Hi guys!
Okay. So I have this longgg OS. I thought of splitting it into two parts and making it a TS, but then I didn't want to spoil it by making the readers wait for part 2.
The plot of this story is inspired by a book called Double dating with the dead by Karen Kelley - now that is a great read. It has some very explicit sex scenes, but a very interesting story line. I read it in a day.
Special mention: Sadie! This one is for you! Hopefully this quenches the lack of OS's that you have been feeling! 😆
The bare walls for the new apartment filled Zoya with more happiness and elation than possible. The completely empty place, save for the boxes of her belongings, made her feel a sense of accomplishment and newness. It was a true fresh start.
The only possessions she'd brought from her previous place with her barely filled six boxes and two suitcases which were lined up against the far wall, hardly taking up any space in the large living room. She needed this change for so long. Leaving her past life behind did not make her nostalgic, she was eager even. Ignoring the boxes waiting to be sorted, she pushed the apartment door closed and threw herself onto the sofa, landing at the same time the door locked with a resounding click.
Satisfaction rolled through her chest, and she let out a sigh of contentment. There was nothing quite like the promise of a blank page, and that's exactly what life felt like at that moment: A blank page waiting to be filled and she was sure that her life now was going to be better than before.
The sofa was soft and comfortable. It hugged her body as she sank deeper into the cushions. In her present state of mind, it added to the almost womblike ambiance. Bright sunlight flared in through the large picture window, pooling at her feet and bathing her skin in welcome heat. The muted sounds of traffic drifted up from the streets below making Zoya smile. She much preferred living in a city as opposed to the goldfish bowl existence she'd endured while growing up in a small town.
After living in a small town all her life where everyone knew everyone, she liked the anonymity of being in a city. Anonymity, solitude and peace were commodities to be coveted. Anonymity might be pushing it a bit. In the real world she was barely a blip on anyone's radar, but in the other world she certainly seemed popular.
So it was with resignation rather than irritation that she reacted to the voice that shattered her peace.
"Hello, dear. I am worried about Asad."
Zoya's mind went into overdrive as it usually did when she heard the voices. Since she could only hear the speaker and not see them, their voices were usually followed an onslaught of emotion - whatever emotion the speaker was feeling. It was the same effect as hearing a song, or smelling a scent which triggers a memory and brings forth an unexpected emotion.
The strong sense of guilt and agitation her current visitor was feeling was impossible to fight, and her earlier feeling of contentment evaporated like smoke on the wind.
Being so very young when she first began to hear disembodied voices, it never occurred to her that talking to people she couldn't see wasn't something everyone could do. She'd been ridiculed by the kids in her neighborhood for talking to herself, and it wasn't until she was five years old that her mother explained things to her.
She told Zoya that her ability to hear the voices was a special gift, and not everybody could hear people the way she could. After that Zoya didn't like it quite so much, she didn't want to be different from everyone else. Unfortunately, she didn't have any say in the matter. She was stuck with it whether she liked it or not. As she got older she started to understand that the voices belonged to people who had passed into the next life.
It was very hard to incorporate her quirk' into her life. Being quite a spiritual person, Zainub fully embraced it, and Zoya was glad she could talk to her mother about it. However, her father's reaction proved to be the more common one: He wouldn't tolerate any mention of it in his presence; it was all hokum to him.
And so it was with a sense of resignation that Zoya spoke out loud into her empty apartment.
"Who's Asad?"
The energy in the room increased at once. It was a sensation that was all too familiar to Zoya, though admittedly she hadn't felt it come uninvited - or so strongly - in a very long time. It always took a few moments to adjust to the onslaught of a spirit's emotions, and with this particular female spirit the onslaught of excitement and nervousness bordered on desperation.
Zoya had given up trying to find out how spirits knew she could hear them. She used to try to ask them, but conversing with spirits about subjects which didn't interest them was almost impossible. They were usually fixated on their final purpose, the reason they remained bound to this plain. In their rush to communicate they often didn't make sense.
