Being around someone, after they confess their feelings for you, is weird. There's this breathless anticipation whenever we're together. That someone might say something more.

Maybe I'm waiting for him to broach that topic again.

Maybe he's waiting for me to let him know that I feel the same way too.

It's constantly agonizing. Deliciously exhausting...

It's a feeling that I'm unwillingly getting used to. Because for the past few weeks. Azaan has gone to ridiculous lengths, to prove that I can count on him. He has proved to me, that I can do just enough-alone, if I choose to, because I'm strong enough, but I'd be able to do much more than just enough if I just let him in.

First it was the Chandi case. He arranged for a political sanctuary for the young girl, using his father's connections in the ISI. The Sindh High Court had deliberately dragged its feet, in giving out a decision on her divorce and emancipation rights (In simple terms; they wanted to gauge the political expectations attached to this case. And in even simpler terms, they wanted to see who had more of the public's support and influence; Me or Musa).

Until Zaif's case could be reviewed, my Dad managed to finagle a softer, house-arrest situation for him. And throughout the release process, Azaan was the one rushing to arrange for political security, through his contacts. He stood by my side in the local Police Station for hours, until we finally got to see Zaif, and bring him home, with his entourage of police escort.

Azaan also helped me draft public statements, when my mind couldn't function through all that pressure.

And then Azaan surprised me during a visit to his offices.

I'd been fuming over the loss of my own office space one day, when he nonchalantly asked Fahad and me, to drop in for a meeting about our joint venture.

"Azzy is probably gymming right now. It's his break right now." A chatty co-worker of his helpfully informed me during my elevator ride to his floor.

Azzy!?

I controlled the urge to scratch her pretty face for this familiarity. But I was afraid that she'd fight dirty. She was way taller than me...

"Oh. Azaan didn't mention where his gym is." I smiled politely. In fact he didn't even mention that his offices had gym facilities. To be honest, I hadn't expected his company to be that successful yet. He had launched it just a year ago..

"Oh. No probs. The Gym and Rec-rooms are on the fourth floor. The Main offices are on sixth."

"Thanks." I muttered.

"Try not to drool too much. He doesn't like being stared at." She winked in what she supposed was a conspiratorial feminine camaraderie.

"I'll do my best to control myself" I rolled my eyes.

I told Fahad to grab some breakfast for us, before strutting off towards the fourth floor gym.

The first thing I saw when the automatic glass doors opened, was the gorgeous woman leaning over Azaan as he did push-ups. She had a whistle hanging from her neck, nestled between her ample cleavage. A hot pink leather spots bra-strap was visible at her shoulders, from under the baggy shirt falling off it. Her dark hair was swept into a bun at the crown of her head, and when she turned around to gape at me, I saw that her shirt appropriately read; "Always Flawless".

"35...34...33..." she kept yelling at Azaan, while he huffed through the set. Her hand was at the small of his back, ensuring that his posture was perfect.

It seemed intimate. Uncomfortably so. As if they did this often together.

"I'm sorry." I stuttered, feeling numb at what I was seeing. "I'll just leave."

Azaan fell flat on his face when he heard me voice.

"Nightlife?" He croaked muffled through the floor. And I wanted to punch him. After I punched her....

"I should have called earlier. I'm sorry for interrupting."

"Well hello there! Another client for me?" The girl gushed at me, grinning ear-to-ear. She literally danced en-pointe across the gym, to shake my hand and drag me inside.

"No, no, you're not interrupting. We were just finishing up." Azaan scrambled to get up, and I blushed in spite of myself when he grabbed the ends of his tank top to wipe the sweat away from his eyes. I got a glimpse of his toned stomach, and It made me forget my annoyance for a moment.

"The hell we are finished!" Miss Flawless squawked huskily. "You owe me 30 pushups and 60 burpees. So Move it Malik!"

God. Even her voice was perfect. Earthy, grainy. Almost as perfect as her yoga-pants covered ass.

"Hi. I'm Fiza Khan-Malik. Azaan's wife." She extended her hand towards me, and I grasped it open-mouthed, too stunned to react to her words. "And you must be, the infamous Layla Hayat."

Wait. 

WHAT?

"You're...you're..." I croaked helplessly.

"Stop...teasing....her..." Azaan huffed in the middle of his set of burpees.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! OH MY GOD YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN YOUR FACE! HAHAHAHAHAHA!" She roared with laughter, while I just tried to control my heart rate.

