chapitre dix-huit
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In the months following that unforgettable New Year's Eve, Isra's life continued its course, swaying between moments of joy and sorrow, growth and recovery. As political tensions heightened across Europe, uncertainty clouded the horizon, yet within this tumultuous backdrop, Isra's personal journey evolved.
She maneuvered through the intricate maze of grief, where Haadi's absence lingered like a gentle ache. However, as time passed, the sharpness of her sorrow softened, allowing fragments of healing to seep in. Haadi's memory transformed into a source of resilience, guiding her onward rather than tethering her to the past.
Her bond with her parents deepened, as the shared experience of loss forged a stronger connection. Her father continued to impart lessons in mathematics, English, and biology. Within those lessons, Isra discovered not only the intricacies of the subjects but also the enduring love between a father and his daughter.
Friendship remained a constant source of support. Aisha's lively nature and unwavering loyalty brought laughter and shared aspirations into Isra's life. Marcel, a steadfast companion, continued to offer support, accompanying her through both joyful and challenging times. Their friendship flourished as they journeyed through life's twists and turns together.
In the cozy confines of Aisha's bedroom, Isra and her friend sat on the edge of the bed, their eyes brimming with excitement and anticipation. The air was thick with a mix of nervous energy and budding romance as Aisha began to share a secret that danced upon her lips.
Isra, barely containing her eagerness, leaned in, her voice a gentle whisper, "Aisha, you have that look on your face. What happened?"
Her cheeks flushed with a delicate shade of pink. "Etienne asked me to be exclusive."
A surge of delight coursed through Isra's veins as she clasped her hands together, unable to contain her joy. "That's incredible news! I'm so happy for you!"
Aisha's smile blossomed, her expression alight with a newfound sense of contentment. "I can hardly believe it myself. I said that I would never fall in love with a man but here I am. I love him, Isra. He's the only one for me."
Oh, how people changed. Isra would never have expected a girl like Aisha to surrender to a man like Etienne.
"Tell me everything, Aisha. How did he ask? What did you say?"
Her laughter danced in the air. "Etienne and I went to dinner last night and I went home with him. You know, the usual. We've been seeing each other more often now, and he's been acting so different around me, like a true gentleman. And when he and I... when we're in bed together... it's... he's changed. He makes love to me so sweetly now and he tells me that I'm beautiful. He says the most wonderful things to me."
Isra took her hand and held it tightly. "You deserve love and happiness, Aisha. I'm glad that Etienne has been able to give it to you."
"Me too."
That very evening, as Isra stepped into the warmth of her home, she could hear the hushed voices of her parents emanating from the living room. Her father and mother were talking over tea. Intrigued, she paused, deciding to listen in for a moment. The somber tones in her father's voice caught her attention, as he discussed the political state of Europe.
"The situation in Europe continues to be tense, my dear," her father began. "Germany's rearmament program is causing unease among the neighboring countries. The rising influence of the Nazi Party and their aggressive expansionist policies are troubling indeed."
Her mother's voice joined in, a note of worry underlying her words. "I don't know why this is all happening. I'm so worried for us and for Isra, too."
Isra's heart sank as she absorbed their words. She made her presence known, and her parents turned their attention towards her. The worry inscribed on her face did not go unnoticed, and her father reached out to comfort her.
"Will these conflicts reach France, Baba?" She took a seat beside him on the sofa, glancing between him and Samia.
He placed a hand on her shoulder. "We must remember that France is a strong nation, and our leaders are working diligently to maintain peace and stability. While conflicts may arise in other parts of Europe, we hope to preserve the peace here."
She nodded, but her worry lingered in her eyes. "But Baba, what if... what if things escalate? What if we're drawn into the turmoil? I can't bear the thought of losing anyone else."
Tarek's grip on her shoulder tightened slightly. "I understand your fears, my dear. We can't predict the future, but we can hope for the best and work towards a peaceful resolution. Remember, we have a strong sense of unity and resilience here in France."