This spirit was no different, and listening to her was like tuning into a radio discussion half way through and having to fill in the blanks by guesswork alone. Zoya just waited until the spirit could calm down.
"He has been so unhappy. I can't take it anymore. He makes everyone think that he is fine but I know that he is only pretending. I am so helpless. He needs me and I am not there for him. He hates his work, and when he should be doing what he wanted to do. He worries about Najma. He shouldn't be burdened. It was my burden."
"Who is he?" Zoya repeated while the woman was still ranting but went unnoticed.
When a spirit was this agitated Zoya knew there was no point in trying to make sense of their emotional outbursts. Closing her eyes, she rested her head back against the cushions. The beginnings of a headache were brewing. After several minutes of incoherent rambling, the sheer turmoil of the woman's feelings started to recede into one focal point.
"He's my son. I've been watching over him and I... he's... he needs me and I can't do anything! My baby!"
A strong wave of sadness rippled through the air, and settled heavily in Zoya's chest. It brought a lump to her throat and the sting of tears to her eyes. She could not remember a time when she had felt another's emotions so vividly since she was a child. With Zainub's help she'd learned how to cope and as she got older she managed to channel her abilities until she could control it somewhat.
At first Zoya had been reluctant to make money from the situation, but Zainub had justified it by claiming that the value of Zoya's help far outweighed monetary recompense. However, Zoya had realized quickly that loneliness and isolation could never be assuaged by material gain. The money was a means to an end: rent, food and the future possibility of a college degree, if she ever decided what she wanted to study.
However, it was the only reason she had decided to move. People in the small town she grew up in had become overwhelming - everyone smothering. Now she only took a few appointments - of people who were believers and did not ridicule her.
Zoya dropped her head into her hands as her visitor ranted from the ether. Her fresh start had been tarnished mere minutes into it. The energy in the room was strong and so heart wrenchingly sad that Zoya could not tune out the spirit. She needed to help her. Zoya wondered if the spirit had haunted the apartment for years or if she'd had some emotional attachment to the previous occupant.
"I want to help you, but I don't think I can," Zoya said, keeping her eyes closed and focusing on the energy coursing through her. "This is not how I do things."
Relief rippled through the air, like the warmth of the sun cutting through the clouds on a cold day.
"We were meant to meet. I was drawn to you right away and you can hear me."
Now the spirit was hopeful. The switch in emotion, combined with the pounding in her head growing stronger drained Zoya.
"What's your name?"
"Dilshad Khan."
"Well, Dilshad Khan, I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed right now."
"Yes, I can see that. You look a little pale, dear."
All at once the energy around Zoya changed, dispersing into the feeling of being wrapped in her mother's arms, of being loved and comforted, and she knew instantly that feeling came from Dilshad. She'd never felt such strong maternal feelings before, not even from Zainub.
"Do you mind if we don't do this tonight? Can we talk about Asad tomorrow?"
"Of course, dear." And the energy vanished.
Zoya took two Advil from her purse, swallowed them without water, and fell asleep on the sofa curled into the fetal position. She woke a couple of hours later, disorientated and still exhausted. Frowning at the boxes she forced herself to get up and unpack them. Dilshad lingered in her thoughts while she filled the closets and shelves in her new apartment.
Long after midnight, she stared at herself in the mirror while brushing her teeth. She looked like a regular girl, but thanks to this thing that people called a gift, she was far from regular. What man, she asked herself, would tolerate his girlfriend being distracted by other people in the room that couldn't be seen or ordered away?
Despite her late night, Zoya woke up early and headed straight to the kitchen for coffee. She was too accustomed to unexpected guests to jump at the soft, lilting voice that filled up the small kitchen.
"Good morning, dear. You look much better this morning."
"My name is Zoya."
"I know, dear."
