Chapter 3 #2
I finally move my gaze so it meets Aashiq’s, and I startle at the curiosity lining his green eyes.
Actually, this close to him, I can see his eyes aren’t entirely green.
They’re a mixture of green and blue, with the green lightly ringing his pupils and the blue spreading out to the rest of his irises.
We stare at each other for a beat longer before I abruptly pull my hand away. I put a healthy distance between us, cramming myself as close to the arm of the couch as I can. “Where did you say you came from?”
“From you,” Aashiq answers. “See, there’s a place in all artists where their inspiration lives.
It’s where your creativity comes from. I live there.
I used the word muse because it’s the closest word I can think of.
” He tilts his head to the side. “I’m the physical manifestation of your artistry, basically. ”
“And why are you here?”
“To help you get back into writing,” Aashiq responds cheerily, as if I hadn’t just felt him up and then stared intensely into his eyes.
“I’m your muse, and you needed me. Normally you need me on just a regular level, so I’ve never appeared to you before, but you’ve decided to give up.
That’s when I knew I needed to resort to more drastic measures. ”
“But how did you get here?” I look around the living room. “I definitely didn’t let you in.”
He puckers his lips. “It’s…hard to explain,” Aashiq starts.
“One second, I was floating in your head, and the next I was standing in your living room. I thought about waking you up, but you clearly needed the rest, so I poked around your apartment for the night. I hid when your friend left for work, but then I got hungry—which I’ve never felt before.
It’s a very strange feeling. It’s like it hurts but only in one part of your body, and it doesn’t go away.
” He shakes his head. “Anyway, that’s when I went to peek in your fridge.
I found the chocolate stuff—that’s really good, by the way.
” His eyes light up at the mention of the syrup.
“I don’t have it where I’m from. I need to get some but I’m not sure how to, because I live in your brain and all. ”
Aashiq rambles like this for so long it feels like my mind is running a marathon to try to catch up with him.
When he’s done, he claps his hands, startling me.
“Now.” He pushes the plate closer to me.
“Eat! If you don’t take care of your body, you won’t be able to focus, and then you won’t be able to do your best work. ”
My head is still foggy, like static crackles between my temples, but I turn to the food.
I didn’t even know the chicken strips were still in the freezer.
Usually, I buy breakfast items with the intention of waking up early to make a good meal, but most of the time I surrender to sleep instead.
Then I’ll eat a bowl of sugary cereal or grab a bagel from a nearby café before going into work.
Wait. Work.
I snap my head back toward Aashiq. He’s wearing a watch, so I grab his wrist and raise it so it’s eye level. My stomach bottoms out when the time registers. I’m running late. Like, really late. Like, “you shouldn’t give this irresponsible employee funding for law school” late.
“Crap!” I toss the blanket off and scramble to my feet.
Aashiq knits his brows together as he watches me fumble. “What are you doing?”
“I need to take a shower!” I nearly fall over in my haste to get to the bathroom, but I regain my footing and race forward.
I hear him rise from the couch behind me. “You need to have breakfast!” he insists as he follows on my heels. “And then you need to write!”
I toss him an annoyed glare over my shoulder. “I need to not be late for my job that pays my bills.” I slam the bathroom door in his face before he can come in after me.
I tear my clothes off in a frenzy, kicking them to the side and then stepping toward the shower to turn the faucet on.
For a second, I think he’s left me alone, but I’m proven wrong when he shouts through the door, “But what about writing?”
I groan but grab my robe from the hook on the door.
I slip it on and secure the tie at my waist before cracking the door open just enough to expose only my face.
Aashiq stares at me expectantly, genuine confusion worrying his eyes, like he can’t fathom why I’d rather be at my paying job than sitting at home and playing the starving artist. “Okay, fine, I accept that you’re my muse, and I appreciate that you decided to…
materialize to help me.” I give him a once-over.
“I’m sorry to whatever brought you to life, but I’m not writing anymore.
I’ve given up and nothing’s going to change my mind.
Now—” I wave him away “—begone, or however I can get rid of you.”
I shut the door again, then take my shower. It’s more like a quick rinse, because I don’t have the time to do my normal shower routine. By the time I get out and step back into the hall, Aashiq is gone.
Relief washes over me. Maybe I hallucinated him, after all.
And I might have believed it, too, if the plate filled with food on the coffee table, the parted curtains, and the typewriter didn’t suggest otherwise.