Kiara closed the door to the bathroom softly, letting her bare feet sink into the plush carpeted floor, she paused seeing Emre sitting on the chair by her bed. Ignoring his presence, she walks to the vanity silently picking up her moisturiser. His reflection clear in the mirror in front of her, his gaze heavy on her. Unscrewing the cover, she dotted it on her face with sluggish movements, before rubbing it in. She hissed in pain when she rubbed her cheek a bit too hard and knew that Emre heard it when she saw him slowly rise from the chair in the mirror.
"Turn around," he said, his voice gravelly.
Kiara continued ignoring him, applying the usual makeup primer.
"Kiara," she heard the unspoken order in the tone of his voice. But she was tired, she was too tired for the confrontation that she knew was about to happen. She was too tired to hash out whatever it was between them. Too tired to talk about why she flinched when she touched her cheek.
Before she could reach for the foundation, she was ripped away from the vanity. Gasping, Emre's grip was tight on her arm. His gaze fixated on her right cheek, the side of her face that Moussa's stinging blow landed on. His fingers with whisper light touch caressed her cheek and Kiara couldn't stop herself from squeezing her eyes tight. A reactionary action awaiting the pain that she was so sure would come.
"What the fuck happened, Kiara?" his tone a harsh contrast to his feather light touch.
"Let go," she said flatly.
"You're hurt. Someone hurt you," he continued bitterly. "Who?"
"Stop," Kiara said after a beat. "Just stop it."
"What do you mean, stop?"
"It means exactly what it does. Stop Emre. Just stop."
"Kiara, what if it happens again. Before it was your knuckles when you played wrongly...now this...What if-"
"You are not the hero in whatever this is."
"What...What do you mean?"
"Exactly what I said. You are not the hero. You are not my hero. You are nothing here." His arms dropped from her around her like he had been burnt by the licks of anger in her words.
"Kiara...don't. Don't try to fucking hurt me on purpose."
"What were we even doing? It was so silly, wasn't it? Walking around Times Square, watching the sun rise, and thinking that we could change things. How incredible naïve, right?"
"Don't...don't say shit like that. You can change things. There's still time."
"I can't. Everything has been decided. There is nothing that I can do. There is no hero in this story."
"Then be your own fucking hero, Kiara. Be the change that you want."
"I'm tired. I'm just...too tired..."
He was silent as she walked back to the vanity and picked up her foundation with trembling fingers. He watched as she efficiently covered the pinkened skin on her right cheek. The painted on foundation hid the evidence of whatever that had happened. Gently applying blush on her cheekbones she paused at her own reflection. She looked like Kiara, she probably sounded like Kiara, but she wasn't so sure anymore.
Setting her makeup items away, she dusted her dress before turning facing Emre. She could see the uneasiness in his demeanour. "I need to head back down to the party," she nodded at him as he gaped at her. Disbelief written on his face that after all that she had faced, she was still going to go back down there.
She brushed pass him, pass the peonies that he had gifted her that sat prettily on her vanity.
"Don't go. Stay here...with me...," he said, shocking himself by voicing the thoughts that were whirling in his mind with the force of a hurricane. She was but two steps away from him and if he wanted, he could stop her with his iron grip on her wrist. But he wanted her to choose him, just this one more time. He needed this, this little bit of hope to convince himself that it will all work out in the end.
Instead, he heard her say coldly, "You should leave. It was a mistake asking you to come. It was all a mistake."
"Kiara, I...I-"
"Don't. Don't say a thing. I need to back down to the party."
"Walking...Walking away right now, puts you out of my reach Kiara. I...I won't be able to get to you anymore."
Turning to face him she said, "Which is just as well isn't it? We were never meant to be. We were two really, really dumb teenagers. That's all we ever were. That's all we could ever be."
"Stop it, this is not you. This cold, emotionless puppet like person is not you."
"This...this is the role that I have to play. And I'm sorry, I'm so sorry if I made you believe otherwise."
"Stop it. Just stop being like this," Emre staggered backwards, hand in his hair, as he bumped into the vanity. "I can't...I can't talk to you like this. Just please...," the bouquet of flowers that were sitting pretty topped over at the impact. The delicate petals of the peonies unraveling all over the floor.
"Shit. I'm sorry, I'll clean it up." He bends down quickly collecting the unraveling flowers and gently sat the bouquet back on her vanity.
"Leave it. I'll get someone to do it. You...you just need to go." Kiara looked away, there was nothing left for her to say.
Emre looked out the window, lips pursed, and nodded his head at the words that Kiara didn't have to say. The silence stretched out as he looked out the window and Kiara stood numbed.
Emre stepped on the petals that littered the floor as he made to walk out of the door. He paused when he spotted the nude heels that she had worn. Picking it up, he turned back towards her the shoes dangling from his fingers.
"Why are you still here, Emre?" she breathed, the constriction in her chest increased.
"Let me help," he said quietly as he motioned to the shoes. He sank down to the floor in a squat and shifted to his knees. With gentle hands, he picked up Kiara's shoe and waited for her to slip her foot in, one by one.
