"Mujhe jhelna mushkil hai nader," she said with a smile while her gaze was fixed on the table.
("It's difficult to tolerate me, Nader")
"Main jhel lunga," I replied.
("I'll manage")
She looked up towards me, then continued.
"Mai khubsurat nahi ho...
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Aziz, is this necessary? My mind questioned.
If you don't do this, how will you have a conversation with your fire, idiot, my heart replied.
I can't believe I'm actually puncturing her car's tire just to spend time with her.
Aziz, this is so wrong. If she finds out about your scheme, she'll definitely be furious. You're crazy, Aziz, I said while puncturing her car's tire.
Finally getting up, I looked at her black Mercedes. I'm sorry, but I don't have any other option than doing this. I can't live without hearing her voice.
I need her voice to survive.
I might sound crazy, but I am, for her.
I went inside after completing the task. I saw her sitting at a table, deeply engrossed in reading her book.
I never thought I would fall in love with someone who is so devoted to her religion, while I don't believe in her Allah.
She never revealed her full hair, only a glimpse when she adjusted her scarf.
What am I lacking that I should ask from her Allah?
Whatever I ask for, I get it, so why should I ask her Allah?
Everyone says to ask from Allah and you'll receive it.
"Aur agar allah unhe deta bhi hai, toh unhe us cheez ka intezaar kar na hota gai, aur meri dictionary mein intezaar jaisa shabd hein nahi hai."
"Joh chahe woh haasil kar sakta hoon. Aur main Uns ko bhi haasil kar lunga aur uske allah ko dekhaunga, ki maine usse kitni jaldi haasil kiya hai."
Finally, it was 10:00, time to close the cafe, and everyone was leaving by now. All her coworkers had left, including Hamza.
She was packing her bag, and I too took my coat and walked out. I stood near my car while she was locking the cafe.
She walked towards her car, completely ignoring my presence. I smiled, seeing her coldness; she looked even more beautiful when angry.
Her red nose, though, looked even cuter, perfectly matching her angry face.
She was about to get into her car but halted her steps upon seeing her first tire punctured. She clenched her fist, ready to punch her car, but stopped and looked at me.
Finally, peace. I felt a mix of emotions forming only from her cold stare. She then broke eye contact and started calling someone.
I was standing on her left side, as my car was parked beside hers. I guess the person wasn't picking up the call; she tried again.
Finally giving up, she started walking away, perhaps to grab a taxi. I watched her every move; she didn't speak a single word, neither did I.
As she passed by me, "Your tire is punctured. Let me drop you, Ms. Reza," I asked, keeping my voice as soft as possible.
