Sapphire

01|Blue

I met him at a fair.

The unbearable heat was battering down on my shoulders. People were flooding through the gates in clusters. In every direction my eyes went, there were bodies flocking together, grinding and colliding with one another. I could feel my clothes clinging to my back due to the humidity and my hair sticking to the sides of my face and neck. I stood in a comparatively quiet corner, my eyes running over the crowd of faces walking by, desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of the group of sisters I had been estranged from.

Three men were lazily pacing near me, their eyes sizing me up and down. The desperate glint in their gazes made me uncomfortably self-aware of my body. I flitted my eyes away from them and kept them locked in a different direction as if I was blissfully unaware of their dirty looks, but my hands discretely dragged my chiffon scarf over my chest.

The men pointed out a spot on my arm to each other and let out loud, boisterous laughs. I couldn't hold my curiosity, so I looked down my shoulder.

There was a gaping split in my sleeve, exposing the skin under it. I wasn't sure how it happened, but the frayed threads indicated that it was the work of something sharp.

My face flushed with embarrassment. Though I was fully clothed, the small piece of bare flesh suddenly made me feel naked in those men's eyes. The scarf loosely wrapped over my shoulders was too sheer to cover the hole, and I was afraid of moving it from its place in case I ended up flashing those men something else. So I hastily moved my fingers to pinch the hole shut. My eyes grew more desperate as I searched for my sisters.

That's when he came to me.

I don't know if it was the helpless look on my face or the malice in those men's eyes that made him want to help out—but Sharaf was the only one from the sea of people who stepped forward. He stood in front of me, blocking those men's view, and looked down at me.

His rich brown eyes locked with mine for the first time.

"Are you okay?" he asked. He was shouting over the racket around us, but there was a gentleness in his tone that caused a strange sensation in my stomach.

I first eyed him with distrust. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his facial features were very typical of Bengali men, and there was a shadow of beard on his jaw. His clothes and the way he carried himself told me he belonged to a reputable family. My mind warned me that he is a stranger, but I could already feel my heart beginning to trust him over his appearance.

I swallowed the lump in my throat before answering. "I came here with my relatives, but now I can't find them," I admitted meekly. "And my phone is dead."

He shoved a hand inside his pocket without a second thought and brought out his cell phone. "Here," he said, offering it to me. "You can use mine."

I eagerly took his phone from his palm and dialed my sister's number. I prayed under my breath as the phone rang and let out a sigh as she received it. I named a few of the stores around me to give her an estimation of my location.

I peeked at him from my peripheral vision. He was now slightly leaning towards me—decreasing the height between us—but not so much that it would make me feel uncomfortable. His eyes followed my movements.

He was scrutinizing me like those men were previously, but the difference between the nature of their gazes was like that of the sky and ground. Those men made my skin crawl, but his look made the muscles in my stomach sensitive to the fluttering in it as if I had just jumped off a very high cliff.

I ended the conversation and hastily handed him his phone back.

"Thanks," I breathed.

His eyes darted towards the tear in my dress, making me even more self-conscious than before—if possible. I pinched my fingers harder.

He looked around, his eyes landing on a small stall with neon scarves hanging from the hooks. He walked towards it and gestured for me to follow him.

Despite my incessant protests, he picked a silk blue scarf and paid the saleswoman for it. He handed it to me.

"I don't have the money to pay you back."

"You don't need to."

"I can't accept this," I repeated, shaking my head.

"I insist."

The resolution in his eyes made me reach out for the scarf with hesitant fingers. I took it and wrapped it around my shoulders, I untucked my hair and fanned it over my back.

He was still watching me with that look in his eyes.

"I will return your money once my cousins arrive," I said.

"I won't accept it."

"Then I can't take this..." I started unraveling the scarf from around me.

"Stop, stop," he cried, raising both his hands in protest. "If you insist on paying me back, how about you give me your name."

I stopped mid-unravel. He was staring at me wide-eyed, his expression innocent, but his lips were tugged upwards in a playful smile.

He wanted nothing, and it was everything.

I saw my cousins at a distance, walking by the stalls lining the busy pathway.

I turned to look at him, his head now turned towards them as well. His face was unreadable.

"Neela," I said under my breath.

He met my eyes again, surprise flickering in them.

I suddenly felt the urge to escape from him. My legs started moving by their own accord, and before I knew it, I was running at full speed away from him never once looking back to see the amused look on his face.