Dilshad's feelings were much calmer this morning. Zoya wasn't sure she could handle the intensity of their first encounter again. Dilshad's energy flared for a moment and then she was gone. She wasn't sure if she had been there all night, but her sudden departure surprised Zoya because she'd been expecting Dilshad to mention Asad again. Zoya had no idea who Asad was, but it was clear from Dilshad's energy that her peace hinged on his happiness.
Her day passed in a blur of rearranging her things and hanging pictures. The only photograph she put up was the one of Zainub and Ghafoor she'd taken at her high school graduation. She missed them a lot, but not enough to make her want to go back to living with them. She much preferred the anonymity of this city; people here didn't look at her like she was a freak of nature.
The odor of fresh paint of the apartment was still strong. She opened her window as the sun began to set. Noticing the wide ledge she took a seat, allowing her feet to dangle a few inches above the fire escape landing. Pink light cast a pretty glow on the city and the humid warmth of the late afternoon felt good on her skin. Every calm moment she spent here made Zoya feel proud of her decision of moving.
A loud rattling sound came from the right side. She looked over her shoulder to see long, pale fingers gripping the underside of a window frame in the adjoining apartment. As the window lifted she could see muscular forearms, definitely masculine without being bulky, and she considered leaning further over the ledge to see more, but her safety overruled her sudden desire.
"That's him."
Zoya startled, gripping the window frame. "Ya Allah!" she yelped, swinging her legs into her apartment to prevent her from falling. "You can't just sneak up on me like that."
"That's Asad".
Zoya's head snapped up.
"Yes, the guy with the long fingers and lovely forearms is Asad."
Zoya blushed.
"So let me get this straight. This Asad that you want to talk about is the guy next door?"
"Yes, and I don't want to just talk about him. I want you to help me get his life back on track."
Zoya balked at the suggestion. "I'm sorry, Dilshad. I already told you it doesn't work like that. People come to me and I help them."
"That's what I'm doing."
"You don't understand. These days it's normally people from... this side that approach me."
"I need you, Zoya."
"But I'm used to living people asking me to help contact their loved ones... not the other way around."
"Well, I can't see the difference."
"Of course there's a difference. What do you want me to do? Knock on his door and say 'Hi, I have your mom with me and she wants to talk to you.'?"
"Now you're just being silly. We'll have to be much more discreet than that."
Zoya sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I really want to help you, but I'm not sure I can. I only deal with people in my world who want my help. I don't go around forcing it on them. And quite frankly I have no desire to get myself committed. He'll think I'm crazy."
"Please help. He's lonely and he's stuck in a job that depresses him, and quite frankly shouldn't be doing, and I hate seeing him so miserable."
"You could say that about most people our age," Zoya muttered, trying hard to ignore the growing desperation emanating from Dilshad.
"I want him to go back to college and finish his degree. Asad always had dreams but he's given up on them. I worry about him."
Her voice was filled with sadness, but Zoya couldn't let herself be swayed. It felt wrong to interfere in a grown man's life simply because his overprotective (and a very dead) mother was unable to let go.
"He lives in a nice apartment in a nice part of town, he's lucky to even have a job in this economy, and by all accounts he's a good-looking guy. If he's as miserable as you say he is, I'm pretty sure it won't last long."
"So you agree he's good-looking?"
"You said it, not me. I haven't even seen him yet." Zoya dropped her head into her hands. "And please tell me you are not here to set me up with your son, because that would just be beyond creepy. Even for me."
Dilshad's silvery laugh tinkled like a wind chime. I'm not trying to set you up. But the mirth quickly evaporated when Dilshad spoke again.
"I can't rest until he's happy."
Zoya reflected on the challenge for a moment, and then with a heavy sigh she spoke again. "Let's just play it as it comes. I don't want to anger or upset him."
"Whatever you think is best, dear. I'm sure everything will be fine. He's a good boy."
Zoya's thoughts returned to those masculine forearms and she had a hard time thinking of the owner as a boy. When the unexpected desire to see the rest of him hit, it troubled her. It had been a long time since she'd felt any kind of desire.
