A weight heaved on Samira's shoulders. Her father's words echoed in her ears: Refusing to face a burden is like carrying an elephant. Unfortunately, she didn't know what the elephant was in this context, so she had to keep moving forward, allowing it to weigh her down.
Her time at home was different than the last. Wapa had spent much of the time spoiling her, asking her questions about her thesis. Omma always needed Samira, whether it was for running an errand or chopping vegetables; no matter how old she was or how far away she'd be, she would always be her mother's right-hand woman.
Most of her time with Surat consisted of them binge-watching New Girl. One night, Samira had fallen asleep spooning Surat, which was surprising. Samira once hated cuddling—but she had gotten used to holding Harry in her sleep.
Ayan showed up one weekend with his wife, Jana. Samira had thought of talking to him, and she did, but the substance was missing. Maybe it was because she still hated him, but she tried so hard not to.
Another day, she encountered someone from her past. Samira was at the mall, alone, when she had a surprisingly nice interaction with someone rather hostile in her memory.
That was when the weight began to heave, and it didn't make sense as to why it was there.
Harry picked Samira up from the airport this morning. It felt no different seeing him, as he'd FaceTime her at least twice a day.
He'd been happy while he was in Cheshire. She knew because he'd tell her all the things he did with his family—it was clear he had tried, and she was proud of him.
He'd missed her, a lot; she'd missed him too, but she could admit she spent more time worrying about him. Maybe his drunken words played a role in that scene.
After she settled back at her apartment, she took a nap while Harry unpacked for her. When she woke up, they went out for dinner and took a walk.
They ended the night cuddling on the couch, which turned into a heated make-out session.
Samira straddled Harry on her bed, gripping his hair as she rolled her hips onto his. Harry held her close with his arm wrapped around her waist, thrusting into her. Their movements were feverish; they'd longed for each other, making up for the weeks they'd been apart.
Harry bit into her shoulder, mumbling fuck as their touches became sloppy. As heat expanded in her abdomen, Samira threw her head back, parting her mouth as she came onto him. Harry then put his hand around her neck, pushing himself in once more before letting go.
After Samira put his unbuttoned shirt over her body, he tackled her down on the other side of the bed. They lay together, sinking into each other's heat. The lights remained dim, and the rain pattered against the windows.
"You look more like a lion now than you did before," Harry said, twirling one of her curls in his fingers.
Samira's hair now sat right above her shoulders. While she was at home, she saw the scissors in the bathroom and decided to cut her hair.
"Are you tired?" He asked.
Samira was very tired; sex mixed with jetlag wasn't the best combination for her. But she didn't want to sleep, as she knew Harry wasn't finished with his day as she was. He still had a lot to tell her, even after talking and talking at dinner, on the bus, and as they walked home.
"No," she answered. "I wanted to say. I was actually worried you wouldn't try while you were at home."
"I mean," Harry began, propping his head up to look at her. "You're right about everything, so I did what you said. And again, you were right."
"You know you don't need me to realize these things, right?" Samira clarified.
"Okay, but I do." Harry sighed, caressing her face with his thumb. "I couldn't sleep this one night because I missed you. I left the light on, and my mum came in to check up on me. I asked her to sit next to me, and she did. We talked for hours until I finally fell asleep."
"Damn, what did y'all talk about?"
His face reddened. "You, mostly."
"Oh," Samira giggled. "What did she say about me?"
"That you sound lovely," Harry mused, poking the dimple on her cheek. "It was nice. I guess we needed that."
Reading his countenance, she could see he was content. Maybe not the happiest, but there was progress where it counted.
"Did she like the swing jacket?"
"She loved it. That, and the tea from Sri Lanka you told me to give her."
"That's where the tea was always from. Colonizer."
Harry laughed, kissing her cheek.
"You know. It's sort of random that you cut your hair."
Samira shrugged: "It felt nice to."
Harry sighed, resting his head on the pillow they shared. The smaragdine in his eyes brightened as he stared at her.
"What?" She asked softly.
He pursed his lips. "Are you okay?"
His voice was luscious and smooth, luring her in like a fish to a hook; the question caught her off guard. It was something she asked everyone, but was never reciprocated—not only from Harry but from a lot of people in her life.
"I'm fine."
"Really?" He replied. "I feel like you're . . . away."
Samira was appalled; he caught onto her habits. The way she read him, he learned to do the same.
"Did something happen at home?" He asked.
"No."
"Sam," he said. "You're not the type to jump into decisions like this."
Samira shifted awkwardly, realizing he was right.
"See, you're acting weird again," Harry mentioned, pointing at her. "You've been doing that all day, darling."
The elephant that sat on her grew heavier and heavier, oddly now because she was with Harry.
The last thing Samira wanted to do was rain on his parade, but ironically, it was already sprinkling—he'd been happy all day, and she didn't want to ruin it.
Harry held her hand in his, kissing her gently as he split her knees. Samira breathed him in, relishing in his touch. But with her mind full of thoughts, her heart began to pound.
"Relax, princess," he mumbled in her ear.
"Harry . . ." Samira whined, feeling his fingers caress her core.
It felt like she was taking advantage of him. He asked her what ran through her head, and she gave him nothing. This wasn't what he deserved.
A wave of restlessness came over her, but she forced herself to fight it. Samira knew it wouldn't go away unless she did something about it.
"Stop," she finally bellowed. Before she could give him time to halt, she pushed Harry off her, sitting up from the bed swiftly.
Samira's chest rose and fell prominently. She clutched his shirt around her body, facing the wall. Harry's irate gaze was felt; she started to sweat, and her tongue was unfamiliar with words.
