Page 10 of Mine to Take

CHAPTER SEVEN

FARID

She had hardly stirred when I unwrapped myself from her and left the bed. Finding her here in my room when I returned had warmed my heart and convinced me more than ever this fantasy we are living has to end.

They won’t stop searching. Maxwell Caukins has seen to that. Driven by his feelings for her, he’s getting too close. I know what it’s like to love someone that much. I know what it’s like to love her that much.

“What day is it?” she rolled over and sat up on her elbow.

“What?” I was caught a bit off guard by the question.

“I'm not really sure how long I've been here, but it seems cooler out than it has been, like a season is about to change. I know I lost some time when I was down in the cell.”

“September 25th, Thursday. You've been here almost two months.”

“Wow.” she muttered.

“It's probably time I give you back.”

I saw a look of alarm flicker in her eyes. “Wow, last night was that bad for you?” she tried to joke, as I’m learning is her tendency when difficult topics come up.

I laughed out loud. “No, sheereen-am (my sweet), quite the opposite. It was too good.”

“I don't want to go back,” she whispered.

I sat on the bed and pulled her into me. “Yes, you do. This is no life for you.”

“Not today, please.” She looked at me with pleading eyes.

“Not today,” I pressed my lips to her head, “Not today.”

“Is that coffee I smell?” She sat up fully and I handed her the cup of steaming hot black liquid. The delight on her face at something so simple one of the reasons I had fallen so hard. “How was your trip?”

“Productive,” I said.

“Hmmm,” she pondered for a second and then caught sight of the small package I’d placed on the nightstand. “What’s that?”

I handed it to her, taking the coffee from her so she could attack the gift with child-like glee.

I’d wrapped the book up in a pastel-colored hijab, and also included a chocolate bar, something she mentioned a desire for more than once. Sweets were not something I craved and thus we had nothing like that around here. She hung the hijab around her neck in the manner of an American scarf and froze when she moved the candy bar from atop the book to see the title.

This Side of Paradise by F. Scott Fitzgerald.

I’d quoted Fitzgerald to her, and the quote had come from this book and not The Great Gatsby, which I would expect her to know. But she had instantly known who had written the words I’d said to her and truly meant. I am forever bound to this woman in a way I cannot fully explain or fathom. Our days together are numbered, but I will never recover from her, nor do I want to.

Tears filled her eyes. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything,” I kissed her lips softly.

“Thank you,” she stammered. Her eyes lingering on mine, telling me everything else she had no words for.

“You're welcome.” I pulled the hijab from around her neck. “Do you remember how to do this?”

She shook her head and I sighed in mock exasperation. “Get dressed, I want to take a walk.”

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