Talk about Gyms being good for cardiac health....

"Okay...Fiza...I'm taking a break..." Azaan panted as he stood up, and steered my numb body into a wooden bench. "Relax...Nightlife....she's just a cousin."

"Your family will kill me one day." I pinched the bridge of my nose exasperatedly.

"Fiza Baji (elder sister) is very happily married. To Riz Khan of all people. Understandably, they're both obsessed with fitness. In fact, they started their first Training Facility in Lahore, last spring, before moving to Karachi." Azaan grinned at my distress, "She is the hard-ass Kick-Boxing trainer I told you about. I'm their first corporate client. They work with all of our employees for fitness consultations. All those hours in front of a screen can take a toll on the body, you know?"

"Isn't Riz Khan, the ex-Mr. World?" I asked incredulously. The man looked like a better looking,desi version of Vin Diesel.

"Runners-up." Fiza corrected cheerfully. "He is the reason why nobody flirts with me anymore. He is known to crack watermelons with his pinkies. So that's why I just like to have fun in other ways."

By giving heart attacks to unsuspecting females?

"You know, Layla used to be a gymnast." Azaan coughed in my awkward silence.

"Ohh! So that's why you remodeled the gym?" Fiza was now stretching herself, and I couldn't help notice irritably, how incredibly in shape she seemed to be. "Awww! That's the sweetest thing ever! You know for our third anniversary, Riz gave me a brand new set of equipment too! it was so much fun competing against him in Aqua-aerobics..."

I raised my eyes at Azaan, questioningly "You remodeled your gym?".

"Just added a few bars, and mats. And a trampoline. I separated that section with fog glass, for your privacy. You used to love them, right?" He shrugged as if it weren't a big deal, pointing towards the sectioned off portion of the gym.

"Why would you do that?" I could feel my heart melt at his gesture. He remembered. He freaking remembered...

"Oh. That's because you'll be hanging around here for the next few months. Might as well make it pleasurable for you."

He grabbed a water bottle from a mini-fridge next to a towel rack. Still red-faced and sweaty with his exertions, he was unaware of the way his short hair adorably curled at the temple. I couldn't help admitting that Fiza had done an amazing job with him. He looked like a movie star, all lean muscled, and tanned like that.

I watched wordlessly as he tugged at the water bottle cap with his teeth, sucking down the liquid in big gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing with every swallow. I was so busy staring fascinated at his throat, that it took me a while to notice that he was offering the water confusedly to me.

"No thanks." I squeaked, coughing to bring my crush-addled voice to normal.

"Are you okay?" He frowned, cocking his head to a side.

"I'm hot--err, good. I'm good." The squeak was annoyingly here to stay until he put on some proper clothes, it seemed.

"Of course she isn't okay. You stank up the whole gym, Azzhole. Go take a freaking shower." Fiza piped up from the weight-set she was tweaking around with.

"Can't argue with that." Azaan sniffed himself, and wrinkled his nose. Then he raised his eyes to mine, "I have something to show you. Wait for me?"

'You're going to wait for me, Layla.' He said. 'You're going to wait for me.'

"I'll wait."

...........

The "something" left me speechless. Like tongue-tied, heart in my mouth, and tears in my throat-kind of speechless.

He had cleared out a suite of rooms on his floor, to make space for me and my team. A translucent glass door etched with the Hiraeth logo. The offices were smaller than my old, wrecked space, but the ambiance was prettier. The gorgeous ocean-front views from the President's office were perhaps my favorite part of it, along with the gigantic Idea-board wall dominating my room, as a replacement for my old inspiration board. It was a techie-version of my own board.

"It's not a corkboard, because corkboards are so last century. This one has these tiny suction holes, that hold your posts together. You can literally throw stuff at it. See?" Azaan scribbled on a piece of colorful paper, and flicked the note at the board, making it stick to the sleek silver surface. It read: "Welcome Nightlife!", and I felt that familiar warm tingly feeling that I mentioned earlier.

Azaan had already taken the liberty of putting up a bunch of his own quotes, and selfies to "Inspire me", and make me feel "At Home".

Such as:

"I like big bytes, and I cannot lie." - Azaan-the-geek-god-Malik.

"We belong together. Let's make love."- Chocolate Malt Cake to Azaan Malik.