"We can't go back to being almost strangers from here Kiara. I don't know how..." he said, tone low, quiet, like heat that filled an icy room with its invisible tenacity. "I know all of it from your favourite flowers, to your favourite perfume, to the favourite song you love dancing to. I know how much you hurt inside. I know how much you are trying not to feel anything right now. I know too much."
Kiara took a few steps away from him on her unsteady feet, her eyes on his wavy, chestnut hair that was always an inch too long. His shoulders curved around his body, a vain attempt to protect his heart from Kiara's next blow. He rose to his feet slowly, his shoulders still curving around his body, his eyes on the floor.
"We can't go back to being almost strangers...but I will if that's what you want...," he looked at her, eyes bright with emotion. Kiara hesitated before nodding.
"Can I get a hug?" he asked pausing, waiting for her to say something.
He all but crashed into her when she nodded silently again. Pressing her close to his body, he inhaled sharply. There it was that smell of cherry blossoms again he smiled bitterly against her hair.
"I won't...I don't...This isn't easy for me...," Emre whispered pressing his nose harder into her hair, his hands around her waist and her shoulders pressing her flush to him while she stayed limp and unmoving. He pressed her closer, as he tried to warm the chill, the emptiness that had taken over her. He pulled away slightly from her, resting his forehead on hers with his eyes scrunched up tight.
"I...I'm going to take somethings with me...and I am not going to ask for permission. Okay?"
He felt her nod against him, and he swallowed thickly when he heard her croak, "What are you taking?"
"...the musk of your perfume on my shirt...the softness of your hair that feels like satin between my fingers...the warmth of your breath against my lips...the honeyed way you say my name...I'm taking these and a bit more with me. They are mine, and mine alone to keep."
He heard a strangled laugh from Kiara, "I didn't figure you for a poet Emre..."
"Maybe I am, but only when it's you..."
"There will be others..."
"But they won't be you..."
"Bye, Emre..." she said after inhaling sharply.
"Bye Kiara," he breathed, pressing his lips to her forehead before stepping back. He fished the box from his pocket and gently placed it in her palm. "I'll see you later..." he continued with an air of nonchalance and walked out of the room.
"Later...," Kiara mumbled to the empty room, clutching the gift to her chest.
Emre kicked the stones that he found on the street. He had allowed his feet to take the lead, going wherever it would take him. As he walked down the street he realised from the sounds and smells that he was heading to Mr. Ahmeds grocery store. He kicked another stone and watched it tumbled to the side of the pavement as he carried on walking.
"MashaAllah, look who is looking all smart dressed up...," Emre heard Mr. Ahmad's voice as he walked closer to the grocery store. Mr. Ahmad and his father were sitting outside on those flimsy foldable chairs.
"You're back early. I thought you were at that fancy thing with your girlfriend, oÄlum..." his father asked, surprised at seeing Emre back earlier than expected.
He looked up at both the men, and from the shock on their faces, he knew how much of a mess he must have looked like. His eyes felt dry and scratchy, and he had rubbed at it too many times for it not to be red. And the anger he felt as he thought about Ahad and Kiara together was surely staining his skin with blotches of red.
He saw his father raise from the chair slowly, apprehension colouring his movements. "Did something happen, oÄlum?"
"What happened with the girl, kid?" Mr. Ahmad repeated, he too approaching Emre with calm movements.
"Nothing, absolutely nothing happened," he said, voice cracking at the end.
"But you took her to the bakery, your father was just telling me about it. She sounds like a sweetheart...," Mr. Ahmad asked frowning in confusion,
"What really happened? And don't beat around the bush, Emre," his father demanded his thick brows twisted in knots.
Emre licked his dry lips, his hands rubbing at his mouth before it sank in his hair ruffling it. He looked sideways at the road, digging up the last crumbs of his strength before he had to utter the words that have been on repeat in his mind.
"Kiara...she...ah...she...uhm...she got engaged today..."
"Wait, what? Didn't you say she just turned 17 on Thursday? They can't get force her to get married, it's against the law...," the outrage clear in Mr. Ahmad's voice.
Emre just shrugged, "I don't know. I guess they'll wait...I don't...I don't know..."
"Listen kid, we could report them...I mean if they are forcing her...," Mr. Ahmad continued in earnest.
"No, I can't do that to her. She loves her family...and will hate me for it...," he said with a sad smile, "maybe it's meant to be this way." Refusing to look at his father, he continued, "You were right Baba, Kiara...Kiara is way too good for me. You were right."
"Emre...you know I didn't mean it that way," his father said with a heavy sigh.
"Oh God, kid...when I said Romeo and Juliet, I didn't mean it literally...," Mr Ahmad lamented, recounting their earlier conversation.
Emre couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his throat at Mr. Ahmad's comment. And he couldn't stop the onslaught of sobs that wracked his body, the ache in his heart sudden and debilitating turning his laughter into grief. His father held him in a tight embrace, kissing his temple, whispering that it will all be okay.
He was left devoid of all his strength as he sobbed in his father's arms like a child, seeking comfort as the wisps of his shattered heart squeezed his chest.