THE TIMOROUS DUNYA✅

TWENTY-TWO

Don't grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form.

~Rumi.

I hope you had an awesome Eid!❤

*****

Room 208

The only sound that filled her ears is the wild thumping of her heart as she stared at those figures. It's official, she's one step away from making a life altering decision. She's one step away from Room 209. She's one step away from chief, and above all, she's one step away from herself.

The Maryam she knew, the sweet blubbly little girl she knew wouldn't be standing right infront of a hotel room, dressed in a revealing outfit. But this isn't her. That Maryam is gone, she had died the moment she took a step forward. And buried as she knocked at the door.

"Who is it?" A deep gruff voice asked behind the door.

Her lips parted and closed themselves severally, fighting to let a sound escape. But it proved futile. Her hands were now sweaty. Rubbing them on the rough fabric of her dress, she managed to take a deep breath. It wouldn't be so hard right? It's just one sentence, three words, three syllables. No biggie.

"It's your girl." She replied with the exact words she was told to.

"It's not locked." She heard the voice reply. Maryam pondered for a moment, does that mean she should go in? Well she couldn't quite remember him saying "come in". But the door is unlocked and clearly used for entrance. So, that means she's supposed to go in.

Rubbing her sweaty hands together, she pushed the thoughts out of her restless mind. Her hands settles on the doorknob for a while before pushing it down. Maryam dared not raised her head as she walked into the room, all the while admiring the soft black rug beneath her feet.

"Your new. Interesting." Her eyes reluctantly left the ground. Dark hungry eyes stared back at her, almost startling. The first thing her mind acknowledged was how his head, which lacked a string of hair gleamed beneath the light. His dumpy figure sat cross-legged on one of the two chairs behind the coffee table. A newspaper on his fat laps and lit cigarette on his left hand.

His eyes still trained on her, he discarded the cigar rather swiftly and shifted his attention back to the newspaper he was undoubtedly reading before the intrusion. A tensed silence engulfed the room, or so Maryam thought it was, regarding the other person is very comfy reading like his life depended on it. She stayed there, by the entrance like a statue. Hands clutching beautiful handbag like a prey by predator. Poor beautiful thing. But that is definitely the least of her concerns at the moment. One of it however, is getting out of there alive.

She preoccupied herself with studying every object in the room. There sat a small piece of paper beside the standing lamp on the ground, the picture frame on the wall is slightly slanted to the left, the ceiling fan creaked loudly at every three-sixty turn, the lightbulb flicks on and off every minute, probably a sign of exhaustion from working over the years . . .

"Serve the drink." His blunt voice halted her from looking around. She might seem lost, pretending to be engrossed in looking around, but her mind is very alert. Her eyes flick to him even at the slightest shift of a finger. She's all prepared to run a marathon, just incase.

His words sank along with her heavy stomach. She took an unsteady step, then another, and another. Her hands shook even as she poured the brownish liquid into a glass and stretched it to him. However, he seemed to be engrossed in the article he's reading, or he's just ignoring her. Either way he's doing a good job at it.