Chapter 21 #2
Aashiq’s gaze searches my face. Something odd clouds his eyes; usually his expression is so clear you can immediately tell what he’s thinking.
Now, though, his soft blue-green eyes are as restless as the deep sea.
My heart thunders in my own sternum as if it’s a storm pelting his ocean eyes, and I swear it’s going to burst out of me.
After a beat, Aashiq says, “What if you make it so they can’t be together?”
Something about the dejectedness in his tone nearly stops my pulse.
“I mean…it’ll be hard for them,” I reason, even while my mouth dries.
“He’s technically not real, and she is.” I swallow thickly.
“But I’m sure we can figure out a way for them to end up together.
Just because the book has underlying angst doesn’t mean it can’t have a happy ending. ”
Aashiq blinks slowly. “Right,” he practically breathes. He nods firmly once. “Right. So, what is their relationship like when they first meet?”
“I guess if I’m basing the story off my own experience, I’d have to say Manahil is annoyed by Junaid when he first appears.”
Aashiq stops walking. “You were annoyed by me when we first met?”
I snort. “I was pretty obvious about it. I told you multiple times to go away. That didn’t clue you into anything?”
“No,” he replies, because of course it didn’t. “Or, maybe it did but I instinctively ignored my feelings because I knew I had to help you.”
The thought of Aashiq thinking, even on an unconscious level, that his feelings don’t matter shoots an arrow through my heart.
I ignore the pain and knot my fingers together.
“Moving on,” I eventually say. My thoughts quickly shift, and a gasp bursts from me as I latch onto Aashiq’s arm.
His eyes widen in response, and he stiffens under my touch, but I’m so wired by my new idea I barely digest it.
“Maybe they don’t like each other at first!
Or maybe she doesn’t like him, and he gets on her nerves a lot, even though he’s trying to teach her or be helpful to her.
She can think he doesn’t know as much as he actually does.
Or maybe he’s so good at his job it annoys her, so by extension he annoys her. ”
Aashiq is quiet for a moment, and his Adam’s apple bobs.
He doesn’t draw away from me, though; he just sucks in his cheeks.
“Okay,” he croaks. He clears his throat, and when he speaks again, his voice is steadier.
“So, what’s the turning point? What happens in their relationship that makes them realize they like each other? ”
“Should it be a thing one of them does?” I ask. “Or should it be because of the external or internal conflict?” I let go of his arm, and I swear I catch relief relaxing his eyebrows. “Speaking of which… I don’t know what the conflict is going to be.”
“We can get to that later,” Aashiq says. “There’s no rush. You’re on a roll right now, so I don’t want to do anything that’ll disrupt it.” He waves his hand to the side. “Let’s change course instead. What about the couple is romantic? What’ll they do that’s romantic?”
“I don’t know,” I confess. I dig my hands into my pockets. “What do you think?”
He frowns. “I don’t know, either. Think back to moments in your own life. What was it like when you were in love?”
Instantly, heat rushes to my cheeks. I chew my tongue and lower my chin. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before,” I murmur.
His eyes widen. “What?”
My hand whacks him in the arm before I can stop myself. “Don’t act so shocked . If you live in my head, then you know I’m a workaholic shut-in whose idea of a well-spent Saturday night is a pint of ice cream and a K-drama binge.”
“It’s not that,” he quickly amends, shaking his head. “I’m just shocked because of the type of person you are.”
I furrow my brows. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you’re beautiful, smart, dedicated, hardworking,” he rattles off. “You’re loyal and ambitious. Plus, you’re kind to animals. I’ve seen you leave water in a plastic bowl for the neighborhood stray cats. How could someone not fall in love with you?”
Heat floods my cheeks. My stomach clenches at each item he lists off, though I don’t know why. Isn’t a good thing for someone to recognize you’re actually a good person?
But something in my head says that because it’s Aashiq, it’s different.
Because it’s his soft blue-green eyes, which mirror elegant turquoise waves, that gaze upon me as he says it.
Because it’s his firm, solid torso that always seems to be turned toward me, that gives me his full attention as he says it.
