Chapter 10
Even though I would rather have pulled out all my fingernails, I spent the night at my desk, making a to-do list for work the next day.
Aashiq stood behind me the whole time, and while I hated it, there was something…
calming about writing with a pen in my hand again.
I’m used to typing at super speed on my laptop, so it was a nice change of pace.
I went to bed shortly after, and I swear my head had just hit the pillow when my alarm blares on my phone.
I jolt, my eyes flying open. I blink heavily a couple of times, then groggily push myself into a sitting position, turning my head to the right.
There’s a tiny gap between my curtains, and usually I see a strip of the pink and golden sunrise when I wake, except it isn’t there today.
I blink again, my eyesight adjusting, then use two fingers to pull the curtain back and peer out the glass.
Sure enough, it’s still dark outside, the last dregs of night still clinging to the sky.
“What the hell?” I grumble to myself, my voice creaky with sleep.
I don’t remember setting my alarm for this early.
Fajr isn’t even until six thirty, which is typically when I wake up—briefly—to pray before crawling back into my bed and savoring another twenty minutes before my alarm goes off properly at seven.
I reset my alarm for six thirty, then drop my phone onto my side table. I nestle back into my bed, hiking my blanket over my shoulders. I close my eyes, and just as I feel the pull of sleep, a sudden brightness imprints onto my eyelids. I flinch before instinctively opening my eyes again.
“Rise and shine!” Aashiq greets from his spot at my door, his fingers still on the light switch.
A groan exhales out of my nose, and I cover my eyes to protect them from the blinding light. I wait for him to take the hint to let me keep sleeping, but when I don’t hear him flip the switch back off, I grit my teeth and drop my hands onto my abdomen.
My drowsiness ebbs, and now that I’m more awake, I can take in Aashiq’s attire.
He’s in a gray crewneck sweater, though the material appears to be more athleisure than a regular cotton.
His sweatpants match his sweater, and completing his ensemble is a pair of white sneakers.
I’m so used to seeing him dressed like a K-drama male lead it doesn’t hit me for a moment why he’s in these clothes, but when it does, I push myself up onto my elbows.
My sheets slip down, settling on top of my stomach.
Luckily, though, because I’ve accepted the fact Aashiq could show up at any time, I wore a thin long-sleeved shirt to bed instead of a tank top like I usually do.
“That better be a Halloween costume, because if you’re about to suggest what I think you’re going to—”
“If what you think I’m going to suggest is a morning run, then you’re right!” He reaches behind him and pulls out a bottle filled with green sludge. He holds it out to me. “Now, have a quick gulp of this for some energy and let’s go!”
I eye the blend. “What is it?”
“Spinach, apple, banana, ginger, and lemon juice,” he answers. He jostles the bottle. “Oh, and kale. With ice for a crunch.”
I stare at the goo for a solid five seconds before I say, “No.” I flop back onto my mattress and yank the blanket over my head.
Footsteps echo along the floor, and then Aashiq pulls the sheets back down, his face shockingly close to mine.
Only a small gap separates our noses, and I know if I tilt my chin up, it’ll brush against his.
This close to him, I can once again see the scattering of green in his otherwise blue eyes—it’s like the ocean, but not the deep, murky, dreary gray we have here.
It’s the clear, bright turquoise you’d find on the other side of the world, on beaches with pearly white sand.
The kind of blue and green blend that promises adventure at its shores and unbelievable discoveries under its surface.
The kind of water you’d gladly jump into without any concern. The kind you can’t wait to explore.
“I told you, you need to develop better habits.” Aashiq’s voice brings me out of my thoughts. “That includes incorporating exercise into your day.”
My heart stutters, and I wait for it to return to its normal rhythm. “I get plenty of exercise,” I say, and I pray I don’t have morning breath. “I walk all around New York City.”
“That’s not the same, and you know it,” he says. He shakes the sheet gripped in his hands. “Now, get up! You have more to do this morning before you go to work.”
I narrow my eyes. “More? What do you mean by ‘more’?”
“You have to come back and write down five positive affirmations,” he replies.
“Absolutely not,” I refuse. I cross my arms over my chest, and it inadvertently pushes Aashiq away from me and helps to clear the breathing space around my head. “I finished school years ago. I refuse to do more homework.”
