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Beautifully short
Short story

By Farooq Azam
October 3, 2002
The Iranian

What can I say? About six months ago, I was listening to a song by Yanni called Felitsa or something like that and I felt moved. It felt so good. I closed my eyes and a scene by the sea passed through my mind. And that inspired this story.

I sat late that night, but I liked my creation. I have kept it for myself for a long time, as a treasure and enjoyed reading it twice maybe. Only now I can bring myself to share it with someone else.

Cold breeze blowing his hair backward.

He kept long hair, unlike most of other military boys she had met. Not just long hair; long, well-kept hair. Long, long hair. Not that long. But beautifully long. Goodness! She could have a heart attack only watching those curls form when wind blew his hair. And she would hold her breath when he carelessly put a hand in those curls and they came back to their place.

The bike purred sweetly under her. She felt so much power in the machine. It could let loose even at this speed. It felt so good.

"Let loose my love, set me free."

She held him tightly, wishing this long winding road would never end and they would continue to go on and on forever. His muscles felt so strong under the thick green military shirt he was wearing. Every now and then she would strain her senses to catch the aroma of his body, those tight muscles, the smell of that hair.

She felt so much love for him. He drove fast, tilting the bike every now and then, sometimes on this side, sometimes on that but always in control. He was always well turned out. Looking seriously at things that others did not think about twice. And those gray eyes. So big, so serious and how they softened when he smiled.

Sometimes, when it was a little too cold, he would give his jacket to her. The jacket left a trace of his smell on her dress. On such occasions, all evening she would sit in front of the fire just thinking of him and him alone.

"Dear God no, not so soon!!!" she thought in despair as they reached the top of elevation and she saw her cottage, so small from this distance. But she knew by experience that by the way he rides, it wouldn't take long to be there.

"Not yet" she thought, and she held him even tighter.

He opened the throttle a bit, the bike roared and jumped forward like a pouncing tiger. She put her head on his back as the scenery went by at lightning speed. Her breathing picked up. She felt slight fear and enormous joy. This was her ecstasy, her release.

"Dear God!", she closed her eyes.

A lone tear managed to cling to her cheek as the bike slowed to a stop, elegantly. She got off the bike He was smiling, he always did when he reached here.

"Are you smiling at me or just for the fun of it?" she wanted to ask him so many times but couldn't.

He looked at her, eyes so soft and his voice could almost make her cry.

"It didn't scare you did it?"

"No," she found her voice, looking at the ground.

"Good, I can't help it, you know," he said.

She raised her head sharply and looked at him. That was the the first time he had said something personal. Well, close to personal. Suddenly he realized what he had said and looked away.

Oh yes she knew, she knew what colours he liked, what food he liked, what music he liked, also that he does not like talking about himself. Also that he was mad, just like all those boys out there who flew those small ugly things called fighters that made horrible sound and flew like devil on fire.

"I know more about you than you know about yourself mister!" she wanted to say.

"Ok, bye, pay my regards to all," he put the bike in gear.

"I...," she clenched the finger with the gold ring on it tightly.

"Yes?" he cocked his head, took the gear out.

"I'll wait for you", she said.

"Damn!!! That was the 'I love you' you were practicing to say for a week!!!" she told herself.

"Huh?... Oh yeah, of course!!!" his ears were getting red.

And there and then she found out a little more about him. He is very shy too. Even from her.

"So you are shy of me? Well we'll see about that when you come back Mr. Hero, tough and all," she thought to herself.

A slight smile lifted corners of her mouth. And she looked directly into his eyes, for the first time,
confident of herself, daring him. He looked like a fish out of water.

"Well... I... ummm.. I'm getting late," in a hurry he put the bike back in gear, opened the throttle, the bike roared again like a loyal beast and launched like a rocket.

She watched him until he finally disappeared over the hill. Now she couldn't hold it anymore. It came like a giant wave, rising from some place deep within her. She threw her head backward and laughed aloud. Wind threw her hair around her face. She put her hands out and watched the evening sky and the sea birds and heard their joyous cries. Then she turned and went for the front door. She could see her mother holding it open for her, a smile on her face.

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By Farooq Azam

They are coming
Hundreds of men longing for bloodshed, for hatred




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