Her mother hummed in agreement. "Your father's right, my dear. We'll be safe. We promise."
Her father shifted the conversation, redirecting Isra's attention away from the unsettling world affairs. His eyes softened as he asked about the letter she had prepared for Haadi's parents earlier in the day.
"Yes, I made sure to mail it." She still wrote them regularly to let them know that they weren't alone in their grief. Although she hadn't completely moved on from Haadi's death, speaking to his parents was a way of combatting her sorrow.
"Would you like some tea?" Samia asked, standing up from the sofa and heading to the kitchen with the empty plate that once held biscuits.
"I'm alright, Mama. I think I'm going to get some sleep. I'll be visiting Marcel tomorrow since it's Sunday. He's helping me practice my English."
Her mother paused mid-step and turned around, quickly sharing a look with Tarek that Isra didn't catch. "Right. Of course. Well, you go get ready for bed then. Sleep well, darling."
Isra bid her parents goodnight, her mind already filled with anticipation for the day to come. In her room, she changed out of her day dress and into her nightgown, brushing her hair quickly before settling into bed. With a contented sigh, she drifted into a peaceful slumber, her dreams overflowing with the promise of a new day.
The next morning, she carefully selected her attire after a refreshing bath. She opted for a knee-length pleated skirt in a soft pastel hue, paired with a fitted blouse adorned with delicate lace detailing. The blouse had a high collar and billowy sleeves, exuding a touch of sophistication. Over it, she draped a lightweight cardigan in a complementary shade, its buttons adding a charming accent. To complete her ensemble, she slipped into low-heeled pumps that matched the color of her skirt. Her hair, usually left down in loose waves, was neatly pinned back with a decorative hair clip.
She admired her reflection in the mirror. A sense of anticipation swirled within her, knowing that she would soon be meeting Marcel. She wanted to present herself as her best self, feeling a newfound confidence and radiance.
Satisfied with her outfit choice, Isra grabbed her bag, filled with her notebook, pens, and the English book they were currently reading, ensuring she was well-prepared for their study session. With a final glance in the mirror and a smile playing on her lips, she headed out the door.
Isra entered the parlour, and from the dining area, her parents spotted her, greeting her with warm smiles.
Samia's eyes twinkled roguishly as she analyzed Isra's carefully chosen ensemble. "Well, well, Isra, aren't you looking lovely today?"
Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but she shrugged it off with a smirk. "A girl must always make an effort, even for a study session. Besides, I'll be having breakfast at Marcel's house. I can't dress like a slop!"
Tarek chuckled and raised an eyebrow as she walked over to the table. "Is that so? And what does Marcel think of your impeccable sense of style?"
She rolled her eyes and picked up an apple from the fruit bowl. "He always has something nice to say. But honestly, it's not about impressing anyone. I just enjoy dressing up and feeling confident."
Samia nodded approvingly, her eyes brimming with maternal pride. "You've become quite the young woman, Isra."
She grinned, taking a bite of her apple. "Thank you, Mama. Well, I ought to be on my way."
Gracing them with a final goodbye, she left the house, giddy as she hurried down the steps and out onto the street this spring morning. It was quite the journey to his apartment, but seeing him made every minute worth it.
The sunlight, gentle and caressing, kissed her face as she strolled along the bustling streets of the arrondissement. The air carried the scent of blooming flowers, mingling with the tantalizing aromas of freshly baked bread and brewing coffee from the nearby patisseries.
As Isra approached the familiar building that housed Marcel's apartment, her excitement intensified, painting a vibrant tableau of colors in her mind. She ascended the stone staircase and dashed inside. Each step carried her closer to the threshold of Marcel's abode. Once she was at his apartment, her knuckles met the door's surface with a gentle, reverent knock.
She could almost hear the soft shuffling of footsteps before finally, the door swung open, revealing Marcel's form, a vision of welcoming warmth and familiarity. His eyes, akin to deep pools of azure, met hers, and a smile of recognition graced his lips.