Over the course of the next few weeks, Zoya settled into the rhythm of her new life. She was serious in her decision to stop actively seeking out spirits for loved ones, and so she'd changed the number on her cell and moved. She couldn't turn her back on the few clients she had who still needed her, so she'd passed her details on to them with strict instructions not to recommend her to anyone else.
Of course, Dilshad was dead set (pun intended) on making Zoya talk to her son.
Zoya smiled when she recalled her first encounter with Asad. She had gone down to the lobby of the complex to receive a delivery. On her way up to her floor, she had bumped into a hard body as she exited the elevator and the heavy box landed on her left foot. As her hand shot out to remove the weight, the same long fingers of her next door neighbor reached out to beat her to the task.
Unprepared as she was, his sheer beauty had knocked the breath out of her lungs when she looked up at him. She'd been unable to stop her eyes from roaming over the planes of his face, drinking in the exquisiteness of his high cheekbones and marvelously chiseled jaw. Distracted by the fluid movement of his soft-looking, full lips, his words had been lost to her ears. It wouldn't be until later that she would remember the husky timbre of his voice.
She was sure she'd imagined the spark that flared in his intense eyes. Looking harassed, he'd muttered an apology, picked up his things, and hot footed it out of the elevator.
Dilshad's presence had been strong, but when Asad made his hasty exit so did she, leaving Zoya with the knowledge that Dilshad's appearances were dependent on Asad's proximity.
***
The remnants of another hot day lingered in the stuffy air in her apartment. Opening her window to let in the breeze, she grabbed a book and eased out onto the ledge. The brick was pleasantly cool beneath her outstretched legs and she sighed in appreciation, heaving some of her tension out through her lungs. She opened her book, ready to lose herself in the story for a few hours, but a voice filtering out from the open window of Asad's apartment caught her attention.
"I'll call you later. I am done for the day, Jeff. I can look over that tomorrow, right?"
Zoya recognized the voice as Asad's. Sure he'd only said a few words to her, but she'd never forget a voice like that. Closing her book, she tilted her head towards the window and listened harder. She could hear the sounds of cutlery hitting plates and he didn't say much for awhile, clearly concentrating on his food. She stayed out on the ledge to write in her diary, becoming so absorbed that she startled when he spoke.
"Aren't you cold?"
She hadn't heard his window open. Moving carefully, she looked over her shoulder and saw Asad sitting on his own window ledge. His long legs were bent at the knee and she noticed he was holding onto his window frame.
"A little," she answered, adjusting her position so she was facing him.
"I'm sorry for running out on you the other day. Is your foot okay?"
"You didn't run out on me," she said. "And it didn't really hurt."
His chuckle sounded like a soft rumble. "You're being too kind." He paused, looking out over the city. "You know, I've lived here for two years, but I've never sat out here before."
"I prefer the solitude of my window ledge," she said smiling at Asad. "And the view is much better up here."
"Why thank you," he joked.
"Wow, your modesty becomes you," she fired back. His eyes sparkled with mirth and his gentle laughter delighted her.
Letting go of the window frame he pointed at her book. "What are you reading? If you don't mind me asking."
She looked down. "No, not at all. It's a book my mom recommended. It's, um, about psychics." She cleared her throat and said, "I heard you on the phone. You sounded tense. Everything okay?"
Asad swiped his hand across his face and said, "It was from work. I work for a house-inspection agency. It's not really a great company, honestly. What do you do?" Asad shifted in a way that told her he was becoming uncomfortable on the ledge.
"Tell him." Dilshad's sudden return surprised her.
"I'm a medium," she blurted in the vocal equivalent of ripping off a Band-Aid.
"Psychic?" he jerked his face in the direction of the book in her hand.
Zoya sighed. "No. I can't see into the future or anything like that." She braced herself for his reaction, expecting him to either treat it as a joke or make a hurtful comment.
Instead he smiled. "You see dead people?"
Relief washed over her. "Not see, but yeah, something like that."
