Caged Nightingale

61- Saara

I am walking towards the British passport holders queue when I feel Atif's hand on my elbow guiding me to the foreign passport line. I look up at him, suddenly embaraased and aware of the silly mistake that I was about to make on automatic. How many times have I come through Heathrow? Cleared customs within minutes.
Now my heart beats furiously in my chest. I make a conscious effort not to fidget and stand as still as possible. Atif says something, trying to gage my attention, wanting to distract me enough to address some nervous tik I probably have. I guve him a tense smile and move forward a step as the line creeps forward. Another step. A few minutes more then another. There is a longer wait this time: a problem. The person in the queue is being questioned in more detail, the face of the attendant passive, giving nothing away. Fuck.
I'm not sure I'll be able to pull it off. I've walked through this airport a dozens of times this last year, now suddenly I'm trying to come through as someone else? They're not that stupid.
Another step forward. I can feel my pulse quicken. My chest burning. Fuck fuck fuck. Atif's words are lost in the crashing waves in my head, as I try to contemplate my chances of making it. Pretty slim, close to none. Fuck.
Then I feel the warm squeeze of his hand in mine as we take another step forward. My hands are cold and sticky with perspiration. One hand swallowed up in Atif's the other holding open my passport. Ayla's passport i correct. Alya, who died a couple of months ago with no one to morn her passing. Alya the orphan, who disappeared without a trace. Alya who couldn't even die.
I turn to look up at Atif, his face is fixed in front of him. Calm. Another step forward. Then we're at the front of the queue. He turns to look at me. Smiles, as if trying to transfer some of his silent strength to me. Its ok- he says with his eyes. Its going to be OK. Then he nudges me forward.
It takes me a second to place my passport open on the counter, I try to steady my voice and steel my face ready for scrutiny. The attendant is a stocky, bald middle age man in a crisp uniform. He looks down at the picture then back at me.
"Look directly into the camera." He says, gesturing to the small orb perched on the visor above the counter. I do. Heart drumming like crazy in my chest.
I make a visible effort to smile. He places my open passport in a scanner machine. From the periphery of my vision I see At of step up to the counter beside me.
"Please state the purpose of your visit" the attendant says.
"We're on our honeymoon." I reply. "We're here for 2 weeks." The attendant pauses taking in my accent, appearance. He taps something into the computer from my passport.
"Congratulations." He says and then " where will you be staying?"
"We have a reservations at a hotel. ...ERM.... Claridges. Then I think The Witchery in Edinburgh.'
"Is this your first visit?' He asks and looks up from the computer screen at me.
"Yes" I reply hoping the lie doesn't show on my face.
A few more taps in the computer, then the attendant places my passport on the counter. "Have a good visit." He says and smiles.
I can't believe it. I take it and rush through the barrier. At if is waiting on the other side. He slips his hand into mine and we walk silently to the collection area, where the conveyor belt has started.
Neither of us speaks. Instead we both busy ourselves with our luggage. Collecting it and standing it up next to us. I look over Atif's profile from behind. His broad shoulders, narrow waist exaggerated as he leans forward to open a suitcase and take out his summer jacket to put on.
We haven't actually spoken about what will happen when we leave the airport other than my home may still be under servaillance. If this is so then it would be impossible for me to return safely-immediatly. We may need to take further precaussions before trying to return to normal.
I think back to the flight. Lying on our sides, looking into each others eyes, in the intimate lighting, our fingers laced together between us. It's a nice suite, but I cant bring myself to appreciate it. My heart feels heavy. This is the beginning of the end. I want to stay like this forever: in transition, without having to face the reality of having to make a definite decision about out future.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other and wait for Atif, it feels cool in the airport, I know it'll be cooler outside. I take off my jumper from my shoulders and pull it on over my head, a shiver that running down my spine.