"Right on time," he said. "Come in."
She walked right in; she considered this place her second home.
"Did you have breakfast?" Marcel asked, making his way over to the kitchen.
"I skipped it," she said and dropped her bag on the sofa, promptly joining him.
"Is it because you adore my cooking?"
Isra helped him prepare oven-toasted bread with cream and eggs, and although she didn't mention it, she had skipped breakfast to have an excuse to spend more time at his house with him.
They sat together at the kitchen table for breakfast. "These are a bit burnt, but they'll do," he joked, inspecting the burnt egg she had made.
"I never claimed to be a good cook!" Isra glared at her plate. "I tried my best, okay? I make better Algerian food."
Marcel, with a dazzling grin, took a bite. "I think we both know who should do the cooking from now on."
She huffed, but she couldn't suppress her smile for long. "But they taste fine, don't they?"
"They do," he said after he swallowed. "I was just making fun."
"You're so annoying, Marcel."
"Can you say that in English?"
"Not yet," she said firmly, taking a bite out of her own breakfast. "But I'll learn, and it'll be the only English phrase I learn just so I can say it to you in multiple languages."
He laughed, a sound that was full and hearty and genuine.
After breakfast, they sat down on the sofa, Marcel holding his copy of Jane Eyre open for both of them to read from. She listened to his pronunciation of every English word, and whenever he encouraged her to read along with him, she shook her head, instead preferring to hear his soothing voice.
"You'd better not be falling asleep again."
"I'm not," she protested, though she was feeling a bit sleepy. "Keep reading, Marcel. Please."
He pointed at a word on the page. "What does that mean?"
Isra stared at the word, her mind trying to remember all the previous things he taught her in hopes of deciphering its meaning. "I-I don't know..."
"Let me read out the sentence for you."
She nestled back into him, her head falling against the front of his shoulder.
"I ask you to pass through life at my side - to be my second self, and best earthly companion," he first said in English. And then he translated it for her.
There was something tender in the silence that followed, as though that sentence in the book was a declaration of his own feelings.
"That's... beautiful," she whispered, knowing that if she showed him her face, he'd notice her deep blush.
"It really is, isn't it?"
What followed was another pause before his lips caught her warm cheek.
Isra still refused to look at him. Suddenly, images of Haadi flashed before her eyes, creating tears. She did her best to hold them back, determined not to mourn for a loss she couldn't reverse. She missed Haadi, and she would always miss him, but she had Marcel too, who she cared about deeply.
For the remaining time they spent indulging in books, she clung to Marcel as though she wanted him to know that she was going to move on somehow, and that she'd never shut him out of her heart completely.
That day, and every day thereafter spent by his side, she made it known. He made it known, too, in a way that only she could understand.
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It was now August again. 1936.
The morning hours of her eighteenth birthday were spent preparing for a night out with Aisha and Marcel at the Moulin Rouge.
Her friend arrived promptly at ten in the morning with two bags in hand. One housed makeup and hair products, which she espoused were necessary to transform her into the woman she would be tonight. The other was a neatly folded dress for the occasion, which also doubled as her birthday gift.
From her mother, Isra had received one of Samia's prized gold rings. From her father, she had received a sizeable amount of money to put to use however she saw fit. Marcel had promised her a gift later tonight.
"Aisha, is all this preparation really necessary? It's only ten in the morning. We're going out at seven."
"It absolutely is!" she exclaimed, dropping the bags onto Isra's bed. "I'm going to make you beautiful-you're always beautiful, but imagine how gorgeous you'll look once I'm done with you."
"Aisha..." She twiddled her thumbs nervously.
"Don't you want to impress Marcel?"
Her face burned with a heat of a thousand suns. "W-Why would I want to impress him?"
"Oh please," her friend opened the makeup bag and began to retrieve the items, "for a year I've listened to you gush about him. You've flaked plans we had to spend time with him. And by the looks of it, I'd say you're smitten."