Asad regarded her for a long moment before speaking. "And how does one get into that profession, Cole Sear?" There was a hint of teasing in his voice.
"One is born into it," she responded in a fake British accent, ignoring his little jibe from the movie The Sixth Sense, relieved that he hadn't retreated into his apartment and slammed the window on her. The night air was much cooler now, and Zoya shivered as a crop of goose bumps sprung up across her arms. Asad must have noticed because he immediately invited her inside for coffee.
"It's getting late," Zoya said, but when she noticed Asad's shoulders slump a little she added, "Maybe some other time."
"Tomorrow?"
"Sure," she said, swinging her legs off the ledge and into her apartment.
"You didn't tell me your name," he called after her.
She leaned her upper body."It's Zoya."
He leaned forward as far as he could and held his hand out to her. His skin was warm when she pressed her palm to his. "Pleased to meet you Zoya," he said softly while giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm Asad." He held on to her for a moment before letting go.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she said, ducking back through her window.
"Come over at six," he called just before his window slid closed.
Even though she could feel Dilshad's presence, Zoya knew the excitement coursing through her was her own. However, her excitement was quickly tempered by the worry at what his reaction might be to learning that she "knew" his mother.
"He likes you."
"Yeah, well I'm not sure how long that will last. Especially when he finds out I've been talking to you."
It was ten to six, and Zoya was in the bathroom freaking out. She groaned at her pale reflection, pinched her cheeks to pinken them up and slicked some clear gloss over her lips. She quickly brushed her hair and dabbed some perfume behind her ears before standing back to survey the results.
Would she seem too eager turning up with make-up on? Would she seem uninterested if she showed up bare-faced? Geez, Zoya! You are so out of this whole date-non-date business, she muttered to herself.
"It's only coffee," she said to her reflection. "It's not like it's an actual date."
***
He was waiting against his door when Zoya stepped out into the hallway. Her pulse accelerated at the sight of him. He was casually dressed in denims and a dark blue shirt, the open collar revealing an enticing glimpse of his chest hair. He pushed away from the frame and swept his hand away from his body in a gesture for her to step into his apartment.
Images of wildlife and brightly colored landscapes were tacked up to the walls in a random pattern, some weren't even framed. One picture, a close up of a single raindrop on a leaf, stood out"the bead of water lay in sharp relief against the blurred green surface of the leaf, seeming lonely in its isolation. The layout of his apartment was a mirror image of hers, but this only registered briefly before the clutter of photographs adorning his walls caught her attention.
"You have a lot of pictures," she said, cringing inwardly at stating the obvious.
"It's a hobby of mine."
"Collecting pictures?"
He smiled and his eyes gleamed with the pleasure of being drawn on a subject he clearly loved. "I also take them, too."
"This is what he should be doing. This was what he wanted to do."
A strong wave of guilt from Dilshad ruined Zoya's enjoyment of the pictures. She fought to keep the smile on her face while she followed Asad into the living room.
"Have you eaten?"
She'd been too nervous to eat, but she couldn't tell him that. "I had a late lunch. I'd love coffee though."
He rubbed his hand along the back of his head, ruffling his hair; a gesture she knew meant he was nervous.
"Do...do you want to stay for dinner?" he stuttered, asking the question like he already expected her to say no. "It wouldn't take long to whip up some pasta."
"Say yes."
Zoya smiled, determined to put him, and herself at ease. "So not only do you take beautiful pictures, you cook too? A man of many talents."
He beamed at her. He returned a few minutes later with coffee for both of them. "I'm really sorry about the other day. I acted like a jerk," he said, handing her a mug. "I didn't mean to rush off like that, but I was running late for an appointment at a new site."
"It's fine," Zoya said.
His eyes never left her face and she felt slightly uncomfortable under his gaze. Sipping her coffee, she let her eyes roam around the room. Again the walls were covered with pictures but these seemed to be more personal.
"Do you mind if I take a closer look?" she asked, pointing to the bookcase which housed several smaller photographs in wooden frames.
