"I. Want. You."
These words kept playing in my head like a broken record. What does that mean? His eyes looked so devious when he said that. A shiver ran down my spine remembering how cold his eyes were. I washed away my face pack and proceeded to s...
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Stupid commitments. I thought as the makeup artist applied highlighter on my nose and I had to hold back a sneeze.
Why am I learning just now that you have to prep your skin before makeup? I am giving up on this world. Why are women supposed to wear this much makeup just to look presentable? And if women have to wear it why don't men? This doesn't make sense. Stupid patriarchy.
The dress and makeup artist were sent here simultaneously. And along with the dress I got jewelry and a matching dark green hijab with shoes. The only part of this all was shoes. He had sent heels. I don't know how to walk in them and was positive that I will definitely screw myself over and will fall into a fountain or a tiered cake. If that happens then just guess who will die.
I changed into my dress carefully because it was dark and if I got makeup over it then the stains will be prominent for the world to see how much of a clumsy idiot I am. The dress looked so pretty. Then came my part which was setting hijab. At first, I was confused about what kind of style should I choose but then I said eff it and set it the simplest way.
Let me teach you. First of all, you place your under cap (optional), then place your hijab over your head, fold it a little from the front and make sure that there is equal fabric on the left and right side then pin it under your chin and then take the fabric from the right and place it of left shoulder and vice versa and voila you're done, thank me later.
I took the silver clutch which Zulekha Aunty had given me to carry my "necessities".
I stepped into those god awful long heels and went to sit on my bed until Ahmed came. In all honesty, I was a little afraid to face him after what happened four days ago. I knew it would be awkward. I picked up pride and prejudice and started reading it again. When I was little, I picked up this novel from the library and read it. I loved the chemistry between Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy. Their cycle of romance was so intriguing to me, it still is. There is something about this novel that feels like undying magic.
I had my phone sitting next to me just in case he calls. I am pretty sure he has my number because I already have his number on my phone and I did not enter that. My phone rang, I tore my gaze from the pages to look at it.
It was my alarm for the Maghreb. I pulled on a Persian chadar over my dress as I already had performed wudu and offered prayers of Maghreb and Isha. I was wrapping up my prayer mat when I heard a knock at the door. I kept the prayer mat at the dressing and removed my chadar before opening the door.
I went to the door and opened it. Standing up in front of me was none other than Mr. Ahmed Ali Rizvi.
"Asalam O Alaikum," I said and then opened the door wider before going in so that he could see that I was ready and only needed to step into slippers and grab my phone and clutch. "Wa Alaikum Assalam." He greeted me back. "Are you ready?" He asked peeking in my room from outside although he could come inside if he wanted to. Well, at least he knows that he should not enter a woman's room without being invited. "What does it look like?" I asked after I turned to face him. "You do look like you are ready but with women, you can never know." He said pushing his hands into his pockets. "Whatever, let's just get over with it," I said as I turned off the lights.
