𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨 - 𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚒 𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚔

take you with me.

Rami is sitting in the corner of the jet, near the window. I walk up to him with my purse beside me. I open the small luggage compartment above the seats and store my bag. I hear Rami's cell phone ring, the ringtone that resembles mine. He looks across the screen at who's calling him and then gets up, his expression different from before.

"I have to answer, I'll be right back" he gets up and walks down the stairs, like he doesn't want anyone to hear. His steps are wide, with one hand in the back pocket of his pants and the other holding his cell phone so tightly that his fingertips are pale.

Should I be worried? Shouldn't I say something? If I say something, won't it look like I'm too jealous or possessive? I sit on my seat, feeling too hesitant to do anything. But if I don't ask, it'll look like I don't even care about anything. If I try to mention the connection in a cool way, maybe he won't notice my anxiety flying out of my ass.

After exactly two minutes, because I kept looking obsessively at my cell phone's clock, it comes back, putting the phone in my pocket and his eyes staring at the floor. After long steps, he sits next to me, rubbing his hands quickly. My anxious eyes follow the movement of his hands. We continued in silence for a few seconds until I break it. "Something happened? I try to sound just curious. Not possessive. Just curious.

He shows a sad smile and with one of his hands, he holds mine. His hands are cold, which is unusual. "It was nothing, Domi', he says, like a liar.

I always had that sixth sense. In 97.4% of the times, I can tell if someone is lying. It's like my mind can smell the smell, the vibrations. As if I could decipher it like a supercomputer with emotions. When I was little, I always knew when my dad was lying to my mom when he used to say he had quit smoking when his shirts smelled of nicotine and packs were hidden between the pillows.

He looks calm, but with a touch of sadness in the corners of his lips.

LONDON, ENGLAND📌

The flight was smooth, with some turbulence because we managed to escape in time for a summer storm in Oslo. But London is no different from there, the sun is shining like never before. Rami slept and woke up every 40 minutes, just to change position.

We waited for the ladder to come down and I see Ana closing her Louis Vuitton purse and fixing the neckline of her shirt more than tightly. The breeze is colder and wetter than in Oslo. The runway is busy today with jets taking off and landing while we unload the bags.

I see Rami typing frantically on his cell phone. His lips twitch with every word he writes and I wonder if I should say something. He comes to me, with his bags beside him. "Domi, come here" he says, making a gesture with his hands, taking me to a covered part of the track. We distanced ourselves from the group, some going to their homes, others to hotel rooms.

"I won't be able to stay," he begins, passing his hands over my arms, "Sam called me and said I still have scenes to record from Mr. Robot.

I feel my expression changing, my worried face becomes sad and melancholy. "Does that mean you're leaving?" I ask, looking deep into his eyes.

He nods his head. "You can come with me" he suggests, leaning his hand on his back.

"I wish I could, but I have my work here, post-production and all," my fingers holding the collar of his jacket, "for how long?"

"Two weeks. Maybe three. I really don't know, because there's still the narrations, so..."

Is that what I was feeling this morning? That discomfort as if something was going to happen? Was that it?

"No problem, we'll talk to each other every day, send messages, FaceTime... we'll manage" I say, trying to sound optimistic, even though we know that this is not good, not soon after we make everything official.

"I'll come back, I promise you. Then I'll take you with me." He promises, bringing my body close to him, holding my face with one hand.

"Are you still going today?" I ask, but something in my tone tries to convince him to stay with me just one more day.

"I take the first flight to New York," he says, sad to be disappointed.

"You can stay at my house tonight and take your flight tomorrow," I try to convince him, "and besides, you stayed on a jet for five hours, you'll be exhausted if you fly for seven more hours.

"It's an eight-hour flight," he corrects me and I make a face, "Domi, we'll talk to each other every day, I'll find a way to call you between shootings." Rami gropes my face with his warm, soft hands against my cheek.

"Okay, since I didn't convince you to stay another day, I'm going with you to buy the ticket, can I?" I ask, holding the back of his hands.

"You have to come with me," he places great emphasis on having, which makes me smile.