"I didn't take these," he said, coming up close behind her while she let her fingers trail over each one. "That's my sister, Najma," he explained when she touched the one of the young girl with short black hair.
"She's very pretty," Zoya commented.
"She's growing into a very beautiful young woman." Motherly pride was tangible in the air.
Asad sighed. "She's pretty alright, but she's a real handful too."
There was something almost paternal in his tone, but she didn't press him. Instead, she picked up the next photograph. A woman was sitting on a bench in a garden with a cup of tea in her hand. Bright sunlight picked up the brown of her hair, giving it a fiery glow. Her mouth was open in laughter and her eyes were closed and crinkled around the edges. Zoya already knew who she was before they spoke at the same time.
"That's my mom."
"That's me."
"You're beautiful," Zoya whispered.
"What?"
Sadness engulfed her. It didn't seem fair that anyone should be cut down in their prime. She blinked up at Asad. "Your mom is beautiful."
"Was," he corrected sadly. "She died a few years ago."
"I'm sorry."
An apology for the loss the ones left behind had suffered was an automatic response for most people, but in Zoya's case she genuinely was sorry because the almost overwhelming ache in her heart belonged to Dilshad - and she was sorry that anyone would have to suffer that much pain over something that couldn't be changed.
Asad dragged a deep breath into his lungs. "No, I should be sorry. I didn't invite you over here to depress you."
She touched his arm, trailing her fingers over his smooth skin. "This is sort of my field," she said gently. "If you want to talk about her-"
Capturing her hand beneath his, he stared into her eyes. "No." It felt like a rebuke and Zoya snatched her hand back. The rejection stung because it was all too familiar. He reached out to her when she tried to take a step away from him.
"I don't mean never," he clarified. "Just not tonight."
He took her hand and led her to the kitchen where they cooked dinner together. While they worked they swapped stories about their lives, covering the basics of childhood, school, hobbies and interests. By the time they sat down to eat, she felt completely at ease in his company, which was something that hadn't happened to her for too long.
After dinner, he refused to let her clean up, and she leaned against the counter admiring him while he loaded the dishwasher. She admired the way his back muscles bunched and flexed as he bent over filling the trays, and of course her eyes drifted down to enjoy the firm contours of his backside.
Bringing herself out of her trance, she helped him finish the cleaning over his protests and they settled back on the couch.
Asad smiled sadly after a while. "I was twenty-one when she died. Najma was only fifteen." He leaned back against the cushions. "I'm sorry; you don't want to hear this."
"I do," she insisted, but she wasn't quite ready to discuss Dilshad in detail. "Did Najma stay with you?"
He nodded. "I had to drop out of college and take a job so I could support us. We were assigned a social worker who suggested I should continue at college and Najma could live with a foster family until she was eighteen."
"I couldn't let that happen." He glanced at Zoya. "That's when Jeff came to my rescue. He got me the job I'm doing now."
"She's lucky to have you."
Asad chuckled. "I doubt she'd agree with you. She thinks I'm overprotective."
"Are you?"
He seemed to ponder it for a moment before shrugging. "I guess so." He eyed her briefly as if gauging whether he should elaborate. He finally did. "She has a crush on a guy I work with. He is too old for her."
"Oh."
"She met Imran when he was here one day... and now she's practically stalking him."
"Maybe she'll grow out of it."
He snorted, "She is a firm believer of old is gold'." Zoya couldn't contain her laughter.
"It's not funny," Asad complained, failing to stifle his own laughter. They laughed together until the atmosphere shifted and suddenly became more intense. He leaned forward and took her hand in his. His other hand came up and caressed her cheek. "How does it work?"
Her mouth was suddenly dry. "How does what work?"
"Your gift."
"It's not a gift."
He inched closer, gripping her hand tighter. "Tell me about it."
