Chapter 28
The next few days pass by in a blissful blur.
And oh, yeah, work. Despite the upgrade in our relationship status, Aashiq makes sure I don’t slip in the writing of my outline.
When I write one page, we go on a walk. When I write two, we watch an episode of a K-drama together.
And if I write three pages, then I get a kiss, and I have to say, it’s an excellent incentive.
If he’d implemented this earlier, maybe I wouldn’t have been so reluctant to get back to work.
The office shuts down for the holidays, so now I have all day to write this outline.
And I’m so close . I’ve reached the climax section of the outline.
Manahil and Junaid are about to figure out the ending for her new book, which is about an aspiring law student working with an experienced lawyer, but their clashing personalities make it very difficult for them to get anything done, until they eventually realize they may like each other more than they thought.
A couple of days before Christmas, I sit on the couch, my laptop balanced on my legs.
Emily’s out visiting a work friend, so it’s just Aashiq and me in the apartment.
My fingers fly across the keyboard, like they can’t move fast enough to type out the words forming in my mind.
I take breaks only to sip from the cups of tea Aashiq periodically brings me.
He takes care of our meals so I can focus on writing, and he also turns the laptop off at the end of the day and switches on a K-drama so I can do something other than write.
And then he guides me to bed so I can get some sleep.
I haven’t been so dedicated to a project in a long time, and this is just the outline.
I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like when it’s time for me to sit down and write the actual book.
I guess it’s a good thing I’ll have Aashiq with me.
Without him, I’m sure I’d drop dead from exhaustion before even reaching the end of the first act.
Aashiq fiddles around in the kitchen for a while, and when he comes back to the couch, he’s got two mugs in his hands.
One is a refill of my tea, and a quick peek into the other confirms a very thick hot chocolate.
I think he frothed chocolate syrup and drizzled it on top of whipped cream.
I shake my head before returning my attention back to my laptop.
He settles in next to me, sinking into the couch. He sips from his cup as he stares at my accelerated typing. “I’m so proud of all the work you’re doing,” he says.
A thrill races through my stomach at the compliment.
“I can’t believe it,” I reply. “I’m outlining a whole book from start to finish again.
I can’t remember the last time I did it with such joy.
Most of the time outlining feels like pulling teeth, but this…
” I bump his shoulder with mine. “Doing it with you has been some of the greatest fun of my life.”
“Being here with you has been some of the greatest fun of my life, too,” he replies. Aashiq tilts his head to the side. “Well, for as long as I’ve been alive.”
I snort, then lean forward to kiss his cheek.
Just as my lips touch his skin, though, it disappears.
I pitch forward, and my laptop slides down my knees.
I snatch it at the last second before it hits the floor.
I rear back, and when my gaze refocuses, Aashiq’s form glitches a couple of times before he becomes whole again.
His eyes briefly widen, but then he gives me a weak smile.
“I’m going to refill my cup,” he states, quickly rising to his feet.
This time, I don’t let it slide. I set my laptop down on the coffee table and stand up, too. “Aashiq, what’s going on?”
“What? Nothing,” he insists as he makes his way to the kitchen.
I follow him, and when I place my hand on his shoulder, it passes through it completely.
A gasp escapes me, and Aashiq abruptly turns.
We both stare at my hand as it hovers uselessly in the air, lingering in the space where his body should be.
This time, it takes longer for the glitch to fix itself, and once he’s whole again, his firm body reappears under my hand.
I snatch it away, cradling it to my chest. “Why can’t I touch you? ” I demand. “Why are you fizzling out?”
“I’m not sure,” he answers. Jitters tremble at the end of each of his words, and his eyes look anywhere but at me as he speaks. “I don’t know what’s happening.”
I huff. “I think I know you well enough now to know when you’re not telling me the truth.” I place my hands on my hips. “Aashiq, what is happening?”
His mouth opens and closes a few times, but at my unrelenting stare, he sighs.
“Fine,” he says in a small voice. He fiddles with his fingers and draws a deep breath.
“The more you fall back in love with writing, the less use you have for me. I’m fading away because you don’t need me anymore.
” He speaks all in one breath, as if that could help to soften the blow.
But it doesn’t. Each of his words hits me like a bullet, one after the other, creating a bloody straggling pattern along my torso.
The lining of my throat feels thick, and my sternum aches like someone took a meat cleaver to it.
“I don’t need you anymore?” I repeat, my voice hoarse, like I spent the last ten seconds screaming at the top of my lungs.
“That couldn’t be further from the truth! I need you. Of course I need you!”
I stagger forward, my hands coming up to wrap around his back. But they go right through him again. Aashiq takes a step back, anguish contorting his face. My eyes warm, and I balance my hands on my knees as I hunch over. Tears stream down my cheeks, and my nose burns. “God, no.”
