Beyond his magic (Part 1)

Feature Image photo courtesy by: http://www.agathon.com.au/

 

“Rashid”

“Mahra”

“New Jersey”

“Emirate.” He grinned.

And it was a magical feeling. I wished that he could stay there longer; I wished that time could stop still. Those questions, the vibe, we were something no man could describe.

“Coffee, 9:30 am, Brighton Point”

“Hmm, couldn’t you use any other trick? Anyway, yes, coffee is fine”

Sleeping on a new side of my bed, I felt that I could not let go of the hive of unanswered questions on my mind. Who would allow me to get married to a Rashid that I just met in New Jersey? Or was I too fast to fall in love? And what was love anyway?

I did not know when I finally dozed off after I spent the night looking at the moon and its beauty, the stars as they managed to twinkle exquisitely; it was a different night, a new feeling.

I woke up very early, bobbed my thick hair and made my way to the bus stop. The thing about being a tom-boy is nothing really matters; I am not a make-up person though so many people have compared my beauty to the beauty of Taj Mahal, or even that of Burj Khalifa. It didn’t matter. To me; I guess I saw all the women in my country as peacocks and myself a garden-variety hen. I guess growing up with my brothers ruined the girl in me and I had always thought that men were either a menace or too egoistic. So this was a different scenario.

Jumbled and in a fix, I asked my instincts once again if I was taking the right decision. A princess falling in love with a mere common man in New Jersey who was yes, a practicing muslim but had nothing to call his own yet, that was something that my parents would never take. But hmm, the bridge would have to be crossed when we get there.

“You may now get off the bus,” The conductor said after I had directed him to drop me off at Brighton point.

I was ushered in by two gentlemen directing me to where I was supposed to sit. I got alarmed because Rashid was not anywhere to be seen. Could it be that he was just playing with my feelings? Just like the Arab guys in my country do so? Could it be that all men were really the same?

But no…

I kept checking my watch.

9:45am.

9:50am.

10:00am.

I was giving up and was almost heading to the door when I saw a man carrying a bouquet of fresh red flowers, him completely hidden and the sight was marvelous.  “Asalam Aleikum, dear. I am sorry that I kept such a stunning lady like you waiting” butterflies were pirouetting in my belly. Any lady would forgive such a man and again, I wished that my stay in New Jersey would be elongated.

“You gave me a hard time trying to figure out some Arabic words, hahahha. I am never ready to lose any battle that I fight for, but this one, I have to tighten my belt. I have a little surprise for you before we even have our breakfast. “

Someone was to pinch me because I was not awake. I tried to remember the guys in my country who treated their women as tools for satisfaction and derived no joy in having them as part of their decision makers. And here, was a black American guy that had me crazy for not even more than a fortnight. I was in for a long ride, I smiled back to myself.

A group of instrumentalists came and all that I remember are words that have swelled my heart right from that day to date.

I swear to you Mahra

All of me have been waiting for you

On the inside of your skin

The lord knows that it’s gonna be hard

But we will still keep dancing

Like our inside always do

Like the cords on the

Hallway through

Playing to the lights we chose to step to

 

There are spark plugs on our cheekbones

Our joints to the borehole

Window closer to the point

Of vibration

I know your pulse demands it.

I looked him on the eyes; I saw a future with him. His eyes shone brighter than the most amazing of pearls and while I looked more keenly, I saw a garden where two little girls were playing; they were a mix of black and red, something closer to half-caste children. They were a sight to behold.

I was distracted from my thoughts by the instrumentalists who had been paid to make my morning as fabulous as the hibiscus garden that has not gone dry from lack of sun-rays and has not gone withering because of dearth of beams of light.

Author: salummy

Writers will always tell you about them through their pen....The power of the pen can transform hearts even a heart that has been plugged into darkness...

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6 Comments

  1. If this feeling you tasted up here is love, then I think I haven’t had a chance to experience even a shred of it.

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  2. All I can say is wooooow! You WRITE young lady. Keep up the good work. Waiting for part 2

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  3. salluuuu.wanifanya sasa nkatafute prince charming na mm nizifeel hizo butterflies.waiting for part two.uopdate banaaa.usifanye readers wachoke kungoja

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    • hahahhahaha santaaa…Okay, I will do the update pretty soon

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