Play the song before reading

I think I loved her, I simply state that as a fact not to be melodramatic. As a person living with a broken heart, meeting her again is a fear that silently stalks me. I miss the smooth landing of her words, I miss the way she giggles even when I am not funny but she knows I need it, I miss the gentle curve of her body silently appealing to my male nature, I miss her beautiful hands so soft and neat like she has never done a hand job in her life, I miss… I miss her.

Some days, I think of how I lost her and kick myself. I tighten my grip as my mind goes from one extreme to another. Should I call her? Should I leave her a message? Should I show up at her place? Oh God, what if she doesn’t talk to me. Worry fills me. I just wanted her, without her my mind was on self destruct. Anxiety ravages my insides, ripping me open, my resolve is weak.

I miss her.

When I met her, I was going through a rough patch. My head was ringing with thoughts on how to go on with life when a friend pointed and asked me to go talk to her. She wore a purple t-shirt and one of those tight black jeans but still had this look of simplicity. As I said “hi”, she looked back a bit surprised with this snare of uncomfortability and words failed me. After a short moment of awkwardness, I finally asked if she knew ‘so and so’ person who she looked like, she said no but then became a bit relaxed, I smiled, she finally told me her name and then left. I walked back to my friends who were all expecting me to have her digits and told them she wasn’t interested.

After some agonising weeks, I had to go to a mosque in my blue, soft sneakers desperately wanting to go back home and stay hidden when I saw her at the other end of the courtyard receiving a lecture. She was so focused on the lecturer, she barely sneaked a peek to find my lurking eyes focused on her. She looked beautiful in her gown, her face was smooth and chocolate, and she had an excellent sitting posture, things I didn’t notice on our first meeting. I left earlier without talking to her but still felt happy for reasons I couldn’t accurately name.

Is she a muslim? I tried to contact her, I asked my muslim friends at the mosque who I went to see if they knew anyone at the mosque who bears her name but came up with nothing. I felt disappointed and a bit angry that I didn’t stay longer at the mosque.

Almost a week later, as fate would have it, I was at an IT centre with hundreds of people struggling to get to the front when I saw her talking to her friends who were sitting. She turned and saw me, and as I smiled at her, she held her hips, bent her head to one side and smiled back, then I knew she definitely saw me back at mosque.

…to be continued


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