And because it’s his gentle voice, like a legato that seamlessly ties all his words together no matter how fast he speaks, as he says it.
Because it’s all these things, it’s different.
My voice carries a light tremble as I reply, “I guess it’s not so much that someone isn’t falling in love with me as it’s I haven’t fallen in love with anyone. The complicated part is love itself.”
“Why?” he questions. “From what I’ve heard, love is great.”
“From what you’ve heard?” I repeat. “Meaning you’ve never been in love, either?”
He quirks a brow. “How could I?” he asks. “Before now, I’ve existed completely in your head. If you’ve never experienced love, I never have, either.”
“That’s a fair point,” I allow. “I’m just surprised because you seem to know a lot about romantic things.”
“Meaning?”
“You know how to make a person feel important,” I start. “You know how to offer support. You know how to pick someone up when they’re down.” I elbow him in the side. “Plus, you make sure I eat three times a day. Pure romance by today’s standards.”
Aashiq stops in his tracks, and I slow to a stop to avoid getting too far ahead. The streetlight we’re under bathes him in a golden light. “You find those things romantic?”
Several warning bells go off in my head, but I ignore them. My voice is as delicate as a harp’s string. “Yeah.”
“So, you find me romantic.” This time, it’s not a question.
Sparks bristle between my temples like I’ve short-circuited.
“I mean,” I say, aiming for a strong tone, but it still comes out soft, “I guess that’s what I said.
” I shake my head and try desperately to change the subject.
“But how can you not know what romance is like and still know how to give advice on it?”
Aashiq scratches his chin, and the action drives me to distraction. “Okay, I can’t tell you,” he finally says. He drops his hand. “But I can show you.”
“Show me how?”
Aashiq moves toward me. First, I think it’s going to be just one step, but he keeps moving until our toes touch.
At this distance, I have to tip my head back to look at him, but there’s still a safe amount of space between our faces.
“Close proximity is always great between characters,” he starts, his warm breath against my chin a sharp contrast to the frigid, biting temperature.
“The narrator, often the main character, will react in response.”
Pink floods my cheeks, and I pray that despite the light surrounding us, he doesn’t notice. A thrill races through my stomach. “Then what?” I squeak.
“Then, you should up the ante by adding some sort of physical touch.” Without breaking eye contact, his hand brushes against mine.
His movements are painstakingly slow, and he drags the back of his finger along my skin.
I don’t know why I insisted before that he wasn’t real; there’s nothing artificial about the way his touch raises goose bumps on my body.
“It doesn’t have to be a lot. Even holding hands can be enough to get someone’s heart racing, though I guess I wouldn’t know what that feels like. ”
Finally, finally , he laces our fingers together.
My hand is too stiff with cold to react at first, but after a second, the warmth of his palm pressing into mine brings some life back into my fingers, and I bend them until the tips skim the back of his hand.
A shiver trembles his wrist, and it travels from his arm up to mine.
My breath quickens like it’s running away from me, but I can’t be bothered to keep up anymore. “And then?” I whisper.
“Then the love interest usually leans in closer…” Aashiq tilts his face downward, his mouth hovering above my own. I can practically feel his words in the space between us. “And if they’re lucky, something will happen, but more often than not, they’ll get interrupted by—”
“Hey! Move out of the way!”
Aashiq and I abruptly jolt apart, just in time for a cyclist to zoom right through where we stood before.
I stumble until my back hits the lamppost, which throws me into reality.
Anger flushes my skin, and I push off the pole as I turn toward the cyclist. “Hey!” I wave a furious fist in his direction. “You don’t own the sidewalk, asshole!”
I turn back to Aashiq, but he’s taken a few respectable steps away from me. “Anyway,” he mumbles, then he lifts his chin. “There’s plenty of time to keep thinking about how to work the romance. We should focus on the plot, too.”
The urge to jump from the Brooklyn Bridge seizes my muscles. Disappointment fills my lungs, but there’s absolutely no reason for me to feel that way. None at all. Nope.
So even though I want to return to the moment, to beg time to go back, to bring us back to the second where I thought our lips would touch, I force a smile. “Sounds good to me.”