Chapter 10 #2
I take in the genuine remorse in his eyes, and that same nagging guilt tugs in my gut. “It’s okay,” I assure him.
“We can slow down for a while,” he proposes. “So we can catch our breath.”
I appreciate that he frames it so like it’s a break for the both of us. The signal changes to prompt us to walk, and we cross the street at a normal walking pace.
In doing so, I finally take in my surroundings.
I usually run on autopilot in the morning, my only concern making it to the subway and then to my office all in one piece.
I never take the opportunity to inhale the air, made sweeter by the dewy drops of mist on the grass.
The streetlights are still on, bathing us in swaths of muted gold when we pass under them.
Behind us, the blues in the sky shift from streaks of indigo to lighter gray, and ahead of us the gray morphs into burnt orange and, off in the distance, strips of pale yellow.
In this atmosphere, even the cold breeze is nice, slipping through my jacket and cooling my flushed skin.
It’s just Aashiq and me out on the streets.
We don’t even pass any other joggers or people taking their pets for a walk.
The world is oddly quiet. I can’t tell if he’s made it that way, or if we’re truly up at such an ungodly hour that no one else would even think of being outside at this time.
Though now that I’m out here, feeling the soft wind against my cheeks and breathing in the crisp air, I can’t see why I thought it was such a bad idea.
Another breeze brushes the stray hairs away from my jaw, and I tilt my chin up, a shiver running down my body.
Aashiq stares down at me. He’s been silent for a long stretch of time, but I feel his gaze on my face. The tips of my ears turn pink, and gratitude at the fact we’re still mostly covered by the dark rushes through my body. “What is it?” I ask.
“Nothing, it’s just…” He gives me a once-over. “I haven’t seen you enjoy anything since I’ve been here.”
“What?” I quirk a brow. “I enjoy lots of things.”
“Not in the same way you’re enjoying this,” he points out.
He places his hands behind his back. “Usually you’re too stressed to let yourself appreciate the things you like to do.
When you’re at work, your mind is preoccupied with everything you need to do while you’re there.
And when you’re on your way home, your brain works overtime thinking about what you could be doing at work or with your writing. ”
“Isn’t that a good thing, though?” I ask. “When it comes to the writing part, I mean. The whole reason you’re here is to help me get back into writing. Isn’t me thinking about writing a good thing?”
Aashiq hums for a moment. “Not in the way you do it,” he finally says. “I get being creative means you’re often easily influenced by things you do or see, and I can see how it might be hard to shut that part of your mind off, but just like your body needs time to relax, so does your brain.”
I frown. “I…don’t get what you mean.”
Aashiq’s teeth sink into his lower lip, and I can see the cogs turning in his eyes as he thinks. “Okay, think of it this way,” he tries again. “Your ultimate goal is to be published, yes?”
“Of course.”
“And part of being published means being paid for your work,” he continues.
“So, you’ve attached a monetary value to an activity that used to be something you loved doing in your spare time.
Now your brain has made that connection, so the pressure to get published increases tenfold, because suddenly it’s not just something that feeds your heart; it could feed your belly.
And that’s when the desire to succeed shifts into a desperate need to succeed.
As the rejections pile in, that’s when you start to feel resentment and anger and sadness.
All those negative emotions become intricately connected to this thing that used to be pure love, and then your brain becomes overwhelmed and you can’t enjoy anything anymore.
” He holds his hands out. “Ergo, you need to retrain your brain to enjoy things.”
A bulge forms in the back of my throat. I don’t want to cry, so I force the emotion back. “Interesting perspective,” I acknowledge. “Writing used to be something I loved, but lately every time I open my laptop, I just feel annoyed.”
“And that’s normal,” he assures me. “Burnout is something a lot of people deal with. But it’s exactly why we have to go back to the basics and appreciate the simplicity of the world.
” He turns his palms forward and gestures to the sunrise in front of us.
“Like waking early in the morning and seeing the dawn of a new day.”
I turn so I can look at Aashiq. The burnt orange of the sky has given way to the gentle rays of the sun, and the daylight presses against his cheekbones like a playful kiss.
It casts a shadow under his jaw, but like always, Aashiq’s smile can outshine any darkness.
Even though my breaths come out in visible puffs, the brightness in his eyes warms me up from the inside out.
The farther we walk toward the golden morning, the more I’m convinced Aashiq is the sun itself—radiant, captivating, and the center of the world.
“Ziya?” Aashiq waves his hand in front of my face.
I blink, then shake the thoughts from my head. “Huh?”
He taps the recently conjured watch on his wrist. “We should head back to your apartment. There’s still lots to do before you go to work.”
“Right.” I nod vigorously. “Let’s go.” I turn around and keep walking, but after a couple of steps, Aashiq pats my lower back. “What?”
“No more walking,” he decrees. “We’re going to run the rest of the way back.”
My jaw drops. “What happened to enjoying the sunrise?”
“We’ve enjoyed,” he affirms. “But now we’re getting down to business.” Without another word, he breaks into a sprint, and soon enough, he fades from view.
I let out a strangled gasp, hunching over and placing my hands on my knees. I drop my head between my legs.
I’m not going to live to see myself write this next book. Aashiq’s definitely going to kill me before I can get a single word onto paper.