Caged Nightingale

62- Atif

Saara suddently turns to me as we emerge from arrivals. She hands over her suitcase to the chauffeur and faces me. She looks down at her hands, to the side then eventually at me. She seems to be searching for words. Its strange watching her at odds with herself, for a second I think she's going to leave and is just finding the words to tell me. But then she reaches up and draws me into a hug.
"Thankyou" she whispers in my ear as she stands on her tiptoes. 'I mean it. You made a promise and kept it.' She pulls away just far enough to cup my face. 'I'm so sorry for the trouble ive caused you- and grateful. I owe you so much-'
Her words hurt in an unexpected way, its like she's speaking to an acquaintance, I can't bare it. I place my fingers on her lips to silence her. '-it's not over yet.' I say and see her face fall.  Disappointed? Worried?It's difficult to read her.
She nods slowly and lets her arms fall away. I know she is hurt by the unintentionally curt tone, but its the truth. She watches me hand over the suitcase to the driver with a look of regret.
I can't really concentrate on where I am, where I'm going or even what is happening around me. I am acutely aware only of Saara sat beside me. She's been avoiding looking at me since we left the airport. Sat in the back of the limo, she looks out of her window. From her posture and facial expression it looks like she is lost in thought. Her eyes are glazed over and face passive. I wonder if its easier for her to let me go. God knows I can't even breathe at the thought.
Her hand is lying on her lap and I want to take it within my own. But the distance between us doesn't seem to be physical alone. She seems deep in thought. pensive.

I turn to look out of my own window. perhaps beign here is a reminder of the two different worlds we come from and how they can never converge.

The Mayfair suite is comfortable, but the luxury is lost on both of us. the muted pastel tones, which should be soothing appear bland and lifeless. Saara takes a shower, still in her bathrobe, she slips into the bed without a word, she looks exhausted. I take a moment to check my emails and then join her. There's nothing that cant wait for a few hours. I slide in beside her and slip my arm under her neck, she snuggles into me and it takes seconds for me fall asleep.

We sleep all day.

Wake in the early evening to the muted hum drum of traffic outside. I turn onto my back and look up at the ceiling. Feeling unsettled, I take a deep breath and think about what could be causing this build up of tension. We are here, the hard part is done.

Or is it? then why does it feel like I'm in a state of mourning. My chest aches and I feel numb at the same time. I've lost my appetite and dont feel the motivation to go out and explore as I may have done at one point. I'm losing her. Again. I should take her home, to her parents, to her flat. Give myself time to get over her and go back recharged and ready to return to my life.

But I just cant. Everything has become tainted by her presence. The house we shared in lahore has finally become a home. I wont be able move through it without feeling the ghost of her presence there. I'll sleep alone, eat alone, workout alone, ignore the garden, artwork, kitchen, TV and fuck-just be alone again.

I can smell her citrus shampoo, hear her soft breath as she sleeps and feel the silky skin of her neck on my arm. It's real and tangible and it will be gone soon. All that will be left, will be the memory of her. The thought kills me. Loosing her is going to destroy me.

'I love you' I whisper hopelessly into the darkness, knowing there is nothing I can do to change the outcome.

She turns and looks at me through tusled hair and half open eyes "what was that?" she says as she begins to sit up. 'God I'm so tired and starving at the same time.'

'We can order room service" i suggest.

But she simply shakes her head and there is glint in her eye 'No.' She declares. ' I know the perfect place to eat. Come on, get dressed!'