“Don’t think of it as homework!” he urges. “Think of it as…running a pencil along a piece of paper…in the same room where you sleep at night.”
“Sounds an awful lot like homework to me.”
“Okay, fine, but you were always a good student. Homework should be fun!”
“And you shouldn’t confuse the absolute dread that accompanies the thought of academic failure with enjoying homework,” I counter, though humor lines my tone. “Besides, writing good stuff about yourself is weird. It makes you conceited.”
“It only makes you conceited if you’re already egotistical,” Aashiq points out. He straightens his back, letting go of my sheets. “I’m not sure I’ve seen a single shred of self-confidence from you.”
I gape at him, even though a nagging voice at the back of my head knows he’s right. “ Rude .”
Aashiq simply holds his hand out to me. “Come on. Time’s ticking.”
I stare at his outstretched hand, then let out another growl as I cover his palm with my own.
* * *
I’ve come to resent early mornings. There’s something evil about the expectation to wake up after not enough hours of sleep and trudge through the streets while there’s still a layer of darkness over the sky.
Everyone I pass has the same dead look on their faces: hollowed-out eyes, drooped lids, and a new pimple on their forehead that wasn’t there the day before.
I don’t own any workout clothes, save for a thin athleisure tank top and yoga pants I bought once after convincing myself I’d go to the gym regularly during a particularly hopeful querying week—a plan I promptly abandoned when I was hit with five rejections in a row.
It isn’t exactly the best attire for this time of the year, though, so Aashiq conjures up a T-shirt, a thick gray fleece, and warm sweatpants along with a pair of white sneakers.
It’s only after I’m dressed and examining the whole outfit in the mirror that I realize it matches his, right down to the aglets.
I tie my hair into two tiny pigtails at the base of my head, then slip on a red beanie.
He stood outside my room while I was changing, and when I open the door to join him, he offers his usual sunny grin. “Aww, there she is! Are you ready to go?”
I stare back at him, and the haunted lifeless scowl on my face could rival Wednesday Addams. “I’m this close to kicking you in the kneecaps.”
He frowns. “But then we couldn’t go for a run.”
“Exactly,” I deadpan. I rub at my forehead, and even though every single cell in my body calls for my bed, I walk forward. “Let’s go.”
Aashiq waits until I’ve locked the front door behind us and bounded down the front steps before he asks, “Why don’t you have a better attitude in the morning?”
I freeze, my body tensing. I slowly turn on my heel. Now that I’m looking at him again, I see that he’s wearing a red beanie that matches mine. I’ll admit it’s sweet, but it’s not enough to get rid of the irritation in my body. “Excuse me?”
He must sense my shift, because his eyes widen as he quickly adds, “I just mean mornings are beautiful. It’s the start of a new day; isn’t that something to celebrate?”
“Then you’d be celebrating something every single day,” I point out. “The celebration would lose the magic.”
“I don’t think so,” he says. “If anything, it adds magic to your life, and isn’t that something everyone needs?”
I stare at him, and his words are so innocent, so earnest, I can’t find it in me to burst his spirits. “We should stretch so we can start. We don’t have a lot of time to waste.”
We do a couple of warmups, then get going.
In my head, when I pictured myself going for a run, it would be a light jog.
But as soon as we start, Aashiq flies down the street.
Instinctively, I pick up my pace to match his long strides, and soon a sharp ache spreads through my thighs.
I can’t even ask him to slow down because of how far ahead he is.
My breathing struggles, and the burning in my thighs quickly spreads up to my lungs.
When I finally catch up to Aashiq stopped at an intersection, he appears completely unaffected by the vigorous exercise.
Sweat coats my neck and my armpits, and iron lingers in my mouth like I’m going to hack up my lungs right here in front of me.
I practically collapse against the large pole that holds the beg button, grasping tightly to it while my breathing regulates itself.
Aashiq tilts his head in confusion. “Are you okay?”
I glare up at him. “What does it look like?” I gasp. I lift the top of the beanie and swipe at my wet forehead. “Why are you running so fast? We’re not being chased by zombies!”
“I’m running fast?” he says, a puzzled expression creasing his face. “Huh. I guess because I’ve never run before, I don’t know what’s fast and what’s not.”
A sharp pain pinches my side, and my hand goes to soothe it. “Well, for those like us who don’t run like Usain Bolt, you were going fast.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”