"I'm sorry I cheated on you."- Azaan Malik to Chocolate Ganache Cake.

"The only zone creepier than the twilight zone, is the friendzone." - Azaan-Not-Your-Friend-Malik.

I'd raised my eyebrow at the last one, and the ridiculously adorable, yet incredibly, obnoxiously close-up selfies he had put up of himself, just to annoy me.

The rest of the rooms were spacious, and airy, with natural lighting and plenty of potted plants to go with the modern, tasteful furniture. Discreet scent of leather, wood and lilies permeated the space, and I decided that I loved that combination.

"So what do you think?" He asked excitedly, like a little boy eager for encouragement.

"It's beautiful." I smiled at him, "I love it."

"She smiled!" He whooped, pumping his fist "She loved it!"

"Azaan I can't thank y--" I began hesitantly. Judging from the look of the suites, Azaan had obviously been working on these rooms, since before the attack on Hiraeth, which just didn't make sense to me.

"No. Don't." He shook his head, "Please don't thank me. This was entirely selfish."

"How so?" I cocked my head playfully.

"This was supposed to be a meeting room for you to use whenever we worked on our joint project. I totally didn't anticipate that attack on your old office. It was a part of the 'Wooing' plan I told you about. So, selfish." He grinned his dimpled grin, and that coupled with his freshly-showered-guy smell, pretty much completed the wooing...

"Where are your own offices?" I asked quietly, unable to express my feelings about this huge gesture of his.

The grin slipped from his face.

"My-uhh. Err--well. This whole floor belongs to our company, AmCo. The main offices are just down the hall from your rooms." He hesitated at that, agitated, tapping his fingers against the oak desk in the lobby.

I made to side-step him into the hall, and he automatically blocked my path. He ran a nervous finger through his freshly showered-damp hair, frowning at his feet. His defensive posture made it clear that he didn't want me anywhere near the place.

I was slightly annoyed and hurt.

Because suddenly, I wanted to see all sides of him. I want to see where he spends most of his time. I want to meet his co-workers, see how they interact with him. Judging from the casual way his employees talks about him, I'm sure he's friends with everyone, regardless of their place in the hierarchy. Maybe it's stupidly desperate, but I want to fill up on all that I've missed about him over the years.

And he seems unwilling to let me see him...

"What? You give me an entire suite of rooms, but I can't see your offices?" I folded my arms across my chest, cocking my head to the right.

"Of course you can see my offices." He scoffed, refusing to budge an inch away. I tried sidestepping him again, and he automatically moved to block me again.

"What the fuck, Malik?" I raised my eyebrows at him.

He scowled at that.

"You shouldn't curse you know. Otherwise your tongue will turn black, and fall out of your skull."

"Are you twelve?" I blinked incredulously at his weirdness, "Let me pass, Azaan! I mean it!"

He grumbled as he moved away, following me as I stepped into the lobby leading off to his space. I think I heard him mutter, "Don't blame me when you lose your tongue..."

The automatic glass doors engraved with his company logo swung open to give way to a big open work-space without walls and cubicles. People were working on coffee tables, bean bags, bar-stools, even elliptical bikes...

Laptops were perched on every available surface, and an Adele song was softly playing in the background.

I tipped my head up to admire the playful comic-strip art on the ceiling. The whole office was a burst of color, technology and energy. If Azaan were to turn into an office space, it would be this one.

"Oh my GOD! Layla's here!" The receptionist perched behind a desk jumped up before coming up to hug me. "Hi honey! Welcome! I thought he'd never win this round with you..."

"Win what?" I patted her back, dazed at her familiarity. "I'm sorry. But I have no idea who you are..."

She leaned back to grin at me. "I'm Samra. The coordinator-slash-receptionist."

"And you know me how?..." I slashed a quizzing look towards Azaan who was nonchalantly typing into his phone. Samra's phone beeped just then, making me suspicious.

"Why are you texting me, boss?" Samra frowned, "And what do you mean 'hide the photos'? They're nailed to the walls..."

Azaan slumped next to her, silently banging his head on her desk.

I folded my arms belligerently across my chest. "Hide which photos, Boss?"

"I-uh--I have a collection of indecent nude art pieces in my office, and on the stairwell that I should have removed before you visited." He reddened, stammering a little bit. "You shouldn't see them. Very nudely. And demeaning. And err...PG rated. Lots of skin. LOTS."

