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#15 English 30th August, 2019
Maryam was afraid of how he made her feel. The reality of her circumstanc...
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LONDON, ENGLAND.
APRIL, 2007
Two strokes, it only took two strokes of her eyelashes over the supple skin of her cheeks to break his control. He had to look, he couldn't just look away.
Mubarak Umar Bugaje was dimly aware of the glasses clinking, the clatter of the cutleries, a chair on his right being scraped over the marble floor of the dining room and the quiet commanding voice of his father speaking. Yet all Mubarak could think of were those eyelashes. The flutter- featherlike, batting his senses awake. Of what they covered beneath, doe-like, moist and true. Her eyes were... truthful.
Hajiya Kulthum coughed, taking him out of his fixed-gaze. Alhaji Umar sitting at the head of the table, passed her a glass of water. And Mubarak was plunged back to his thoughts, that could have been them, that could have been him by her side.
He was doing it again! It was official, he was the most disgusting man ever to live on the face of the earth.
This year had been a terrible year for Mubarak, more like a sinusoidal wave, first, it was a flat line - boring routine, then it was rooftop terrific, then it became borderline insane and right now he was disgusting. So, yes, his year had been graphically a tidal wave.
He had found the love of his life, and even left his former life because she was the keeper. And then he lost her. Now he had to stare at the love of his life across the family dinner table, clinging to his brother, smiling up at his brother. Seeking assurance, protection and support. All that he had once promised to give her. The promise of a beautiful future. It wouldn't have pained a lot if she wasn't seeking all those against him.
Something singed within him.
Shifting his gaze a few short inches to his left he found his brother, Bilaal. He would bet his BMW their hands were intertwined underneath the table. The thought made him drop his spoon making it clatter on the marble floor, the sound jarring.
Taking a sharp intake of breath, he distantly heard his mother telling him to be careful.
He bent to pick it up, peeking under the table and almost sobbed in agony and defeat, he was staring at his worse nightmare. Their fingers were indeed twined into each other's, just beneath the table in the presence of the whole family. Right in his face, their joined hands were glaring at him. Shoving it to his face that they got the world.
His world.
The unfortunate thing was, he couldn't do a thing about it because the love of his life was now his brother's wife. Yet, here he sat across the dining table languidly staring at her, his eyes sure, unblinking and intimidating as heck, hoping to pin her down with a look that would elicit guilt within her. But her eyes fell on their joined hands, and for a moment... Just for a moment, Mubarak thought how soft her hand must have felt against his brother's, but he wouldn't know that because she had never let him touched her hand.
