrill as she screeched into the phone. It seemed her favorite insult was to call him a donkey. Her Syrian accent was clear as she chastised him.
He held in the heavy sigh he was begging to release, only knowing that it would further his mother's scolding. "What is it, mama?"
"I heard you found your mate."
It took all the self-control in him not to throw his head back in vexation. "How did you find out?"
"Samara." Was her short reply.
His eyes shut tightly, trying desperately not to stomp towards the packhouse and yell at his pesky younger sister. He had no clue how she had obtained this information, but he knew that the girl had a big mouth and a loud voice, just like her mother. He was entirely sure that Samara had done it with the intention of getting him into trouble with his mom, but she hadn't realized the damage she'd caused.