Samra snorted at his answer, making a chicken sound under her breath.

"I want to see." I shrugged. "I can appreciate art. All kinds of it."

"Oh but these images are really, really dirty ones. Super offensive to women." He hurried on, trying to convince me to turn away from his office, "I'm serious. They have lots of err--" (waves his hand in the direction of his upper body).

"Breasts?" I supplied helpfully, enjoying his discomfort. It's not every day I find him stuck in a lie he can't get out of. I'm curious now, about why he wants me to stay away from his room.

"Yes. Lots of those." He rubbed his face miserably, which now resembled a tomato.

"It's okay. I'm not missish about such things." I shrugged again, moving towards the center of the work area. "I've attended plenty of modern art galleries with Mama. Nudity doesn't bother me."

He gaped incredulously at me, before becoming irritated suddenly.

"It doesn't bother you at all that I'm staring at strange women's bodies all day long?" He snapped.

I smirked, "Why would it bother me? We're not married. Or engaged. Or in a commitment. You can stare at whomever you like. And if tomorrow, I want to plaster a life-size photo of a shirtless Ryan Reynolds on the inspiration board, it shouldn't bother you either."

"Ryan Reynolds is a god." Samra fanned her face, and I high-fived her, ignoring the black scowl climbing up Azaan's face.

"The hell you will!" He exploded. "For the record, I DON'T have nudes in my office, I have-"

"Pictures of me?" I guessed softly. It really was obvious. This is probably why Samra knew me by face.

Well. That. Or the newspapers...

"Not just you. I'm not a psycho creep," He sighed, "They're just a bunch of my favorite shots of all the people I love."

"But I'm also in them." I prodded him, "Why would you want to hide that from me?"

"Just because." He turned moodily away from me.

I clasped my hands behind my back and leaned nearer, trying to peep at his face.

"That's not an answer." I argued. "Why didn't you want me to see them? Are they ugly?"

"How can they be ugly? I took them!" He snorted arrogantly, still refusing to meet my gaze.

"Then why?"

He slowly turned towards me, and for the first time, since I've known him, he looked unsure of himself. Almost scared. There are worry lines around his mouth, and it kills me to know that I might have caused it.

"You recall that I said something to you, after your Gatecrash party?"

I remembered. I remembered it all too well.

"I'm so in love with you...God how I love you...Do you believe me?"

I nodded numbly.

"Well. You never really said it back...and I'm not complaining. I mean...it's okay. You need your time, and I respect that." he admits hoarsely. His eyes have that hopeless kind of longing in them, you know? The ones that a child might have, when they're at someone else's birthday party, watching the presents being opened, knowing all the while that none of them would be his, but unable to stop wishing for them anyways.

"I just don't want you to feel that I'm pressuring you to love me, as much as I love you. That's all." He began leading me towards the leftwards doorway that led to his work-space. "I'm not sure you're ready to see how much I care for you. It might just scare you away."

I was speechless at his explanation. He was right. I was scared. But not because of the depth of his affections, No...I was scared of mine.

The short flight of stairs separating his offices from the rest of the floor, gave him a view of the entire space. The stairwell was lined by portraits and landscapes of pictures he had taken over the years. They were framed in simple black frames to display the haunting brilliance of most of those shots.

There was one photo of an abandoned, run-down Rickshaw lying under a tree. It was captioned "Life After Retirement". I smiled at his wit. There was another shot of a lonely figure in a black hoodie, wearing headphones, trying to blend into a blur of colorful people. I recognized the posture as Faris'. It was captioned, "Flub Off, Life."

And then there was a High-definition, Black and White shot of me. I was laughing at something he'd told me, because I was staring right at the person behind the camera. I looked impossibly happy. There was a shine in my eyes that has dulled since those time, because I don't remember being this happy in ages... Or perhaps, I never really saw myself from his eyes. I recognized the bench from college that we spent hours hanging out around, and I was hit by a wave of loss and nostalgia for what could have been. It was titled; "Mine."

"Oh God." I croaked, moving on to the next frame, which was a slightly blurred tri-photo montage of me doing a backflip on a trampoline we'd rented for my 19th birthday. I was soaring in those photos; arms touching the sky. It was titled, "Freedom".

