As quietly as possible, I peeked through the crack of the door and sneaked out of the room. It was a small hallway that suited a small apartment. The exit door was right in front me, and a wimpy thought poked at my head, telling me to just open the front door and leave.
Taking a step closer, my eyes glimpsed a tall figure on the periphery of the entrance hall.
To the left, Akram stood straight in what seemed to be a dining area. Over a small rectangular carpet, he faced a narrow window from which the lights of the day appeared. His profile was calm and serene, illuminated by the sunlight that emitted from behind the windowpane.
I dropped the bag on the floor and stood still.
Akram looked different, wearing sweatpants, white t-shirt and a dark blue beanie. He stared down at the carpet in concentration while resting his hands, overlapped, on his chest. His lips moved, whispering unintelligible words with complete engrossment.
Rooted to my spot, I watched Akram as he raised his hands, parallel with his ears, angled his upper body, and bowed in obeisance while holding his knees. He straightened, repeating the hand gesture, got down on his knees in a genuflection and prostrated. His motions expressed so much reverence that it was hard not to stare.
I held my breath when I realized he was praying.
Akram stood up again, repeating the movements. I remained quiet and motionless, afraid to disturb his peace, and waiting for him to complete his prayer.
Luckily, I recognized what he was doing from television, but I had no knowledge of the appropriate attitude expected from me in this situation. The sight was beautiful and intriguing. He had such an angelic charm while he invoked unknown desires of his God. I wondered what he would pray for. Or if his prayers could ever include me.
Why would he even pray for me? I'm not that special... Stupid thought!
When I was seven, I'd been to church a few times with one of the foster families I'd lived with. Nobody had insisted that I follow, though. I was a shy kid, and I didn't like crowded places. It was just quite different from the performance in front of me.
Now, it was hard to decide what to do. I was curious to stay and watch, but I debated whether to go back in the room until he was done, or stay as quiet as possible in order not to interrupt him.
Or flee from the front door!
Coward!
Before I settled on a conclusion, Akram turned his head nodding to the right then to the left, whispering a secret greeting to someone invisible. While he was kneeling, he lifted placid eyes toward me, and his lips curved up.
"Hey," he said softly. He got up and folded his prayer mat.
With an awkward smile, I raised my hand halfway and wiggled my fingers. He placed the mat on a nearby chair and closed the distance between us in a few strides.
"Good morning." Akram greeted me. He picked up my cold hand and cupped it gently between his palms. "How do you feel?" He inspected my face, his tired eyes full of concern. " You slept okay?"
"I'm fine." I assured him. "Thank you... for everything," I whispered, deeply thankful. I could be more thankful, but I wasn't sure how to show it. I didn't know if a hug was appropriate, but I really wanted to hug him.
"Anytime," He replied in earnest, staring straight into my eyes for a second. "You still look tired." His hand floated up and stopped inches from my face. The sides of his mouth crinkled, along with his eyes and he let his arm dive back down. There was an indecipherable expression that made my heart shudder.
I blushed, evading his gaze.
"I'm sorry I interrupted your prayer. I don't know the... proper etiquette," I murmured, glancing at my hand in his. I'd never realized my hand was so small.
"It's absolutely fine. I didn't notice you were there." He beamed and glanced quickly at the bag on the floor. "Join me for breakfast? Or... lunch?" He kept my hand cradled into his, and motioned to the dining area where he'd been worshipping minutes ago.
"You haven't eaten yet?" It was noontime and he'd sent me that last text at six in the morning.
"I've been waiting for you," he said and led us across the hallway.
The dining area was a small squared extension connected to an elongated kitchen, which was as narrow as the intersecting hall we'd just walked through. It was modern and clean. Glossy white cabinets, silver appliances, and sunlight peeking through glass windows on both ends.
Akram courteously pulled a chair, inviting me to sit at a marble breakfast table, placed in the corner.