"I—" she paused. "I ran into my ex."
Samira squeezed her eyes shut before turning around. Her heart pounded in her ears when she saw the subtle anger grow in Harry's eyes. Before she could call his name, he strode into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.
Her throat tightened. She hated chasing after him, but she knew she had to.
"Harry," she began, standing in front of the door. There and then, she needed to talk about it—she needed him, too.
The doorknob rattled, causing Samira's chest to hammer. Harry took a step out in his sweatpants, gazing away from her.
"Which ex?" He asked quietly.
Samira bit her lip, allowing the name to fall from her mouth with ease: "James."
Then his eyes met hers. A layer of gloss sat over his verdant irises.
"The one that hurt you?"
Before she could nod, he stormed down the hall. Rather than the yelling, screaming, and throwing of things, there was reticence.
Harry stood in the kitchen, downing a glass of water. He then leaned against the counter with his hands gripping the edge.
She tiptoed behind him hesitantly, wrapping her arms around his waist. Her cheek rested on the warm skin of his back.
"Albi." Samira kissed his shoulder. "Please don't be mad at me."
Harry took her hands from his torso, turning around. He pushed Samira gently, keeping a foot of space between them.
He then cleared his throat, crossing his arms over his bare chest. His brown locks fell over his face, and his eyes were dark.
"I should have been the first person you told," he stated unobtrusively.
"I'm sorry," Samira began.
"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked, his tone then steely. "Were you just going to hide it forever?"
"Yes and no," she admitted. "I didn't want to talk about it today because I knew it would . . ."
"Samira." Harry clicked his tongue, grimacing. "Were you thinking about him for the whole day? While we were at dinner? While I was touching you?"
"God, no, Harry," Samira retorted, shaking her head.
"What happened between you two?"
"It wasn't . . . much." She realized she made a big deal out of nothing. They had caught up with each other's lives for five minutes, then parted.
"You didn't answer the question," he reposted.
"We just talked, Harry, a-and that was it."
"What if he wanted to hurt you again, Samira? Reel you back in?" Harry rambled. "Didn't he—"
"He did every terrible thing anyone could ever do, yes," Samira confirmed, preparing herself for the insecure side of Harry. "However, he's different now, but that's beside the point."
"Do you still have feelings for him?"
"No!"
"Why are you acting like this, then? Don't bullshit me!"
Tears brimmed her eyes, and guilt swelled her heart.
"It fucking blows that you told me nothing," Harry scoffed, snapping his gaze away. "You never tell me anything."
Samira sighed, biting the inside of her cheek. There was an imbalance detected, and she pointed the finger at herself. She needed to explain everything he didn't know.
"I wasn't thinking about him. It was rather what he did to me and it followed me since I saw him and when I think of you—" she paused, putting together all the pieces. "I feel bad and worried and . . . I don't know what to do."
Old emotions came back from the past—the rigors down her spine when she'd open her heart, or a subtle influx of unease when making excuses for someone else—she thought those feelings were put to sleep.
Then at that moment, it hit her: Harry was the reason the weight was there—it was always him.
Harry's face paled. He stood there in dismay, holding the palm of his hand over his mouth. Even Samira was astonished because it took her so long to figure it out herself.
"You think I'm going to hurt you?" Harry asked falteringly, taking a step toward her.
"I don't know," Samira replied, gazing at the floor. "You're obviously not him; he was the living worst. But I just . . ."
Samira closed her eyes, feeling a few tears fall down her cheeks. Harry put his hands on her jaw, tilting her head up to look at him.
"What did he do?"
She let out a laugh of disbelief. "Do you really want me to talk about this? Now?"
"Yes, this is serious," Harry replied with wide eyes. "I can't have you thinking about these things."
Samira felt discomfort, finding it difficult to form a sentence. She hadn't talked about it in so long, but now she had to, for Harry.
"I mean, he was . . . emotionally abusive," Samira started, biting her lip. "And he made it very obvious. Like, he made me lose weight, he'd pick on me and who I was, he made me give up a lot of my values, he'd always accuse me. He was in my head, and he took advantage of that because he knew I would stay until I finally realized that I didn't . . . need him."
Samira covered her face with both of her hands, struggling to fight the lump in her throat.
"You forgive way too easily, Jesus," Harry complained, pulling her close. Samira cried in his neck, and she was angry with herself for doing so—she never thought she'd have to be this open with him, and it made her feel like a hypocrite.
"I would never hurt you," he began. "I can't even imagine doing that."
Samira calmed down, repeating his words over and over in her head. The weight dispelled, but a fraction stayed.
"You have to start telling me these matters," he mumbled softly, squeezing her tight. "If someone hurts you, you can't hide it from me."
Harry looked down at Samira, leaning his forehead onto hers. The dreadful look on his face broke her heart, and she knew she had to do everything she could to fix it.
"Promise me."
Samira sighed, gazing at his twinkly, bleak eyes.
"I promise."
He kissed her hair, embracing her. "I don't want you to be sad. Over things like this, especially."
It was new to Samira for Harry to take a role that was once hers, that was always hers. It was she who wore the pants and to have the pair get taken away made her feel too exposed. But Samira had to let him somehow, whether the weight was there or not. Maybe she couldn't carry it all on her own.
Harry escorted her back into bed, allowing her to let it all out, and she did. Her eyes were gloomy and exhausted before she closed them with her head on her chest.
Although her heart was calm, her brain roared in her ears, creating a sense of doubt. The alignment between the two was missing, and she was unable to comprehend why.
But there was time. And Samira needed to let time do its thing.