Then the next frame, which was a shot of Shay whispering something in my ear. Most of my face was hidden by the windblown strands of my long hair, but it was clear that I was giggling at whatever she was telling me. The title was "God, the photographer is hot!" I snorted a laugh at that, swallowing the memories threatening to overwhelm me.

I lost myself in his art. He had a way of hitting the nerve with his aesthetics and his captions. Not all of the pictures featured me, but I was in most of them. And he watched me silently, as if wary that I'd run away any second, creeped out by this infatuation. Except the only urge I had, was to run straight into his arms. To lose myself in his comfort. To forgive him for everything, and to greedily accept what he was offering.

I've never thought myself to be exceptionally beautiful, but his chosen shots just made me feel like a crown-less queen. Through his eyes, I looked beautiful.

I felt beautiful.

"This one's my favorite. And also, my least favorite." he pointed to another far-away, black and white shot of me. It was from his farewell party. From that dreadful night. I shivered when I recalled the pain.

I was in my Black and Gold Anarkali dress, my hair twisted into a braid spilling from one side of my neck. I was nervously tugging on the ends of my braid, my lower lip nipped by worried teasing. This was taken mere minutes before he broke my heart. I remembered how I was imagining all the reasons why it would be a good idea to tell my best friend that I had feelings for him. Obviously, I didn't think that plan through...

"Are you gonna run for the hills right about now, and get a restraining order for me?" Azaan joked half-heartedly, staring warily at me.

I was reminded of this quote about photography I'd come across some time back:

"If you want to learn what someone fears losing. Watch what they photograph."

And suddenly, I couldn't take it anymore.

Hot angry tears spilled down my cheeks, and I blindly reached for the handbag at my shoulder, swinging it around to whack his arm strongly.

"HEY!" Azaan yelped, wincing, and shielding himself from my purse. "Cut it out!"

"YOU. JERK. I. WANT. TO. KILL. YOU." I punctuated each word with a whack to his chest and neck, savoring the grunts of pain and protests that came out of him. "IDIOT. STUPID. SELFISH..."

He finally managed to pry the purse from my trembling fingers, and threw it a safe distance away. Before I could make use of my nails, he firmly wrapped one hand around both of mine.

"Enough." He whispered quietly. "If you want to kill me, then do it in private. We have an audience here."

I didn't even care that the stairwell was visible from the office floor. The whole world could watch us for all I cared. Suddenly, six years of suppressed anger and unresolved hurt was spilling out of me. I could no longer bear to be indifferent, and coolly detached about what happened that long ago night.

The truth was; no matter how much I tried to forgive and forget: I couldn't. No matter how much we love each other, our past will always cling to us, like a rancid perfume. Not visible; but always smell-able.

I needed this: an outlet.

"Let me go." I hissed.

"No." He replied calmly, "That discussion is over. I'm not letting you go anywhere. Especially not after you said that you believed me. No going back on that. Nope."

"I meant my hands, you ox! You're hurting me." I snapped angrily, "If you think I'm done with you, you have another thing coming. You won't be let off easy this time. I AM SO MAD AT YOU AZAAN!."

He actually had the gall to laugh out loud with relief, before releasing one of my hands from his grasp.

"You can be mad at me in private Nightlife....preferably, someplace where your secretary isn't gaping at us." Azaan raised his free hand towards Fahad, who was clutching a greasy Dunkin Donuts bag in his hands. My breakfast. "Hey Fahad! Made any contact with the mother ship yet?"

"Not yet." Fahad shook his head.

"Pity." he tsked, reaching for the donut bag, "These better be Boston Creme."

"Excuse me? That's my breakfast." I snatched the bag from Fahad, "No food for jerks."

"THAT'S IT!" Azaan exploded, "You're coming with me! I refuse to live a donut-less life, without explanations!"

I deliberately stomped on his feet twice while he all but dragged us to private office. Was it childish? Yes. Did I enjoy it? HELL YES!

He let go of me, the minute we were alone.

I momentarily got distracted by the huge, vintage marvel comic book posters adorning his walls. A replica of Thor's hammer was mounted below them. The rest of the office was done in dark masculine colors and muted shadows. Tech gear, laptops and computers blinking from every flat surface.

"Go on. Tell me how much you hate me." Leaning against a meeting table in the center of the room, Azaan folded his arms across his chest. His face was devoid of expression.

"I don't hate you! I am angry at you!" I almost yelled. "There's a difference."

