Tale In The Red Sand

Chapter Twenty

The next morning came faster than Hibaaq would've liked, she ached all over from straining with the heavy boxes the day before and running around from sun up till sun down. Though, crawling further into her covers was not an option, she had a class to attend. Hibaaq mumbled silent protests as she rolled from her back to her side, rubbing away the fatigue that still lingered on her puffy eyelids. She was relieved that she at least had half the mind to draw her curtains the night before for the sun couldn't reach her from the sanctuary of her bed.

The demurred expression on her face started to contort into that of a frivolous grin as her brain began to slowly turn its gears and arouse the memories from the evening past. Hibaaq softly chortled, her smile so taut she thought she was still dreaming before the tender ache reached the muscles in her jaw. She hid her face in the pillows, feeling childlike, as if there were a million cameras pointed at her from every dark nook of her bedroom; capturing the silly moment where her legs rose up from behind and started to sway to and fro like a giddy school girl in one of those western commercials. There was a time where she would wake up in the morning and not think of the Italian man at all. Not only had he taken over her conscious thoughts, he held reign over her dreams because even in the hush of night she couldn't be free from him. She couldn't find the reasons why she must. Nonetheless, she forced the silly notions out of her head and started readying for the day.

The two rakahs that made up fajr was the prayer Hibaaq adored the most. There was something about the quiet peace of the morning before all the hustle and bustle. The opportunity to take a few minutes of time, savouring every breath during every recitation, every rukoo, every prostration. She felt evidently closer to her creator this way, for the reason that she stood before Allah, trying her very best to deliver her prayers with the utmost respect and fear. Fear that regarded her humility before the almighty, that he was much more grand and superior than her human brain could ever comprehend, and as she pressed her forehead down for the last prostration, her heart slightly trembled at the overwhelming immensity of that verity.

By the time Hibaaq left her bedroom, the sun had risen high up in the azure sky, blessing the rolling scales of her golden country farther than her eyes could reach. The daytime in Somalia was just as breathtaking as the nighttime. Ercole could attest for this as he captured the very magnificence with his own eyes, gazing out the kitchen window, a perfect portrait with the tall swaying palm trees in view.

The smell of spiced tea wafted to Hibaaq's nose teasingly as she made her way down the set of marble steps, breathing in the sweet scent before her eyebrows furrowed confusedly. She wondered who could've put the tea on as Xalimo and herself were the only known tea brewers. What she wasn't expecting to find was Ercole, stirring a pot of shaa Somali over the stove. It was quiet the spectacle. Hibaaq lost the ability to speak for a moment, shamelessly ogling. She couldn't understand for the life of her how he appeared a hundred times more appealing while doing something so ordinary.

Her stomach stirred like the tea in the pot, mesmerised by the messy volume of his lengthy brown hair, and his sharp and angular profile. His looks were so purely formidable, one wouldn't believe him to be the sweetest soul on earth.

Her fingers clutched her flowing skirt at the sides, flexing and relaxing around the fabric, a habit that accompanied her wild nerves. Hibaaq walked into the kitchen, clearing her throat, not wanting to linger in silence way longer than preferred. Ercole straightened at the sound, turning his head to see her standing, her hands resting on the countertop and an amused glint alight in her honey brown eyes as she tilted her head to the side. His frantic heart jumped at the pretty gesture, then he was back staring into the sepia liquid in the metal pot. She had this effortless effect on him and it kind of drove him crazy, it was as if every fibre of his body suddenly betrayed the only sane part of his conscience.

"Asalamualaikum." Her alluring voice shot through the air, laced with a sultry morning rasp with an amused quip to it just like the one that danced around in her gorgeous eyes.

"Walaikumasalam." Ercole returned.

"Well I'm impressed, I don't know how you've managed, but you've perfected shaa." Hibaaq complimented.

"I would love to take the credit, Bella, but sadly I didn't make it. A helper did, she left just before you came down." Ercole stated, shrugging. "She asked me to tend to it... I think it's ready," Ercole gestured to taste the little pool of shaa in the wooden spoon he stirred with. A large hand cupped underneath it so that it wouldn't have the chance to spill over their toes. He brought the spoon up to her plump lips and Hibaaq took a quick sip, smacking her lips in a jesting manner as Ercole waited for approval. He chuckled lowly at her exaggerated deliberation. "Well?" He prompted with a single thick eyebrow raised for emphasis.

"That would be Xalimo..." Hibaaq began to speak, though she quickly swallowed her sentence at the fleeting yet electrifying action of Ercole passing the rough tab of his thumb over her smooth chin. The motion was so soft she could barely feel it. She hadn't noticed the small trickle that escaped the spoon after all. Hibaaq almost let out an invigorating yelp before she caught her tongue between her teeth, instead she occupied herself taking two cups out of the cupboard, trying to feign a cool composure. "It's ready." She squeaked, placing the cups down.

She wasn't sure if what he was doing to her was intentional or not, but there were things her heart just couldn't take. This was one of those situations, she had to put a break on humiliating herself by running for the hills that was the comfort of her bedroom and screaming into a pillow in an exhilarated buzz.

Ercole, ever so nonchalant, began carefully pouring the sepia liquid into the teacups. Hibaaq watched, wondering once again, how he managed to look so enthralling carrying out such a simple task. He was like the epitome of a walking distraction, doing  anything with a strong air of causal flamboyance, Hibaaq could not help but fall victim to his beckoning distractions.

Ercole's eyes shifted over to hers for a second as he placed the pot back down on the cooling stove, his heart picking up a pace or two. He could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks, painting his face pink as he caught glimpse of her doting gaze. One that she had given him some weeks ago on a breezy night up on the terrace. An intoxicating gaze that would have any man on their knees, defenceless.

Hibaaq persisted with the beautifully blasted look in her eyes, even on their way to the dining room for breakfast, it remained. It caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand in ovation, sending warm and pleasant tingles throughout his whole body. If she had perhaps given Abdihakeem that same doting gaze, Ercole understood fully why the man stayed pursuing her.

Hibaaq uncovered the tray of steaming malawax and layered a few on her plate. She tried to enjoy the silence as they soundlessly ate, but there was a storm of turmoil in her head, still reeling back from that moment in the kitchen. She didn't know how much more of this she could take.

"Are you alright." He questioned from across the table, gazing at her from past his thick eyelashes. The inquiry was abrupt, Hibaaq had no time to get lost in his easy charm.

"I'm great." She replied lowly, taking a few sips of tea, attempting to bring back the moisture in her mouth.

A lie. A painful, gruelling lie, but she couldn't tell him that he was the complete undoing of her reared principles, her rationality and the strength in her knees. The one that held her heart captive in the palm of his hand, close enough that she could retrieve it back, but had not the sense or desire to.

...