A Romantic Vision

A Stranger and his Plight.

For an entire day, the house was scorching with dirt to the shoulders. Mother has never worked in her life, I was rather the opposite, similar to Grandma. I worked around explaining two maids and myself of how I wanted things, it was busy. We were expecting Mr. Omar, he pardoned us another day, fortunately.

"The maids will leave? What do you mean by that?" the surprise in my voice was not hidden.

"They just came for a day. There are not many houses in this locality, we have to help ourselves" Mother stated.

She cannot work, she has never worked in her life, I caught myself over how much I sound like Grandma in my head.

"Mum, we would need help, it is a large area... I am not doing the dishes" I grunted.

"We are trying...I have asked for help"

It is always stressful around Mum.
I picked a clean room. It is beautiful. Grandpa had lived here, he had beautiful pictures from this place. But it is quite in a miserable condition now.

Sidratul-muntaha...
The tall walls, droopy passages, the window, just a mansion across and nothing to be seen for miles.

Furthermore were cornfields, a gloomy wild garden. The walls are grey or green, years have settled on them. Wooden furniture, ombre light, unwelcoming scent.
I dare and don't to go out...the passage echoing with the cries of the cricket. With tiredness only with tiredness, the night turns heavy into sleep.

~~~~~~~

A maid has agreed to help for another day. Just for one day more.

"You would like him," mum said tasting the cookies from the plate.
"He is handsome, you would like him"

The garden area was tidy, the trees still had to be groomed.

"His father owns more a Thousand acres of land across the country, he owns a great fortune, he is the only son an--"

"Mum, I'll see"

"Darling, Open up now. You cannot just say no to everyone"

"I would say yes if I like him, I have never found ...." My lips trembled and voice halted, I closed my eyes "they all ask the same questions mum" the breath hummed.

I opened my eyes.

"Take your time" she lifted my chin.

I walked into the garden. A small table and chair arranged to arrange an arranged marriage with consent.

Emptiness glazed the air. Taking a deep breath, I wondered. I have never found....never found a friend.
What's your favorite color?
What are your hobbies?
What kind of husband you want?
What kind of a man you're looking for?
Have you been in a relationship?
This is awkward...isn't this awkward? That makes it all the awkward.
All kinds of monotonous, standard questions. Like they all read the same book.

I shook my head. Lifted my chin to a man standing. Wiring the breath pattern I asked "Omar? Mr. Omar?"

He nodded and took a seat. He was shabbily dressed, examining him in secrecy, I noticed the brown flaky skin, waves of dark hair, glasses, and strangeness overall crawling like a centipede on fresh leaves.

"Hello" he abruptly said and picked up the mug of coffee.

"Hello...." I mumbled.

"I hate this" he kept the cup on the table pouting his large lips.

Mum said he was handsome, he is average.

"I hate coffee" he smiled, "I love Tea"

I smiled. Why do similarities make one feel secure?

"This is Tea" I handed him the cup I made for myself.

"Oh, I suppose that is yours...I cannot take it. It is alright" He was all smiles. He crossed his arms rubbing his oversized sleeves to each other.

"You can ask anything" My voice breaking with the nervousness.

"Meh? Yea...anything?" he splits his hands open. my lips pursed and I nodded.

He wondered, his eyes under his glasses swayed like the east wind, his posture relaxed. His shoulders curved inverse. He sighed, confidence leaked from his visage and he asked

"What do you think about death?"

The ghost of silence mounted over me. I reassembled the sight.

"What about it...?...what about death? I stammered I don't really think about it" I replied Dragging the words forcefully.

"Death must be remembered always, living with a consciousness of it would make thy haste. Hastening would make you love; quickly, easily, recklessly. If you have no time, you would waste none"
He spoke fast, invested, fascinated.
I was ...confused.

"Pardon me, we are here to know each other. Shall we resume to talk about death or there is any interest you keep in marriage?" I spoke yet nervously.

"Oh... Of course, We take turns. Your turn, ask?"

I was frankly amused with his gestures, he was not composed, nor relaxed, neither nervous, in haste...like he had no time but yet he was there...willingly.

"I do not have anything to ask.." I honestly replied.

"What if you would die today, have you done any justice to your soul?"
He came with another. Eating cookies, looking right at me.

"I do not understand...I am twenty-seven...I do not think of death often"

He gathered tension around his face.
Scratched his forearm "Why?"

"I have a question, why do you want me to die?" I asked causing us both to laugh.

I gazed over the table. He stares above, the enormous sky, deep in thought.

I look at him "Are you still here?" I ask.

"I wonder where the soul goes?" he said plainly.

It made me laugh harder, I was amused by his sobriety of questions but the time he chooses to speak these at and to who...

"Where does the soul go?" he shrinks his head lower to meet my head drowned in laughter.

"the soul goes to the Lord, then to heaven or Hell depending on what you have done in this life" I answered his groping sight.

"No, I mean where does this soul go, when death has come not over this body but the soul has died?"

The laughter dissolved. The breaching silence sat over our shoulders, I stared his silence with mine.

A dark shadow covered the table, I quickly turned to attend a man, tall, light light-skinned with green eyes.

"Laraib?" He asks.

"Yes..."

"I am Omar. I ..." he said, now we both turned to the man who I was talking to moments ago, dragging the chair to the side and walking away.

"Who was that?" Omar asked.

"I do not know," I said rather raging.

"But he was with you," he said smirking, he noticed the slight anger sitting over my nose. "umm.. how are you?"

"I am good. How was your journey?" I collected my conscious.

"It was good" he answered.

I turned and looked far distance, the shabbily dressed man walking away rubbing his arm.

"Laraib? " Omar called.

"Yes.." I returned to him.

"Well I know this is awkward, this is so awkward, isn't it?"

Like they all read the same book.