"Please do go on. I can't wait to hear this one." He quipped.

"SHUT UP." I snapped my finger at him. "No more wisecracks goddamit. This is about us! about ME. I'm not a joke Azaan!"

"I never treated you like one!" he argued.

"YES YOU DID!" The angry tears were back, "When you refused to believe that I could love you! When you chose to leave me, just assuming that I'd wait for you, even after you broke my heart! YOU TREATED ME LIKE A STUPID RICH GIRL WHO DOESN'T KNOW WHAT SHE WANTS! AND...FOR SIX YEARS NOW, I HAVE FELT LIKE I WAS A FUCKING JOKE TO YOU!"

His mouth falls open at my outburst, anger clouding his features too.

There. I said it.

And it felt so good. 

"What did you want me to do? Commit to you when I was still messed up? Leave you to deal with my emotional problems, instead of overcoming them myself? Or let you become dependent on my emotional support, instead of letting you become who you are today: a self-made inspiration. Huh, Layla?"

I sputtered with speechless anger, refusing to admit the pang of agreement that I felt at his reasoning.

"I don't regret what I did that night." He added hotly, "I only regret the way I did it. You deserved to hear the simple truth six years ago. Not the clumsy lies and excuses I made up."

"And what truth would that be?" I demanded.

"That we both had some growing up to do before admitting to our feelings. That I've never loved anyone more than I have loved you in that moment, all those years ago, when you were brave and foolish enough to tell me that you loved me. And that you really, really liked me too."

He remembers the exact words I used.

That triggered even more tears. Most of them not so angry. And before I knew it, I was a blubbering mess of emotions.

"I could have m-moved on! you j-jerk!" I wept, "I could have been m-married to somebody else by now!"

I felt rather than saw him move closer towards me.

"I don't think so." He said softly, "I bribed Pareeshae to keep all interesting men away from you."

"I'm s-serious!" I hiccuped, "I'm a freaking celebrity, you ass! I had a LOT of options! I WAS ON THE '25 TO WATCH UNDER 25' LIST, DAMN YOU! I DIDN'T SEE YOUR NAME IN THAT LIST!"

"Maybe you were looking in the wrong list. You should have searched in the '27 sexiest under 27' list." His wry reply made me cry harder.

"W-why are you such an idiot!?" I wailed, "You aren't serious n-now, just like you weren't serious then!"

"Ya Allah. Nightlife. You know I joke when I'm nervous right?" He was alarmed now, "You have no idea how scared I am of you right now. I'm terrified that you'll leave...with all the donuts." He paused, "There, I did it again. Made a joke when I wasn't supposed to. I can't help it, Layla. You know this is how I am? Right?"

I shrugged off his tentative offer of tissue paper.

I was trying to heal a six-year old hurt. Tissues wouldn't help.

"Do you remember that time I told you about my past? And that day on the Library roof, when I jumped from the building's edge?" I questioned tearfully, "You had no idea, but you became my entire world, that day I asked you to catch me. You were the first person in years and years, around whom I could dare to be free. Do you...do you remember that day?"

"Of course I remember." He whispers hoarsely.

"D'you know I used to be really good at gymnastics when I was a kid?" I kick off my shoes as I revel in the warmth of the sun-baked roof. He perks up at my revelation. I don't talk about myself much, and he knows what it takes for me to remember details.

"Woah. Seriously Hayat? Why'd you stop?" He winks, "Gymnastic-y chicks are hot!"

I bite my lip in tension, looking down at my bare feet, "It got a little overwhelming for me. My coach was really nice and all, but he was still a guy. And during that time, I couldn't bear to be around -uh- males at all; let alone let them touch me in my tight leotards." His jaw is hardening with every word I utter.

It's strange; whenever I unload myself to him, I actually feel better, while he looks depressed and angry.

"You shouldn't have stopped." He finally shrugged, pretending nonchalance for my sake "If it's something you love, you should have stuck to it."

"I still do it." I gave a small grin, "I'm not competitive materiel anymore, like I used to be, but I can do headstands in my sleep." I stand up, and stretch my arms above my head to limber out. My trackpants are not made for any rigorous moves, but I can do a decent salto. I pat my hands against the dusty ground, lack of chalk is hardly a problem.

I do two backwards headsprings before bowing to an imaginary crowd; Azaan whoops and whistles. I feel breathless with energy. I haven't exhibited to anyone else for the past six years or so. This boy makes me fearless, something I have never imagined myself to be.