They talked long into the night. Dilshad stayed away and Zoya didn't mention her, but she wondered that since Asad didn't mention his mom again if he had considered the possibility of Zoya meeting her. If he had, he didn't seem ready to know. During their conversation they had gravitated towards each other and she'd found herself wrapped in his arms while they sprawled on his sofa.
"I'll walk you to your door." he quipped when she yawned loudly.
Outside her door, he pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that was surprisingly intense. "When can I see you again?" he asked, his breath washing down her neck as he pressed his lips to the tender spot behind her ear.
"I know I'm probably moving too fast," he said. "But I can't help it."
She smiled. "I'll cook for you tomorrow." She almost floated into her apartment, she was so happy.
The buzz of electricity inside her apartment was not unexpected. Dilshad managed to contain herself until Zoya got into bed, and then the night took on the feel of a girly sleepover. Zoya did not object because she'd never had a best friend to share secrets with. Even though Dilshad was technically not a best friend, she was close enough.
"You were surprisingly absent tonight," Zoya said, nestling into her pillows.
"From the moment you stepped into his apartment I felt his emotions and it wouldn't be appropriate for me to stay. When you saw our photographs, I was drawn back."
"He didn't seem to mind that I'm a medium," Zoya confided. "But I'm worried that he won't handle it when he finds out I've been speaking to you. I don't think I can interfere in his life, Dilshad. I know you want me to pass on messages, but it doesn't feel right."
Contentment rippled through the air. "I agree. Don't mention me unless he asks you first."
"I had a good time tonight," Zoya whispered into the air right when a wave of fatigue washed over her, lowering her defenses.
***
She was out on the ledge when he arrived home from work. She saw the light come on in his apartment and smiled when he appeared at his window right away.
"Hey," he said, leaning out. "I'll just take a quick shower and then I'll be right over."
"Take your time," she said. "Everything's ready."
He looked up at the sky. "The light's great this evening." He looked at her. "I'd really like to take your picture."
"Now?"
"Would you mind?"
She hesitated.
"You look beautiful sitting there."
"Charmer," she said smiling shyly. "Okay."
He ducked back into his apartment and returned ten minutes later brandishing a very expensive looking camera. Instantly she started smoothing down her hair and straightening her clothes.
"Don't move," he said, bringing the camera up to his eye. "You look perfect as you are."
She heard the click of the shutter release several times before he pulled the camera down and looked at her. "Smile." The shutter release clicked furiously until she began to feel self-conscious and looked away. "You said a picture," she reminded him.
"Sorry, I got carried away. I'll go take that shower now."
Over the course of the next few weeks and many movie dates, trips to galleries and walks in Central Park, they became inseparable. Though Dilshad still visited from time to time, her presence was becoming rarer by the day. Zoya suspected that Asad's decision to return to college to finish his degree had something to do with it. Zoya still hadn't mentioned her connection to Dilshad. Likewise, Asad had never asked. That ended over a stretch of the two of them completing their college applications.
"Najma is set against me applying to NYU. She says I'll bug her on campus. I love her to pieces, but sometimes I can only take her in small doses and she had been annoying me over meeting Imran," he admitted, pulling Zoya's hair away from her neck so he could kiss it.
Wrapping her arms around his waist, she pressed her lips to his ear. "The more you fight her on this, the more Imran will appeal to her. She's an adult now. You can't be responsible for her forever."
"I've tried telling myself that countless times."
They lay in silence for a while, the applications forgotten. His arms snaked around her waist, pulling her close. He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, kissing the spot where it had been. Heat flooded her body, and she felt the first stirrings of arousal when his lips found hers. Within moments she could feel the hard length of him grazing her hip. She'd never wanted anything so badly before, but it scared her.
Seemingly noticing the change in her, he pulled back. "Are you okay?"
Until she was completely honest with him about Dilshad, she couldn't risk falling any deeper. She tried to nod, but he was already sitting up.
"It's okay," he murmured into her hair while he embraced her. "I won't rush you."
"I just feel like we should wait," she said quietly. "We're still just getting to know each other really."