“Oh, Ziya.” The pain is heavy in Aashiq’s tone, and that’s when I know this is all real, because even when Aashiq says something I won’t like, he does it with a happy tone.
If he’s allowing his true emotion to show, it’s because he knows there’s no point in hiding it.
His sock-clad feet appear under my gaze, and I watch as his hands reach toward me, but the fact that I can’t feel him means he’s glitching again. “Please don’t cry.”
That makes me cry even harder. “I’m not,” I hiccup. “I’m not crying.”
After a few more sniffles, I straighten my back.
When I turn to Aashiq again, his hands are at his sides, balled into fists.
Red circles his eyes, and for a moment, I think of the beaches of Prince Edward Island up in Canada.
The russet sand leading to the shores of the green-blue water, which rushes to meet the sand.
The merging is ceaseless. Natural. The embrace of land and sea.
Except the sea doesn’t have arms, and the land doesn’t have a body.
When they collide in the center, the sand disappears, lost to the ravaging waves.
But I don’t know who Aashiq and I are supposed to be in this metaphor. Am I the bodiless sand, or is he? Am I the endless sea, or is he? Maybe he’s both. But if he is, where does that leave me?
Alone at the shore, I guess. Watching the sea and the land struggle, but still wanting what they have. Because at least they have more than I do—a chance to meet in the middle.
I swallow thickly. “Did you know?”
He blinks. “What?”
My breath staggers. “Did you know this whole time you were going to fade away after I got back into writing?”
His face falls, and pain floods his eyes. That, along with his ensuing silence, is all the answer I need.
My lower lip wobbles. “But why?” I whisper. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”
“Because my focus was on getting you back into writing,” Aashiq replies. “I told you from the beginning this was why I was here.”
“If I had known this was going to happen, I never would have gotten back into it!”
He juts a finger in my direction. “And that’s exactly why I couldn’t tell you,” he says.
His hand falls back to his side. “This time I’ve spent with you has been so, so amazing, Ziya.
I’ve tried things and seen things and felt things I never thought I could.
But as much as I might have wanted, it was never my purpose to find out who I am other than your muse.
My only goal is to help you, and that’s what I’m going to do, until the very end. ”
Anger rushes to my cheeks. “Well, seems like we’re both going to be disappointed, then.” I turn my back on him and stomp over to the coffee table.
“What are you doing? Ziya!” he calls after me, but I ignore it as I pick up my laptop and flop onto the couch.
He reaches me just as I flip the lid open and close the Word document.
Aashiq’s head hovers over my shoulder as he peers at the screen.
He watches while I select the folder I created when I started this new book endeavor.
I highlight the folder and move it next to the recycle bin.
Alarm flickers in Aashiq’s eyes as the realization dawns on him.
He comes around the couch and sinks into the spot next to me.
“Come on. Don’t do this, Ziya,” he urges.
I whip my head to stare at his face. “If I start writing this book,” I begin, “then you’re going to leave forever. If I never write again, then you don’t have to leave. Deleting the outline will help bring you back, right?” I select the file and move it toward the bin.
“Ziya, don’t!” His hands land on top of mine, and this time our skin makes contact. The feeling is enough to make my own hands still.
A rush of excitement races through me at the prospect of him being able to touch me again, but it dampens when Aashiq turns his glare to me. “You can’t give up on your writing now,” he states. “Not after all the hard work we’ve put into getting you to love it again.”
A growl slips past my teeth. I shrug his embrace off me but place the laptop onto the couch next to me so I can stand and turn to face him. “I don’t care about writing!” I insist. “It means nothing if I can’t have you with me.”
He shoots to his feet, too. “The whole point of me coming out was to help you!”
“And you have!” I cry. An ache throbs at the front of my head from all the tears, but they still return at the heavy emotion in my voice.
“You’ve helped me so much that I can’t fathom not having you around me anymore.
Please…” My voice cracks on the word. Something in me shatters, and I fear it may never be fixed.
“You can’t leave me. If I have anything to say about it, I won’t let you. ”
Frustration emboldens the lines in his face. “And I won’t let you give up on something you love so much!”
My next words come out sharp and fast. “What if what I love is you ?!”
His frustration melts into agony. That’s when I know something in him has broken, too.
I’ve never seen this expression on Aashiq’s face before.
The fact I am now means this is really it—I’m going to lose him.
“What we have, Ziya…” he begins, torment rippling his voice.
“I know I’ve spent the entire time I’ve been here convincing you I’m real, but I’m not real in the way you are.
It can’t last. I can’t stay forever.” He gestures to my laptop.
“Your writing, though, is something that’ll be with you.
” He places his hand on the spot right above his heart.
“And I’ll always be with you in spirit. Isn’t that enough? ”
My answer is simple. “No,” I tell him. “No, it’s not.”
I shut the lid to my laptop, and the click echoes in the space between us. “I’m never writing again,” I declare.
Then, I turn and bolt out of the apartment.