"I don't understand.", he said looking at her intently, trying to decipher what thoughts hid behind those chocolate brown eyes.
"I want to be happy!", she said flashing her dimpled smile.
"Everyone does!", he said looking away.
"Yes. But they don't try hard enough until the doctor tells them...until it's too late." Her face reflects some ancient grief.
His creased brow pushed her to continue further.
"I'm dying. No, not like that. I mean just like you and every one else. We are all dying but no one acknowledges it until the doctor tells them that they are going to die. I don't want to be one of those people. I want to start living before they tell me that. I want to fullfil all my heart's desire before they tell me my time's up! I want to remember this very moment when you stare at me like I just landed from Mars. And I want to remember this angelic smile and those deep mahogany eyes which seem like quick sand that I keep drowning in. And I want to remember how you move your fingers through your hair when you're nervous and I want to remember how the time is jealous of you and always flies when you're around and how I love the warm sun which makes your brown eyes look golden and how I love the winter which drives you closer to me. The wind on my face, your hands brushing away the hair from my face or blocking the sun from my eyes. My hand in yours, the sense of home, the feeling of being safe, the reluctance to let go, the promise of forever. And when my vision is clouded by age or time, I don't want to strain my eyes to find your face for as soon as I close my eyes, I know you'll be there. I want to remember every curve of your smile and every crease on your forehead, every movement of your hand and every tilt of your head with the slightest detail. I don't want to start living when they say it's too late..."
-Bushra Shaikh
"I want to be happy!", she said flashing her dimpled smile.
"Everyone does!", he said looking away.
"Yes. But they don't try hard enough until the doctor tells them...until it's too late." Her face reflects some ancient grief.
His creased brow pushed her to continue further.
"I'm dying. No, not like that. I mean just like you and every one else. We are all dying but no one acknowledges it until the doctor tells them that they are going to die. I don't want to be one of those people. I want to start living before they tell me that. I want to fullfil all my heart's desire before they tell me my time's up! I want to remember this very moment when you stare at me like I just landed from Mars. And I want to remember this angelic smile and those deep mahogany eyes which seem like quick sand that I keep drowning in. And I want to remember how you move your fingers through your hair when you're nervous and I want to remember how the time is jealous of you and always flies when you're around and how I love the warm sun which makes your brown eyes look golden and how I love the winter which drives you closer to me. The wind on my face, your hands brushing away the hair from my face or blocking the sun from my eyes. My hand in yours, the sense of home, the feeling of being safe, the reluctance to let go, the promise of forever. And when my vision is clouded by age or time, I don't want to strain my eyes to find your face for as soon as I close my eyes, I know you'll be there. I want to remember every curve of your smile and every crease on your forehead, every movement of your hand and every tilt of your head with the slightest detail. I don't want to start living when they say it's too late..."
-Bushra Shaikh