"I want to show you something," he said, standing up and taking her hand. He took her to the small room at the end of the hallway, opening the door and flicking on the light. Her nose wrinkled at the strong chemical scent in the air. When she spotted pictures hanging from strings above a long bench, she realized it was his dark room.
He took one of the pictures down and handed it to her. She stared down at herself sitting out on the ledge, bathed in the warm tones of a rosy sunset. He started removing more pictures, handing them to her one by one. As she looked at them it was like a visual diary of their time together.
"You've never asked to see them," he said softly. "Most people want to see their pictures, but you don't. Why is that?"
She looked down at the little orbs of light that appeared in each picture. When she didn't say anything his fingers slid over the picture and circled one.
She looked up. "Maybe I'm a little more like Cole Sear than I thought."
This time he didn't smile. "Why didn't you tell me? You knew I'd see them. Did you think I wouldn't want to talk about it? You don't have to hide it from me. It's part of who you are. I would never judge you."
She felt the sting of tears in her eyes, and Dilshad prickled in the air. Asad took a step back, confusion distorting his previously tender expression.
He looked down at the photos now gripped in Zoya's hands. "Is it her? My mom?"
She closed her eyes. "Yes. I wasn't being deceitful. I just knew you weren't ready to talk about her."
"Tell him I'm sorry." Zoya shook her head a little.
"Why did you shake your head?" Asad asked.
"Please tell him I love him."
Inhaling deeply and bracing herself for an unfavorable reaction, Zoya summoned up the courage to speak. "She wants me to tell you something."
"You can hear her right now?"
She nodded and he turned away balling his hands into fists as he leaned on the bench. She noticed he was shaking. "I don't know what to do," he whispered, finally looking up at her. "I believe you, but it doesn't seem real."
She reached for him and relief flooded through her when he made no attempt to evade her. Instead he raised his arm, allowing her to wrap her arms around him.
Dilshad's sadness still pushed against Zoya's own emotions.
"Has she been with us this whole time?"
Zoya pressed her lips to his chest. "In the beginning she was with you a lot, but not so much now."
His arms gripped her more tightly. "Tell me what she said."
"She loves you."
His laugh was hollow. "I already know that. She told me every day. I've never doubted her love."
She heard Dilshad's sob before she felt another strong wave of heartache but this time she also felt calmness.
"I need some time to get my head around this," he said.
Zoya felt Dilshad's reluctance to leave, but she said one last thing before leaving.
"It's okay. He is happy now. Thank you, Zoya."
***
Weeks passed, and while Dilshad's absence still bothered them, their growing intimacy and feelings for each other took priority. It was late on a Saturday night when they were lying together on Asad's sofa.
"Do you think she sent you to me?" he asked, showering her shoulder and neck with soft kisses.
"Who knows?" Zoya responded, too distracted by the feel of his body pressed so tightly to hers.
He rolled her over to spoon her. "I love you."
Tears of happiness pricked her eyes. "I love you, too."
He cradled her neck gently while he molded his mouth to her lips. His body was hard against hers and she could feel his desire for her. Her heart fluttered like a hummingbird's wings. She wanted nothing more than to be with him, but she needed a moment to compose herself.
"I need a minute," she said, gesturing towards the bathroom door.
He kissed her deeply. "Don't take too long," he murmured, his eyes blazing with a need that thrilled her.
Inside the bathroom she stared at her reflection and tried to control her breathing. She wanted him with such intensity it was almost painful. She offered up a silent prayer for Dilshad, thankful that she'd brought the love of her life to her, but a little sad that she hadn't said goodbye properly. She pulled the door open, but a familiar voice stopped her in her tracks and groan.
"Hello, dear. I am worried about Najma."
A/N: YOU MADE IT! Woohoo! It was 16 freaking pages long. And I call it an OS...hehehe 😆
How was it? It was different. I aimed at it to be funny with a bit of emotion. I hope that went through! Reviews are much appreciated! <3
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