Caged Nightingale

22- Saara

From the inside of the darkened hallway, I stand at the door looking out of the balcony, watching the 4x4 drive away.  He's gone.  I'm left wondering at all these mixed feelings that suddenly seem to have crept up on me.

On one hand I want to enjoy my time with Atif, on the other I know it is futile to invest in a relationship which is doomed to end.  Making him think i care for him more than i should, will inevitably lead to things getting messy. He's purposefully reticient,  not pushing me or demanding anything, which makes it even worse because it means i am to blame for everything that's happening.  I kissed him, I initiated the first step to intimacy.  Even now I can't say why I did it- other than the fact that it felt like the right thing to do at that time. No even that doesn't seem fair. I wanted to kiss him.  I bridged the gap between us, despite knowing how he felt about me.  

In another world, maybe we could have tried having a proper relationship, but the thought sits in my mind like a traitor. The woman  I was 3 weeks ago would have never willingly let a man like  Atif entertain such an idea. A man like that- one who oozes wealth, power, arrogance and danger spells trouble. I would have avoided him and all contact with him as politely as possible. The old me would have thought i was in a different league.  I would have been judgy and condescending and a completly self righteous asshole about it.   Let's just say for the sake of arguement, by some mircale I gave him a chance. We had lunch or dinner together- i can't honestly say i would have been able to see the different sides to him I have whilst being here. His humour, his vulnerability, his smart wit.

Am I messing with Atif? Using him? In that first week I had been wary of him, careful around him, knowing that boundries needed to be established. He was this powerful, rich, dark stranger and I was at his mercy. It was easy to become the victim and feel the need to protect myself. But now, there is no reason for me to doubt his intentions. He has been nothing but  honest and open, gentle and patient, funny and entertaining.  He seems comfortable in himself to be wait and give me room. He's not stiffling in the way people can be sometimes with their attention and affection.  I like that he has his own things to do and doesn't feel the need to be around me all the time, when he is here. 

I watch the red lights disappear into the night and wonder at the feeling that has settled in my chest. Regret? Guilt? I feel unsettled.  I shouldn't have let him leave without speaking to him. Turning, I lean back against the door. Eyes closed, head back, as i try not to remember the look on his face in the library.

Another week passes. 

The way we left things doesnt sit well with me.  I move from guilt to worry, to irritation to self justification. The worst thing is I don't even know why.
On friday Amina catches me looking at myself in the hallway mirror. I touch the fading scars on my face, Trace the shadows under my eyes and frown at my brittle split ends.  Oh gosh i need some serious maintenance.
In the afternoon she  brings me a home made mask of eggs, flack seeds, vitamin c and e drops. She helps me rub the concoction all over my face, arms, legs and decollage. She puts a mixture in my hair which is made up of rice water, Eggs and almond oil. She sits with me in the shade on the veranda applying the mixture before leaving to check something in the kitchen. She returns after 15 minutes with more and we apply it again. She does this 3 times before she sends me up for a shower.
I can't believe what i see when i look in the mirror. My skin is glowing- the dull skin seems to have sloughed off.. The scars are still there. But my skin looks fresh and supple. My hair feels softer too and has a lush glow to it. I smile
Not too shabby.
I think carefully about what to wear. I want to look nice. I shake my head foolishly and just put on the first thing in the cabinet. A pale, pink tunic with matching capri pants.
I feel the growing anticipation, unsure what to make of it.
The evening is spent in the garden and at some point I must fall asleep on one of the loungers. It's Amina who awakens me, touching my shoulder gently.  She looks apologetically at me, as if she senses the disappoinment. I trudge up the stairs. 11pm. He's not here. He usually gets in late on fridays. Maybe he's on his way.
But he doesn't come. I don't know why but the thought unsettles me.