Isra sat down on the bed. "He's a good friend who helped me when I lost Haadi."
At the mention of his name, her heart sank slightly. She couldn't believe that a year had passed. It seemed like just yesterday she had spent the night with him at Hotel de la Régence on her birthday, and here she was now, with Aisha and Marcel. There was no way she could have predicted this outcome.
"Of course, Isra," she said it like she didn't believe it, "he's just a friend."
"I'm serious."
Aisha gathered the items, marched to the vanity table, and put them down. "You're eighteen now. You don't need to pretend anymore. I know you like him, and you know it too."
She bit the inside of her cheek, reluctant to admit it. "But what about Haadi?"
"What about him, Isra? He's dead."
She flinched at Aisha's straightforwardness. "He was my first ever... it's only been a year..."
Her friend looked up at her, the gentleness of her smile taking Isra aback. "A year is twelve months. And in those twelve months, you've learned to live and smile again. You've learned to love again." Walking back to the bed, she sat down, taking Isra's hand on her own. "He loves you too. I can see that he does. Would it be fair to keep him waiting? What if it takes you two years? Three? Four? Ten? Will Marcel keep waiting? He has a life to live also, so why not ask him to live it with you?"
Aisha had a point. Isra wasn't sure how much time was enough for her to grieve, or when she'd fully be able to rid herself of this guilt. But one thing she was sure of was Marcel. She wanted him by her side. Even though the future was uncertain-the future of Europe and this country-she wanted him.
"You don't need to feel guilty, okay?" Aisha continued. "Wallowing in misery and regret wouldn't make Haadi happy."
Her friend was right-she couldn't put her life on hold forever. She had to live. She would continue to love Haadi, but she could also love other people.
"Now, let's get you dolled up!"
For the next two hours, Isra went through a tedious routine created by none other than Aisha. She was bathed, rid of every bit of hair on her skin, and doused in perfumes. It was a bit much, but Isra allowed her friend to do what she saw fit. If anything, she had a good time bonding with her over gossip and their plans for the evening.
They took a brief pause to fill their stomachs with lunch and then resumed soon after. By four in the afternoon, Aisha removed the curlers holding Isra's hair in place. At five, the makeup was applied. And by six, she was wearing her dress.
"So, how do you like it?"
The gown cascaded like liquid silk. The neckline dipped in a gentle V, revealing her collarbone, while a drape of soft fabric adorned her shoulders like a whisper of a dream. The dress seemed to flow effortlessly from her slender shoulders, its bias-cut design creating a mesmerizing drape that swirled with her every movement.
"I love it," Isra whispered, gazing at the unrecognizable person standing before her in the mirror.
Aisha smiled, her eyes glistening with joy at Isra's reaction. "You are a vision, my dear." She had dressed up too in between helping Isra, but her dress was much more understated, so as not to steal the spotlight.
A gentle tap sounded on the door, and Isra called out, "Come in."
Her mother stepped into the room, her eyes widening in admiration at the sight before her. "You look absolutely marvelous! Your father would think so too. I wish he wasn't working today."
Isra blushed at the praise from her mother, a woman whose opinion she held in high regard. "Thank you, Mama. Aisha gave it to me as a present."
Samia, standing beside Isra, smiled warmly at Aisha. "You have a heart of gold, Aisha. Thank you for this thoughtful gift," she said with genuine appreciation.
"It's my pleasure," she replied. "Isra is like a sister to me."
When Isra remembered the time, she turned to her mother. "We should get going. We're supposed to be there at seven, and it'll take us some time to arrive."
"Of course, my darling." Samia kissed her cheeks lovingly. "Get going, alright? Have fun and be safe."
"We will!" The girls exclaimed unanimously. Before they departed, Isra picked up her purse, full of the money her father had given her today.
As the sun began to set on the cobblestone streets of the 18th arrondissement, they stepped out of Isra's apartment building. The narrow streets were bustling with locals going about their evening routines. The gas lamps lining the streets flickered to life as they began their journey. It seemed to be completed in record time given how engaged they were in conversation.
