Heart Echoes | ✔︎

(11) The Spark of a Fire

"Step aside, son. You're  in the way."

Musa snapped out of his thoughts. He let go of the doorknob, giving way to the old lady who was draped in dark blue gown and a dupatta that rounded her face. She threw a sharp look at him before making her way inside.

Zara.

Why on earth did that name slice his insides to digits?

There are so many Zaras in this world.

But why did that woman just call his uncle her uncle, too?

Gravity pulled him harder to the floor than he could comprehend. His shoulders slumped and his jaw stood rigidly.

"How was the journey?"

Amidst the boggling state of his mind, Musa heard his Uncle ask out of amusing concern.

Musa turned around to see that everyone had gotten to their feet in shock at what just happened.

The woman named Zara choked, cupping her hand over her mouth. Her face dropped in white as if she had lost the steadiness of her demeanor.

"Zara-"  The old woman lifted out her arm and embraced Zara with an engaging concern, keeping her stance up so that Zara wouldn't simper or fall.

Musa pocketed his hands. He saw everyone staring at the same duo. The entrance of the two women had pebbled the business room's water; rippling everyone's face with confusion and curiosity.

Even Talha Omar, who by then tugged his collar as his eyes swayed on the two women in bewilderment.

Where there's confusion, it seemed to wave everyone into a similar party. Musa felt impatient despite his exterior nonchalance.

"You need water," Karim spoke up as if he was the only one who had the least bit of humanity to aid their guests. Barely glancing at the others, he reached out for the jug of water in one hand and an empty glass in another.

Zara seemed to be perplexed herself. Her pink lips moved slowly as if she was murmuring something that was out of Musa's range of senses.

Musa dared took a step closer to the table. All the while his concentrated gaze on Zara's behind. Who was she?

Salih gave Zara his seat. Her faltering arm took hold of it before she sat down. The hospitality everyone was showing to her was mind-boggling to Musa. As if she meant to be someone... someone they all knew, and yet he found himself denying it relentlessly.

The old woman took a chair deftly beside Zara. She did not seize her loyal hand back from Zara's shoulder as Zara gulped down a glass of water. A low hiss escaped her mouth. She shivered visibly as if the tension around him effected her as well.

"We got into a car accident," Zara coughed again. She had grasped control over her voice as she straightened up on the chair while her gaze flickered across the dining room. She took in the amusing decorations like a huge, stoned-feather toppled over a small pillar by the corner and the gold-brown marble floor.

Her head shifted to the plastered-cherry painting on the left-hand wall opposite to where Musa was standing. Her gaze just lingered there, then she brought it back to her lap, where her hands were wrung together.

'Look my way.' A hollow, aching voice would strip in his brain, his hands clenched beside him.

Yet Musa was glad he was behind her chair, a bit at the distance. Her gaze wouldn't reach him unless she was so willed to crane her neck around further. Amazing how thoughts can contradict in one human.