Page 59 of Writing Mr. Right

My jaw drops. “But you were so good at it!”

“I know it feels like I’ve been around forever, but I’ve spent decades existing solely in your head,” he reminds me, his tone gentle. “I hadn’t done any of that stuff before, but I worked hard to make it appear effortless.”

I splutter, shaking my head. “Butwhy?”

“Because my sole focus is you,” he says, his words carrying an air of simplicity. “And I needed to be able to help you with whateveryouneeded. If that meant making you breakfast, I’d learn how to use a skillet. If it meant figuring out how to work a laundry machine, I’d twist all the knobs until I settled on the right one. And if it meant working a photocopier, then I’d push all the buttons until I hit the correct one.” He puts his hand on top of my mine. “Whatever you need, Ziya, I’m here for you.”

Warmth spreads through my face, and I’m sure even in the hushed lights of the theater, the blush tinting my skin is visible. “I…didn’t realize how hard you worked for me,” I whisper. “Everything seemed so easy when you did it. And because you made it look easy, I thought it was something I could do, too.”

A triumphant smirk spreads on his face. “Then my plan worked exactly as I wanted.”

I pause for a moment. “Your plan doesn’t leave much room for your own needs or wants.”

He shrugs. “I don’t have any. My only need is to fulfill yours.”

“That’s not right.” I shake my head. “You should think about things you want, too, especially things outside of me. You’re a person now; you have a life to live. You should see if you’re capable of anything else, like you talked about at my parents’ house.” I wave my hand in the air. “The possibilities are endless for you now.”

His Adam’s apple bobs, and hesitation creeps back up on his face. “Ziya…”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice suddenly announces on the overhead speaker, and my eyes instinctively turn up, searching for the source of the sound. “Please find your seats. We will begin the show in a few minutes.”

When I glance at Aashiq again, his normal happy-go-lucky smile is back. “This is my first time at the orchestra,” he whispers, though that was kind of obvious. “I hope it’s as amazing as you say it is.”

I want to go back to our conversation, to ask him what was underneath his expression, to settle this strange feeling in my gut, but he folds his fingers so they twine with mine, pressing our palms together. Then the lights dim even further, and a hush comes over the audience until it’s silent. The musicians ready themselves, the conductor raises his baton, and I let myself be carried away by the opening strings of “Cornelia Street.”

28

The next few days pass by in a blissful blur. And oh, yeah, work. Despite the upgrade in our relationship status, Aashiq makes sure I don’t slip in the writing of my outline. When I write one page, we go on a walk. When I write two, we watch an episode of a K-drama together. And if I write three pages, then I get a kiss, and I have to say, it’s an excellent incentive. If he’d implemented this earlier, maybe I wouldn’t have been so reluctant to get back to work.

The office shuts down for the holidays, so now I have all day to write this outline. And I’m soclose. I’ve reached the climax section of the outline. Manahil and Junaid are about to figure out the ending for her new book, which is about an aspiring law student working with an experienced lawyer, but their clashing personalities make it very difficult for them to get anything done, until they eventually realize they may like each other more than they thought.

A couple of days before Christmas, I sit on the couch, my laptop balanced on my legs. Emily’s out visiting a work friend, so it’s just Aashiq and me in the apartment. My fingers fly across the keyboard, like they can’t move fast enough to type out thewords forming in my mind. I take breaks only to sip from the cups of tea Aashiq periodically brings me. He takes care of our meals so I can focus on writing, and he also turns the laptop off at the end of the day and switches on a K-drama so I can do something other than write. And then he guides me to bed so I can get some sleep. I haven’t been so dedicated to a project in a long time, and this is just the outline. I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like when it’s time for me to sit down and write the actual book. I guess it’s a good thing I’ll have Aashiq with me. Without him, I’m sure I’d drop dead from exhaustion before even reaching the end of the first act.

Aashiq fiddles around in the kitchen for a while, and when he comes back to the couch, he’s got two mugs in his hands. One is a refill of my tea, and a quick peek into the other confirms averythick hot chocolate. I think he frothed chocolate syrup and drizzled it on top of whipped cream. I shake my head before returning my attention back to my laptop.

He settles in next to me, sinking into the couch. He sips from his cup as he stares at my accelerated typing. “I’m so proud of all the work you’re doing,” he says.

A thrill races through my stomach at the compliment. “I can’t believe it,” I reply. “I’m outlining a whole book from start to finish again. I can’t remember the last time I did it with such joy. Most of the time outlining feels like pulling teeth, but this…” I bump his shoulder with mine. “Doing it with you has been some of the greatest fun of my life.”

“Being here with you has been some of the greatest fun of my life, too,” he replies. Aashiq tilts his head to the side. “Well, for as long as I’ve been alive.”

I snort, then lean forward to kiss his cheek. Just as my lips touch his skin, though, it disappears. I pitch forward, and my laptop slides down my knees. I snatch it at the last second before it hits the floor. I rear back, and when my gaze refocuses, Aashiq’s form glitches a couple of times before he becomeswhole again. His eyes briefly widen, but then he gives me a weak smile. “I’m going to refill my cup,” he states, quickly rising to his feet.

This time, I don’t let it slide. I set my laptop down on the coffee table and stand up, too. “Aashiq, what’s going on?”

“What? Nothing,” he insists as he makes his way to the kitchen.

I follow him, and when I place my hand on his shoulder, it passes through it completely. A gasp escapes me, and Aashiq abruptly turns. We both stare at my hand as it hovers uselessly in the air, lingering in the space where his body should be. This time, it takes longer for the glitch to fix itself, and once he’s whole again, his firm body reappears under my hand. I snatch it away, cradling it to my chest. “Why can’t I touch you?” I demand. “Why are you fizzling out?”

“I’m not sure,” he answers. Jitters tremble at the end of each of his words, and his eyes look anywhere but at me as he speaks. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

I huff. “I think I know you well enough now to know when you’re not telling me the truth.” I place my hands on my hips. “Aashiq, what is happening?”

His mouth opens and closes a few times, but at my unrelenting stare, he sighs. “Fine,” he says in a small voice. He fiddles with his fingers and draws a deep breath. “The more you fall back in love with writing, the less use you have for me. I’m fading away because you don’t need me anymore.” He speaks all in one breath, as if that could help to soften the blow.

But it doesn’t. Each of his words hits me like a bullet, one after the other, creating a bloody straggling pattern along my torso. The lining of my throat feels thick, and my sternum aches like someone took a meat cleaver to it. “I don’t need you anymore?” I repeat, my voice hoarse, like I spent the last ten seconds screaming at the top of my lungs. “That couldn’t be further from the truth! I need you. OfcourseI need you!”

I stagger forward, my hands coming up to wrap around his back. But they go right through him again. Aashiq takes a step back, anguish contorting his face. My eyes warm, and I balance my hands on my knees as I hunch over. Tears stream down my cheeks, and my nose burns. “God, no.”

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