Romanza In Rome

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• Taimoor •

The storm inside his eyes froze into glacial hurricanes inside his orbs. Captured and stilled in place, as if time had stopped for him. The swivels of his honey comb eyes changed place within seconds as the gaping hole of his pupils dilated. Lips pinched under the piercing sharp teeth, tongue running over the pink flesh to calm the pain from the bite. His arms, crossed in front of his chest, hid the extraordinary way his heart beat. Taimoor's fingers gripped his bicep, in a taut grip, his neatly clipped nails a pale yellow from the pressure. The heel of his feet tapped the ground, his upper body leaning over her shoulders, the feminine fragrance of her skin, warming his own.

Sinking his weight on the wooden stool, Taimoor rested his hand on the work station, trying to limit himself from touching the wet clay that covered the plastic sheets. The place had low ceilings, with small square windows. Still though, the place was well illuminated with the help of the tube lights, the icy lights reflected off of the white walls. Shadows of the tall sculptures were everywhere he looked, in the middle of the intense workshop there was only one sign of perfection and that was the woman in front of him.

His eyebrows raised and then sunk in awe, her focus on the wet clay was hard to find in the world. Her eyes narrowed, and the slender fingers that were aristocratically built and deserved to be covered in diamonds, cut through the clay. With each stroke her hands added — a force he could not imagine such a delicate woman could possess, the clay melted and changed. Like everything in this world the soil was too captivated by her, gravitating towards her without her so much as batting an eyelash.

"What will this be?" He whispered.

Just like that the gold hue inside her eye dissolved. The appreciation she had for her work was not shared with him so openly. It seemed that engrossed in her work, she had forgotten his existence. It helped that his breath had turned deep and he willed himself to not make any ruckus. She was right, the magic that she created was only possible within these four walls, and nowhere else.

"It's going to be anything that it wants to be".

"And—and how do you know what it wants?"

The young woman had a peculiar way of speaking.

"I take clay and add water, my hands my shape it but its the energy within it that guides me,"

"That's interesting".

"You don't believe me do you?" She looked at him.

"I mean its just that—"

"Let me explain. Sometimes I go in, thinking that it's going to be a statue that I'm making but instead I end up with a vase. Pottery isn't my strong suit, I just sometimes use it to make my ceramic works. So the clay has a mind of its own, that is if you're willing to listen to it with peace".

"That's a very captivating idea," he smiled at her.

"Thank you, go look around if you will. I'll be busy for sometime here".

"Wanting to get rid of me so soon?"

"The loudness of your heartbeat is a bit annoying". She added, cheekily.