Chapter 27 #2
“I just love music,” I explain. “My parents love music, too, so I was always surrounded by it growing up. And then when I started writing, I found it so helpful for inspiration.” I fold my shawl and settle it in my lap.
“Music and writing are both art forms that are supposed to evoke emotion, and for me, the emotion that comes from music fuels the part of my brain I need to use to convey my own feelings. I can struggle with a part of my book, but after I hear a song that perfectly captures the vibes of what I’m trying to say, suddenly the words come to me more easily.
” I wave my hands in a circle. “Even though I consider myself a fiction writer, I can learn from other modes of art and figure out how to apply them to my own.” I gesture to the theater around us.
“I especially love live music. Growing up here meant my parents could take me and my siblings to shows all the time, so I came to have a deep appreciation for it. Listening to music live is such a vivid, unique experience. You feel the energy from the musicians and the crowd, and we hype each other up. You feel everything in your body, and it’s like…
it’s like a whole conversation.” A sigh exhales lightly from my nose. “It’s magic.”
Aashiq blinks at me a couple of times. “I can’t believe I didn’t know you felt so deeply about it,” he says, awe bleeding through his tone.
I shrug. “I told you, it’s not a big deal you didn’t know.”
“But it feels like it is,” he protests. “If you love music so deeply, and if you come to the orchestra every year, then surely it should have been something I knew.”
“Maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t know this about me,” I suggest. “Knowing everything about each other would be boring, wouldn’t it? Isn’t that part of the fun of meeting new people?”
He regards me for a long moment, his stare curious. “I suppose there’s merit to that,” he finally allows. “And I do think it’s fun when you do something I don’t expect you to.” He tilts his head to the side. “Hmm.”
“What is it?”
“When I came into the real world, I knew on some level I’d be astounded by how things work, but I don’t think it occurred to me there’d be so much I wouldn’t know.
In your head, it’s easy to think of ways to help you navigate your writing.
But out here, I have to do more than that.
All my responses to you have been related to art, so when I move away from that, I get overwhelmed.
” He turns his head to me and a frown contorts his face.
“I’m not used to not knowing things. It’s odd. ”
I smirk. “It sounds like you’re becoming more human by the day,” I say. “Because not knowing anything is a huge part of the human experience.”
His frown deepens. “I’m not sure I like that,” he admits. “I pride myself on my ability to solve any problem…until I realized I can only solve problems within my own niche. Everything else, I have to work hard for.”
This time, I match his perplexed expression. “What do you mean? This whole time you’ve been with me, it’s like you know how to do everything. You can cook, you can clean, you can even use a photocopy machine…” I pause. “For the most part.”
A sheepish expression crosses his face. “Would you believe me if I told you that first breakfast I made for you took some trial and error? I knew how to use a stove, but I had to search online for the recipes. I actually failed the first time, but you were still unconscious, so you never noticed.” He lifts a shoulder.
“As for the cleaning, that was more or less learning on the go.”
My jaw drops. “But you were so good at it!”
“I know it feels like I’ve been around forever, but I’ve spent decades existing solely in your head,” he reminds me, his tone gentle. “I hadn’t done any of that stuff before, but I worked hard to make it appear effortless.”
I splutter, shaking my head. “But why ?”
“Because my sole focus is you,” he says, his words carrying an air of simplicity.
“And I needed to be able to help you with whatever you needed. If that meant making you breakfast, I’d learn how to use a skillet.
If it meant figuring out how to work a laundry machine, I’d twist all the knobs until I settled on the right one.
And if it meant working a photocopier, then I’d push all the buttons until I hit the correct one.
” He puts his hand on top of my mine. “Whatever you need, Ziya, I’m here for you. ”
Warmth spreads through my face, and I’m sure even in the hushed lights of the theater, the blush tinting my skin is visible.
“I…didn’t realize how hard you worked for me,” I whisper.
“Everything seemed so easy when you did it. And because you made it look easy, I thought it was something I could do, too.”
A triumphant smirk spreads on his face. “Then my plan worked exactly as I wanted.”
I pause for a moment. “Your plan doesn’t leave much room for your own needs or wants.”
He shrugs. “I don’t have any. My only need is to fulfill yours.”
“That’s not right.” I shake my head. “You should think about things you want, too, especially things outside of me. You’re a person now; you have a life to live.
You should see if you’re capable of anything else, like you talked about at my parents’ house.
” I wave my hand in the air. “The possibilities are endless for you now.”
His Adam’s apple bobs, and hesitation creeps back up on his face. “Ziya…”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice suddenly announces on the overhead speaker, and my eyes instinctively turn up, searching for the source of the sound. “Please find your seats. We will begin the show in a few minutes.”
When I glance at Aashiq again, his normal happy-go-lucky smile is back. “This is my first time at the orchestra,” he whispers, though that was kind of obvious. “I hope it’s as amazing as you say it is.”
I want to go back to our conversation, to ask him what was underneath his expression, to settle this strange feeling in my gut, but he folds his fingers so they twine with mine, pressing our palms together.
Then the lights dim even further, and a hush comes over the audience until it’s silent.
The musicians ready themselves, the conductor raises his baton, and I let myself be carried away by the opening strings of “Cornelia Street.”