A Romantic Vision

The Cynosure

I could not sleep, I twisted and turned in my bed. Washed my face with warm water, slid into the comforters. Switched on the lights and sighed.

What did Awan mean?
Just strange, like always?

I was troubled. Thoughts making an incision inside my brain. The slight silver beam of the moon glistened.

'Raib'

The Feeble voice of Timur inside me.
I sighed to add more vehemence.

The next morning was late, perhaps I prolonged in dreams.
Between these two men who were so similar yet so different, I started to draw in rough sketches of comparisons. However, I was vain.

"Oh, Laraib I was coming to you. You must leave for the city urgently! Your father requires you to sign off some paper. We are selling out some property" mother accelerated forward with her arms in mine to the library.

The scenario was such, the next moment I was in the car with Timur, we were to go to the city and do some paperwork.

I looked off the foggy windows, the small soft, cold texture. The layer of delicate liquid and brought the conscious back to the world. Here, I was with Timur...all alone.

I turned to him.
Pale and blue, his sight loyal to the path.

The Familiar scenes left us, the stranger ones visited. All the life and color drained of the passive hues.
A more grey approach sat upon and like a dark cloud on skylight the city blinked its lustrous eyes.
Hours passed in a few breaths. Holding up inside the silence turned into anxiety, I moved closer and closer to Timur.

We stepped out of the car, the evening calling out the drunkards, the alcohol spinning in perfumes, the girls in glitter and glamour with men in hold and men to chase, all causing conflict, too much to exhale.
Cautious to inhale I secluded my arms to Timur, unaffected today; unaffected always.

We walked high stairs and entered concrete sky highs. The distorted vision in the steel railings gave me some kind of feeling.
Cry... Or maybe just breathe but do something, firmly I pressed the nib of the pen to the paper, signed off the property papers and felt sorrow climbing my spine but this time for my father.
My own cursive writing so unfamiliar to me, I have not written for days.
The foreign faces smile at me with courtesy I smile back with emptiness.

This is the city, my home.
My childhood abode.
No more welcoming.
No more smiling.

"Would you like to eat something?" He finally broke a word. I gulped in the tears, "A cup tea would be nice"

We took a cab and entered a local tea shop. It was new, I had not seen this place before.

"When did this place open?" I asked.
"Recently" he dragged the wooden chair, the mildly cold room with yellow lights, tea and coffee fragrance melting on the floors.
"Nice," I remarked. The aura helped a little to revive. The cup of tea did most to freshen.

"Is the stall of candy still up to the street?" I asked recalling years back Timur and me were always there to treat ourselves. Engrossed in his phone, tea in one hand, legs straight and he nods slightly.

I looked around, plenty faces to remember. I stared at Timur's raven diary. Awan would have nearly read half of it if he were here now. A smile leaked from my lips. He is such a good company...such a fool,lunatic...idiot...but a sweetheart.
I looked around and wondered how many expressions would have he made and all the chatters he would have ignited. All the wonderful stories that would take place here but wouldn't because he is not here.
I would not want to live here forever, I lighted up the deary questions.
Do I still want to return to the city? To solidarity and strange streets where I know, I would walk by myself and distant from nature lose my mind.
Where there would be nobody to share a piece of heart with...where there would be no Awan...