Soon, the distant sounds of music and laughter grew louder, guiding them toward their destination. They approached the iconic red windmill of the Moulin Rouge. Before entering, they paused to admire the Moulin Rouge's façade - its colorful lights dancing against the darkening sky. The marquee displayed the night's performances, promising a spectacle of dazzling dances and captivating acts.
Inside the cabaret, the atmosphere was electric. The air buzzed with anticipation as elegantly dressed patrons filled the venue. They had arrived promptly, and all that was left was to scour the venue for Marcel, which wasn't too hard.
He had seen them enter from where he secured a table on the other side of the room.
Isra couldn't shake the feeling that his eyes were on her, and as they locked gazes, a blush spread across her cheeks. There was something magnetic in the way he looked at her.
"You look beautiful," he said softly, but she managed to catch his words amid the conversations surrounding them. "Happy birthday."
"Thank you. You look handsome as well." He truly did. His suit was tailored to perfection, his appearance trim and neat. She could smell him too-like the freshest of pine.
Aisha, ever the playful one, scoffed playfully and rolled her eyes, breaking the tension with a mischievous remark. "Oh, come on, you two! Can't you see the sparks flying between you? Just kiss already!" she teased, nudging Isra forward.
She stumbled into Marcel's chest, his hands instinctively flying to her waist to balance her. Isra laughed, her cheeks flushing even deeper, but she couldn't deny the truth in Aisha's words. The friction between her and Marcel was undeniable, and as he led them to their seats, she was more nervous than she'd ever been around him. He offered to pull out her seat for her, and she thanked him shyly.
Luckily, before Aisha could comment, the curtains were drawn and the first show began.
But her heart fluttered with nervous excitement as she glanced at him, he who was engrossed in the spectacle unfolding on the stage. His blue eyes sparkled with fascination, and she couldn't help but notice how effortlessly handsome he looked with the lights pouring on his face.
Aisha, noticing the two stealing peeks at one another, leaned in and addressed them. "Well, well, could there be a more delightful pair of lovebirds in all of Paris tonight?"
"Oh, stop it, you! Marcel and I are just friends," she said, attempting to sound casual, though her expression betrayed her true feelings.
He chuckled, trying to appear nonchalant. "Absolutely, just friends," he echoed, but his eyes betrayed a feeling of something more profound. "Though I must admit, Isra does look particularly radiant this evening."
Aisha leaned back in her chair, feigning surprise. "Radiant? Well, I suppose there's no shortage of radiant beauty in this cabaret," she said, gesturing toward the dancers who moved gracefully across the stage.
Isra's cheeks yet again flushed at his compliment, and a shy smile upturned her lips.
Marcel glanced at Aisha, catching her subtle cues, and decided to seize the moment. "But there is one particular star in this cabaret whose radiance outshines them all," he said, his voice soft and earnest as he turned his gaze back to Isra.
She could hardly believe the words she was hearing, the emotions bubbling to the surface. "This can be discussed later. Let's watch the dancers."
The cabaret's dancers twirled and swayed on the stage, their graceful movements captivating the audience. Isra attempted to focus on the performance, yet her thoughts kept returning to Marcel, seated closely beside her, their hands now softly entwined under the table. As the music played, and the dancers' elegance mesmerized the crowd, she felt herself naturally leaning into him.
Every once in a while, Marcel's voice caressed her ears as he whispered something playful. She couldn't help but giggle, her laughter mingling with the music around them.
Across from them, Aisha observed with a knowing smile. Despite Isra's attempts to understate it, their subconscious gestures, whispered conversations, and the quiet intimacy of their touch conveyed volumes to anyone paying attention.
The dancers took their final bow, the audience erupted into applause. Isra and Marcel joined in, their eyes still locked, oblivious to their surroundings. Aisha's smile grew wider, and she clapped enthusiastically, a silent cheerleader for the love that was blossoming before her eyes.