"Sorry I kept you waiting, but honestly, I'm not hungry," I ran my fingers through my damp hair. My stomach was shrunk into a crumpled knot since yesterday. I was afraid to eat and tired of the bathroom purging trips. The aftermath of the past few days weighed me down, and last night left me too spent to stomach anything. It also seemed awkward to wake up like this in Akram's apartment - Sleep in his bed, shower in his bathroom, and eat in his kitchen as if we were... I didn't know what!
"Are you kidding? Breakfast is the most important meal of the day." Akram rubbed his face with his hands and leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table. His forehead creased, his face a bit blanched. "Mel, please eat. I can't let you pass out again, and I honestly can't watch the rerun of what happened last night. I almost had a heart attack and I'm only twenty one. Have a heart."
My pulse spiked up, taken aback by his urgent plea, until I noticed his tight smile. It didn't touch his eyes. His eyes were troubled, and exhausted, and I couldn't discern if his tone was serious or playful. There was something more that I couldn't read. Something deep within, brimming and about to spill.
"Alright... Let's eat," I said trying to push my lips into a smile. It was hard for me to see that look in his eyes and turn him down. After all, I owed him my life. Humoring him was the least I could do.
"In a minute." His tight expression relaxed as he pointed his finger, and disappeared into the kitchen.
I watched while Akram opened the fridge, fetched a milk carton and a bottle of orange juice, and placed them on the table. He moved briskly to open a couple of cabinets and brought glasses, bowls and two boxes of cereal. He struggled to balance the items in his hands until he successfully arranged them in front of me.
I couldn't help but smile at his typical male clumsiness in the kitchen. Not that I'd seen it first-hand before - Only in books or movies - but it looked so special coming from him.
"What's so funny?" He asked as he brought the spoons and came to join me, sitting at the opposite side.
"Nothing, it's just... you seem very kitchen savvy." I covered my mouth with my hand, stifling a possible grin at his reaction.
He narrowed his eyes, and scratched his slightly cleaved chin. "I know, right? I never cooked for two before." The corners of his lips turned up, his mood uplifted.
I muffled a small laugh.
Turning my gaze around, I glimpsed the opened top cabinet. Something unusual caught my attention. My eyes widened in amazement. "You're keeping books in the kitchen?"
"You caught me. " His mouth curved in amusement. "They're everywhere," He said in a mock grave tone. "There are also DVDs, CDs, video tapes, cassette tapes, you name it. My mom's idea of keeping me occupied in New York."
"But isn't that dangerous? Books could catch fire," I said, wincing internally at the disturbing thought. My anxiety couldn't help it. Akram lived alone and I had this sudden protective impulse, tweaking my brain.
"Pessimistic, aren't you? I don't even use the stove." He chuckled and placed his open palms on the table surface.
"Sorry about that. It's just a bad habit," I muttered, biting my thumb and looking down. That was typical of me. Worst-case-scenario fan.
"It's OK." His gaze lingered at me silently for a moment, before he broke the odd silence. "So, Cinnamon Crunch or Chocolate Flakes? Or both?" He raised his eyebrows expectantly. It brought out the color of his eyes every time he gave away this look.
"Anything is fine, thank you," I answered politely. Although, as I caught a glimpse of the color of his eyes, I would lean to the first choice. The cute mole over his eyebrow begged for the latter. It was so difficult to choose.
"Both, then. I promise you'll be addicted," Akram said, serving the cereal mix for both of us, and filling the glasses with orange juice.
Pretending to focus on my food, I shyly watched every clumsy move, thinking of this growing addiction that slowly dominated my world. The addiction that made me automatically fear the withdrawal symptoms as soon as I'd tell him the truth.
An addiction called Akram Sadiq...
*****
Hello dear ones
I know it's not much but I thought I should give you and the characters a sweet break from the dramatic events. I hope you enjoy this short chapter.
Please, vote and Comment if you like it. I'd appreciate all your opinions and feedback.
Love you, always
Most_bay