"What is this place, where is Allah?" He wore his gloves, the navy paint on his fingertip, seeped him into memories.
She was silent, sagged, lying on the floor, vibrant ocean eyes covered with darkness of eyelids, letting the air swirl the flakes on her soul.
But the boy lying next to her was growing restless, wanting nothing but to get drown in her ocean,
"... Mavi" in spilt of second, curtains raised, and blue stared into green.
"You aren't sleeping Zia?" Damien now couldn't sleep without the girl, within his arm distance.
"Where would you go when you escape?" The question twisted his heart, hunted his dreams. Mavi soon became his addiction.
He was nothing but a boy named Zia, by a captured girl. She was not only a girl named Mavi by a lost boy, but she was much more, Mavi had a life, which was never granted to Zia.
"To Allah," water splintered from eyes, like waves splashing to the cliff.
"Can I came with you to A --" she noticed the hesitant, she sat upright, with water in her eyes. She made a promise.
"I promise to take you with me." A promise to the heavens, a promise in the night wind.
"To Allah." A promise unheard of, uncompleted,
A promise which left behind a lost and shuddered boy.
"And why could I tell you?" Her words carrying her aura for her, she wasn't the one to be tamed. "it's not the part of our deal. "
"Can you for once in your life listen to me?" She moved pass him swiftly, her graceful moment resemblance the wind.
"Even if I tell you, you wouldn't understand..." she stood facing the ruined canvass on display.
"Why not?" He eyed her moments as she brushed her fingertips over the wet paint, staining her fingers.
"You can only find Allah in Islam." She rubbed her fingers, probably enjoying the texture.
"Where is Islam?" She sighed, let her hands drop.
"In your heart" she sat on a wooden desk.
"What kind of game are you playing." He took tube of acrylic paint, fresh smell of oil and papers messing with the cold breeze of North.
"I don't want to be the one pull you out of your shell"
"Blue!" His grip on the cold tube enchanted till it dripped.
"It's not easy." Her trademark shrug, eyes hidden with eyelids. "Well, This world, It's like being in a dungeon, you don't know you are in it, living in your happy bubble, until the moment you notice that something is wrong, and Islam is the way out, a strong rope, you leash on it, but... but when you climb, the rope become a thin string, hands get clumsy. You fall, crawl, climb, fall, over and over again."
"Stop taking in riddles." She always kept her eyes on the ground like a forbidden fruit and he wanted a taste.
"There is nothing flowery, imaginative, In Islam is the cruel reality of life," she breathed out her words.
"Travelling in sea, cool, quiet. But when in Islam, everything changes. sea catches fire, waves into storm, breeze blow traumatic winds," hands waving, as if lifting her each word.
"it's the flood, only for you to build a boat, it's the punishing fire only to be changed into flowers," A thrilling change in her tune, so did his heart beat.
ESTÁ A LER
Wanted to be loved (Islamic Story)
Espiritual"You will do it. You have to teach me. I will make you do it." He took a step toward me. I didn't stepped back, expressing that I was not afraid, ready for anything. "I will inform the Principal that you have caused another plight. And he will blind...