Once the final notes of the performance faded into the air, the trio rose from their seats. Marcel extended his hand to Isra, and she took it with a smile, feeling a delightful thrill course through her veins as they made their way to the bar together. There were so many options and she didn't know which to choose from, unlike Aisha who went right ahead and ordered a gin and tonic.
Marcel noticed her hesitation and decided to take the lead. "How about we start with something light and celebratory? A glass of champagne, perhaps?" he suggested with a warm smile.
Isra nodded. "Yes, champagne sounds lovely."
As they awaited their drinks, Aisha joined in. "I should've gone for champagne too! A gin and tonic isn't quite in the celebratory spirit, is it? Eh, you know, who cares? I want to have fun."
The bartender arrived with their drinks, setting down the glasses of champagne and Aisha's gin and tonic. She raised her glass. "Well, cheers to us and this fabulous night!"
Isra and Marcel clinked their glasses with hers. "To friendship and spontaneity," Aisha added. "Speaking of spontaneity, are you two finally going to admit there's something more than just friendship here?"
Isra blushed, taking a sip of her champagne. "Aisha, you're incorrigible!"
Marcel laughed, staring into this glass. "We're just enjoying each other's company."
"Absolutely, just two friends having a great time together."
Aisha leaned back, crossing her arms with a knowing grin. "Uh-huh, sure. Just keep enjoying that friendship then."
So, as the night waltzed on, their laughter echoed through the cabaret like a chorus of joy, intertwined with the melodies of the jazz band. The champagne flowed like a river of bubbles, and the spirits of celebration took hold of them all. Isra could feel herself losing track of time and inhibitions.
Marcel noticed her increasing intoxication and gently tried to steer her towards moderation. "Isra, perhaps it's best to slow down a bit. I don't want you to feel unwell."
She smiled sweetly at him. "I'm perfectly fine, Marcel! This champagne tastes fantastic!" She finished another glass.
"That's the spirit, Isra!" Aisha said, raising her glass in a toast. She too, was flushed and drunk.
With each glass, Isra felt herself floating on a cloud of exhilaration, the world around her swathed in a hazy glow. She was bolder and more carefree as the night took on a surreal and dreamlike quality.
When the clock struck midnight, the cabaret's energy reached its zenith, and she found herself dancing with abandon, swirling on the dance floor with Marcel and Aisha, their laughter and footsteps melding with the music.
Marcel kept a watchful eye on her, offering her a steadying hand when needed. He never strayed too far from her.
"Marcel, dance with me!" she shouted, her words slightly slurred.
He couldn't resist her infectious enthusiasm, and he took her hand with a chuckle. "I'd be delighted to dance with you," he replied, guiding her to the center of the dance floor.
They moved to the music, and Isra's enjoyment made her movements a bit unsteady. She giggled, attempting to follow Marcel's lead, yet her steps often fell out of sync, causing her to accidentally step on his toes more than once.
"Oops, my mistake!" she exclaimed between laughs.
He grinned, unfazed. "It's not the first time, don't worry."
The swirl of lights and colours made it challenging for her to focus, and her laughter grew louder with each misstep.
Trying to maintain their rhythm, he chuckled. "Easy now, let's not trip over each other, alright?"
"You're so... so beautiful," she mumbled, her gaze fixed on Marcel's face. "I can't believe I never noticed before."
"Isra, you're very sweet," he said with a warm smile. "But let's take a break for a moment, shall we? How about sitting down and having some water?"
Leading her to a nearby table, he assisted her in sitting down, briefly glancing over at Aisha, who was engaged in a dance with someone else. Returning his focus to Isra, he ensured she was settled.
She sat, still swaying slightly to the distant rhythm of the music, her eyes fixed on Marcel. Her gaze held an unusual intensity, seeing him through a different lens.
Marcel poured some water into a glass from the nearby pitcher and offered it to her. "Here, take a sip. It might help."
