Zahraliza by Abdelouahid stitou - HTML preview

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5

It has been two hours. He did not realize how time passed at all. Time swallowed him as he swallowed her words and pauses. He removed his weapon of ‘reservation’ and put it aside without even noticing that. It seemed to him that she liked sitting with him, too.

It really surprised him that Huda completely fitted the model he created in his mind. It did not deviate one millimeter away from it.

Love is the set of ideas that we visualize about the man—or women— of our dreams. When the right person arrives, they do not do anything; they just embody that image with their physical being. Deep within Khaled was resisting calling it love because it was too premature.

When he spoke to Huda, he felt comfortable, and he admired her. He did not need to get entangled in love; his love affairs were very few. Only a small number of women loved him, but they did love him genuinely. This was really what was terrifying him.

He knew that it was not easy for any woman to love him because of his reserved character, but when it happened, it was too difficult to set himself free. It was never something he willingly did. Some events would take place and force him to break up. He endured a lot of pain every time he had to break up. It was like forcefully removing a hook from his own flesh.

Huda’s features were fine to a good extent. Beautiful? He actually did not like this adjective. Beauty for him always remained relative. For instance, he considered the limb, one-eyed cat that he kept amazingly beautiful.

When Huda smiles, a dimple appears on her left cheek. One of her incisors protruded slightly over the other. It does not diminish her features; it makes shine more.

Do you know that hadn’t it for one-second hesitation and one millimeter, I wouldn’t have been here?
Really? How is that, Khaled?

He liked that she called him with his name without titles. She could remove the formality barriers in a way so gentle that one might not spot.

I was about to delete your first comment on my post on the Facebook the other day. I thought it too fastidious. However, my forefinger retreated in the last second before it touched the mouse button which would have ended everything.
Oh my God! How thick you are! You delete the gentle sex so easily from your Facebook account?
You can rather say so complicated. I haven’t reached this state until I spent a long time surfing Facebook. Long discussions overburden me especially that some people have nothing to do in their lives excepts for discouraging people. They are facopaths if this blend is correct.

Huda laughs and swings her head gently backwards. She moves his emotions again. Are these spontaneous movements or deliberate ones?

Facopaths? A blend of facebookers and psychopaths? You deserve a patent for coining this term. Anyways, you know well that I’m not one of them. The truth is I was following your posts for a while. I seriously liked them and wanted to write a comment to provoke you. It seems I escaped being delete because of your hesitation.
So your comment was not a coincidence.
Of course it wasn’t. I was really interested in what you write. I thought that this person either believed in what he’s writing which would make him an amazing person, or he’s just posting things to fill the vacuum on Facebook.
What have you discovered.

She looked down then up. Their eye met for few seconds. A sensation of shiver travelled down his spine to his feet. Meanwhile, she acted indifferently and stirred the sediment of her coffee.

You told me you live alone. Where is your family?
My family lives in Belgium. I didn’t need to tell you earlier in order not to damage the course of our relationsh... I mean the course of our getting to know each other. I’m now spending some months here for convalescence. I took a medical leave from my work, and I chose to spend it in Morocco.
Perhaps you thought that I might be digging for the “papers” of Belgium?
Not at all. Do not take it the wrong way. I just thought it wasn’t the proper time. Now it’s appropriate to tell you.
Don’t worry. I’ve never been interested in migration.
I know. It isn’t difficult to conclude that, Tangier lover.

Some moments of silence prevailed their rendezvous more than once. He was thinking, and so was she. Then they would smile. It was delighting for him that she did not wear any makeup at all. He always hated cosmetics, the odor nails polish and lipsticks, and all members of that disrespected family of deception.

When they left they café, she offered to give him a ride to his home, but he did not agree.

You insisted on paying the bill in the café, and now you don’t need me to drive you home. You’re an oriental man!
I’m actually a Tangierian man.
Your love to Tangier kills me out of jealousy.
It kills me that you’re jealous of a city.
The word city is feminine. Women feel jealous of all feminine things when they compete for a man.
Anyways. I live nearby in Espanyol neighborhood.
I know surely.

They said bye to each other and agreed to meet again. Her car seemed to him as delicate as Huda herself. She stepped on the gas pedal and did not forget to wave gently with a smile that should be classified as a weapon of mass destruction.

He went home completely exhausted; his heart was full of emotions that he did not experience for so long. How chaotic women can make men! Even his apartment seemed entirely different to him.

He fell on the bed like an unconscious man. His cat, as if she could sense his feelings, looked at him with sympathy mingled with caution. He carried her and put her close to his feet. She rolled up and drew herself closer to him while he was contemplating the moon that was trying to escape passing clouds.