I decide to do something incredibly stupid.

Walking over to the four feet high ledge, I effortlessly vault myself over to the boundary wall, ignoring his gasp of fear. We are four floors above the ground, and I can see the surrounding cricket pitch and tennis courts of IBSA. My feet are firm on the thin ledge as I spread my arms wide.

The wind is urging my hair to escape its jaw clip. I breath in and out ignoring Azaan's yells.

"...freaking crazy woman! You like breaking every bone in your body? Do it when you're not with me! Don't you know I hate blood?...."

"Will you catch me?" I ask him, my heart thudding at his response. It's a classic trust exercise, and even he knows it. My therapist had constantly urged me to do it, but when it came right down to it, I never had the guts to let go. My survival instincts were too keen, too on edge to fully give up.

He is silent for a heartbeat, "Only if you're sure Layla."

I can't see him, but it's okay.

I can still feel him.

I close my eyes, and let go.

He catches me when I fall. 

And I've never been surer about another person.

"Falling in love with you, was like jumping off of a cliff. It was terrifying. The bravest thing I'd done in my life. I was right at the edge of the cliff, staring at the haunting beauty of it." I lifted my eyes towards his, "And when I did jump, I was stupid enough to think that you'd jump with me. That we'd fall together. Only you didn't. You took a step back. And you ran the hell away."

There was a tenderness in his expression that I'd never forget. He nodded thoughtfully to himself, and then spoke:

"Well, maybe I didn't jump off the cliff with you. Maybe I was afraid of heights. Maybe you just didn't notice that I was taking the stairs instead of falling headfirst. I was slow to get there, but I can assure you, we both ended up in the same place. We're here now. And we're in love on our own terms: You a bit more recklessly; me a bit more thoughtfully."

Maybe it was his way with words. That tongue-in-cheek sweetness. Or maybe it was the way he said; artlessly, as if he had nothing to hide.

But I found myself suddenly lighter than I've felt in years. Six years to be precise.

And I laughed. Because it was so him. Azaan.

And then I laughed some more.

It was crazy because my face was damp with recent tears. But somehow, I couldn't recall the pain that had caused it. It seemed insignificant somehow. Like that long-ago history chapter that you memorized with dates, and promptly forgot after the final exams....

"Am I a joke now?" Azaan muttered, "I thought we were trying to be serious here."

"J-just...imagining...you huffing puffing your way into love, while I watch from the f-finish line!" I doubled over with fits of hilarity. "You...HAHAHA! Oh my God!...who even talks like that!? We're talking about our f-feelings here! You're such an idiot!"

"Your idiot." He reminded me sulkily. "And don't think I didn't notice that you just admitted that you're still in love with me. You can't take it back now. Ever."

"I don't want to take it back." I snorted happily. "I'm in love with my idiot."

I was hugging him before I knew what was happening. And his strong arms around me were that final touch I needed to heal. Because I couldn't bear to stay aloof anymore. Because I never wanted him to let me go.

"Does that mean we can share your donuts?" he whispered in my ear.

"Only the non-sprinkle ones."

Author's Note:

I TOLD YOU IT WOULD BE SOONER THAN SOON!

I WIN HAHA!

Omg, this chapter was sooo much fun for meeee! <3

And OMG I FINALLY USED THE PROLOGUE! YAY MEEEEE! :'D 

I'M HIGH ON INSOMNIA RIGHT NOW!  

Check out these beauteous covers made by fighter-forever 

lookie here! *Heart Eyes* 

You all are ridiculously talented at this shizz!

And of course, I have soooo many incredible ones from hayazs that I save some of them for later, like the juicy cucumbers you save for midnight snacks! 

What you don't do that? 

I don't either actually, I'm just rambling in my sleep. 

check these beauties out and be sure to head over to Haya's profile for some AMAZING cover art in her book "Land Of Graphic Arts" .

She just posted another one for me in her cover book, because that's what she does after reading my chapters, and I'm so sleep-excited about it. It's totes becoming the new cover soon. 

(HOW PRETTY IS THE LAST ONE, OMG. HAYA IT LOOKS EVEN BETTER WHEN I'M SLEEP-DEPRIVED!!)

See you NOT QUITE that soon. But still soonish. 

Love

-E.