She accepted the glass with a nod, taking small, measured sips as if trying to regain some clarity. "I didn't know dancing could be this... disorienting," she admitted with a sheepish grin.
"I think it's the alcohol, not the dancing."
"I might need more practice for the dancing, though."
Glancing back at Aisha, who was twirling with her dance partner, her expression shifted to a pensive look. "She seems to be having a blast."
Marcel followed her gaze. "Yes, she always finds a way to enjoy herself."
Isra's tone turned thoughtful. "It's strange, you know? How things change... how we see people differently."
He tilted his head slightly, curious about her train of thought. "What do you mean?"
"It's like... suddenly noticing things about someone that were always there but somehow overlooked," she murmured.
However, before further words could be exchanged, Isra's uninhibited state prompted her to take a daring step. In a moment of unexpected boldness, she leaned in and kissed him. His taste carried the faint hint of champagne, mingled with a scent reminiscent of a forest, but he gently pulled away, breaking the kiss too soon.
"You've had a bit much to drink," Marcel said, showing no reaction to the kiss they just shared. "I don't want you to do something you might regret later. It's important to clear your head."
Isra gazed at him with misty eyes. "I... I just... wanted you to know," she stumbled over her words.
Marcel's heart softened as he met her gaze. He knew that it was the alcohol speaking; he cared deeply for their friendship and didn't want it to be obscured by the fog of a drunken confession.
"I appreciate that. But right now, it's not the right time for this."
She felt embarrassed by her drunken confession, but she also appreciated his caring response.
They sat in silence for a while, the music and chatter of the cabaret swirling around them. Marcel handed her another glass of water, encouraging her to take slow sips. Isra complied, feeling the coolness of the water soothing her throat.
As the minutes passed, Isra's head began to clear. She couldn't help but wonder what Marcel thought of her now, after her drunken admission. She fiddled with the glass in her hands, unsure of what to say.
"I'm sorry."
"No need to apologize, really."
"I just... I shouldn't have..."
"Isra..."
Setting the glass aside, she leaned forward, resting her face in her arms, feeling overwhelmed.
"Feelings can get messy sometimes," he offered gently.
Raising her head slightly, she met his compassionate gaze. "I just... I'm afraid of losing you."
He tucked a loose curl behind her ear. "What makes you think you'd lose me?"
Tears appeared in her eyes, and his expression sank.
Marcel gently tugged at her arm, coaxing her to stand. "Come on, let's get you home."
Navigating through the cabaret, they stumbled upon Aisha, who was clearly feeling the effects of the evening.
"Hey, you two!" Aisha slurred, grinning from cheek to cheek.
Marcel gave her a small smile, though he was focused on getting Isra home safely. "Aisha, we should go. It's getting late."
She pouted, protesting, "Oh, come on, the night is still young! Let's dance some more."
He tried to reason with her. "You've had your fair share of fun tonight, Aisha. It's time to call it a night."
He paid for their drinks first.
With some coaxing, Marcel managed to get her into a taxi, giving the driver her address. He then turned his attention back to Isra, who looked like she might be sick.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice full of concern.
Isra nodded weakly, her head throbbing with the mix of emotions she was experiencing. "I'll be okay," she said, though her body quivered.
He hailed another taxi, helping Isra inside with a gentle hand on her back. Once they were seated, he gave the driver his address.
"It's going to be alright, Isra. We'll talk about everything tomorrow when we're both feeling better." He wiped away a tear from her cheek. "Don't cry."
She didn't believe him this time, however. Things were going to change. And it was her fault.
The ride to his apartment was done in complete silence. Her head felt heavy on her shoulders and her thoughts raced wildly in her mind. She stole glances at Marcel, wondering what he was thinking about as he stared out of the window, but she was too exhausted to ask.
Arriving in front of the building, he clasped her hand and helped her out of the taxi before paying the driver. Entering Marcel's apartment, her head felt clearer, the alcohol-induced haze lifting with each passing moment. The air here felt less muggy too.
