Delicious Ambiguity | the rainbow named trust

Chapter 10

The tea tastes like my mothers' and I make a solid belief of Mrs Khan and I getting along very well. In our respective rooms, everybody is resting. The icy grey sky is restlessly grumbling. The rain is lashing down with a roar. The tick-tocks of the clock I could hear in ultimate silence is disrupted by a raucous boom of thunder. I switch on the bedside lamp. A frisson of fear is growing on me and I close my eyes tightly. Glass breaks somewhere in the house and I open my eyes with such force, I'm sure they could've popped out, to complete darkness. The stray lights from the road are out too.

The winds are screaming and I jump out of bed. "Zaahid?" I call out, wrapping the blanket around me and holding a flower vase as my choice of weapon. I tread the hallway—shit scared and anxious. He taps my shoulder from behind and the gasp that escapes me drops the vase. "Zaahid, what are you doing here?" I reconfirm. A brilliant flash of lighting strikes the streets and lights up the hallway for a brief second then dies.

"I'm sleep-walking," he chuckles with an undefined enthusiasm. He looks over to his right to see how damaged the hall window is and how long the storm will last. He rubs a hand on his nape. "Are you okay?" he asks when I don't reply.

"Yeah, I'm completely fine! I love storms. Totally—" I begin to say with mock incredulity when thunder rumbles again and rain crashes against the roof more harshly than before. I am shaken, dropping the blanket I run into Zaahid's arms, wrapping mine around his neck and crashing his body with mine. My heart just will not settle down. He pulls me close. His shoulders are so broad and solid. I rest my head on one. He puts one of his arms around my waist like he's anchoring us. "Calming," I whisper, shivering and draped against him, standing on tippy toes. I fit there. I knew it that night, and I know it now.

We chortle into each others neck. Zaahid strokes my hair with his other hand. "Shhh, shhh...I got you." His voice is even like he's trying to calm me down. We sleep the night off spooning and rocking back and forth together.

Those three little words bounce off into the wind till today—still holding their meaning and always being genuine. Today, six years after, the storm designed teacups we used that night sits in a showpiece cabinet of the hall.

❄︎

Winter air laps on my goose-bumped arm and snaps me out of my vulnerable state and I realize I've barely crossed the hall. Unable to stand the stench of despair that permeated the house I pull out the first stool I see in my place and sit. My palms have crescent scars from clenching the sweatshirt too tightly. I press my head into my lap and let my hands hang. After USO Finale, for six months that I lived in London and Birmingham, it had been hell for everyone. I had been so volatile, I was infuriated all the time and there had been not one person who was spared by my temper. Zaahid and Taybah were the two targets I hit the hardest.

I briefly close my eyes, insisting that today I'm not angry, just tired and annoyed. I need my space, time, to get away, to recover my sense of self and have a chance to be alone. My hands run along the leg of the stool on their own accord, searching for something. They trace my name in the engraved leg and electricity strikes through me. I lean over to check. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I feel my carving, "Maira—the lone wolf," on the stool and turn it to the right to see, "Zenelope Forever <3" carved on the edge. The irony is not lost on me that I have failed in both love and loss. The brown hand-painted stool is a DIY project as a part of Let's Be Friends Again campaign Zaahid had launched when Penelope found out I had been living with him. I see my mark painted in gold. WHAT? What's on his mind! My subconscious is yelling, standing on tippy-toes, and bending a little to press her words.

"It's beautiful, just like you." Zaahid had said to Penelope after I had nudged him, as we completed painting the stool. Penelope was over the moon, to the say the very least, hugging him as his mouth had pressed in a hard line. I had stood behind Penelope, bowing my head, stifling a grin as I gave Zaahid thumbs up. Zaahid had gazed at me, his expressions guarded and unreadable. 'What else,' he had mouthed to me as I stood there witnessing his uneasiness with romance. The poor guy had been learning cheesy lines from www.pickuplinesgalore.com to keep up with making Penelope happy until I caught him once red-handed, and since then I was the Hand of the King-Of-Hearts.