As Marcel took off his shoes, Isra gathered the courage for a challenging and honest conversation she knew needed to happen. Seated beside him, her heart pounding against her ribcage, she made a bold move, straddling his lap. Surprise registered on his face, but there was no turning back. In this unconventional manner, she had his undivided attention, and it was time to unburden herself from the weight she carried.
"I've been carrying this weight in my heart for a while now, and I can't hold it in any longer. I want to tell you how I feel." She took a slow, deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "Ever since I met you, you've been there for me in ways I never expected. When I lost Haadi, you were the one who stood by my side, offering me comfort and support. And all the time we spent together, all the things you showed me, spending Christmas and New Year's Eve with you... I... I guess what I'm trying to say is that..."
Marcel's expression transformed into a tapestry of emotions, a whirlwind of surprise, tenderness, and contemplation cascading across his face like a delicate dance of emotions.
Tears welled up in her eyes as laid herself bare before him. "I can't ignore it anymore, Marcel. There's something more--I love you. It's been there for a while, and it frightens me, but I can't hide it any longer." She clutched onto Marcel's shirt, needing his presence to steady her trembling form. "You make me feel safe and cherished, and I don't want to lose what we have. But I also can't keep pretending that my feelings are just friendship. They're deeper than that, and I need you to know."
As she gazed at him, her face marked with tears, he seemed to search her soul. His brow furrowed momentarily yet a softness soon overtook his expression, like a delicate brushstroke of understanding. And in the depths of his eyes, a constellation aligned.
"I understand if you don't feel the same-"
With emotions he'd restrained for so long now unleashed, Marcel closed the gap between them. His lips, tender yet resolute, met hers in a moment that seemed to suspend time itself. In that exquisite instance, words became obsolete, their hearts speaking volumes in a language only they understood.
For Isra, it was a whirlpool-an overwhelming experience of relief, elation, and the heady rush of knowing her feelings were reciprocated. Marcel's mutual affection dispelled the lingering shadows of doubt that had haunted her heart. Like a delicate flower unfurling at daybreak, she wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him closer, as if afraid this enchanting moment might slip away.
Their lips reluctantly separated, but still close, and their noses brushed against each other. "How I love you," he whispered.
She kissed him once more, pouring her heart into the moment before drawing back. "You do? Really, Marcel?"
"Absolutely," he affirmed earnestly, his fingers weaving into her hair. "I love you, Isra. More than you can imagine."
They kissed once more. And again. And again. Each kiss surpassed the euphoria of the champagne that had danced on her tongue earlier in the evening, leaving her intoxicated by the taste of him. The intensity built, a crescendo of desire and passion weaving them together. With a whispered moan, the boundaries of restraint dissolved, and his tongue found its way into her mouth, a daring exploration of uncharted territory. Her body responded in kind, a moan echoing his every move, as her fingers sank into his shoulders. His fingers, like an artist's brush through silken strands, glided through her hair.
This passion that she shared with him was different than what she'd felt for Haadi. This was a love that consumed her, electrifying her very being with an intensity that bordered on desperation. It was not the love of fleeting dreams or fleeting innocence. It was the love of a man and a woman.
"You're so beautiful," he breathed out between kisses, to which she pulled him close, and kissed him harder.
Time lost its grip on them as they immersed themselves in one another. Marcel's blazer vanished somewhere in the living room, his shirt unbuttoned. Isra's dress, once an elegant silhouette, now lay halfway unzipped, her sleeves cascading down her shoulders, revealing the enticing curve of her collarbone. Their lips, like the sweetness of summer's ripe fruit, were stained with the nectar of each kiss.
From her lips, his caresses traced a path, exploring the soft contours of her jaw and descending to the hollow of her neck. Her eyes fluttered shut as if transported to a dreamlike realm where only they existed.
She had learned to love, and it was Marcel Moreau that she'd love for a lifetime.
Thanks for reading this chapter!
Let me know your thoughts now that Marcel and Isra have confessed!
xx