"It is a risk to love.
What if it doesn't work out?
Ah,but what if it does?"
-Peter Mc Williams
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Broad shoulders, short slightly curled hair catch my glimpse startling me.

'No! It can't be...' My legs begin to walk on their own accord. Towards him. Many people are out for a walk, it's late in the evening a little before sundown. The park is abuzz with activity, laughter of children playing tag echoes in my ears. A few people are setting up their grills to barbecue. My eyes focus only on the tall broad guy jogging swiftly away.

'Where are you going?' comes the voice of my younger sister, Eliza who is sitting on the picnic blanket munching a muffin.

I pay no heed to her and keep walking keeping that tall black head in my sight as it jogs away from me. A little kid crashes into me and I have to grab his arms so that he doesn't fall.

'Sorry.' I say, cutting through people. A few annoyed glares are cast my way. I don't register those, my mind is blank and focused on the man ahead.

'Wait.' I want to say but I can't find my voice.

My feet swallow the ground as I break into a run. The distance keeps increasing between us as my shorter legs fail to catch up with him. I whimper in defeat and a tear rolls down my eye. I feel a hand on my arm and find Eliza looking at me questioningly, 'Numair.' is the only thing I manage to get out as air seems to get choked in my throat.

'What?'

'It's him. That guy there.' I point towards where he now stands, sipping something from a bottle.

'It's not him. You know it cannot be him.' She says taking in his florescent Nike shoes, black shorts and t-shirt.

He tips his face slightly upwards as he takes another sip and we see his face.

Eliza gives me a look half of exasperation and half sympathy. She is right. It isn't him. Without a word she takes me back to our spot. I fold my legs under me, plucking at the wet grass in dismay as I watch her. From our basket she takes a kettle and places it on the mini gas stove. The wind blows out her first match as soon as she lights it. She takes another and uses her hand to cover the flame finally igniting the stove. In a short while, the aroma of tea wafts into the air, she hands me a cup.

'Sip this, you will feel better.' I silently obey her.

How stupid of me to think some random guy was him. I'm never going to see him walk with those confident strides. Never see those broad shoulders which I had wrapped my hands around. Never see those muscled arms which had once made me feel safe. Never going to see the smile which lights up his face, making his eyes crinkle in amusement at the things I say. Never going to hear his voice say my name. Never feel his arms around me. Never...

'Zara duck!' I hear Eliza yell, but it's too late as the ball thumps me right on the forehead hurtling me back from my train of thoughts.

'Ow!' I rub my forehead feeling for bumps. I look up to find Ziyan looking innocently at me and Eliza alternating cautious glances between both of us.

'What's wrong with you? Can't you see I'm sitting here?' I scream at my elder brother.

I pick up the ball and throw it back at him, hard. He ducks and I miss which infuriates me further. Kids playing around us stop to watch me.

'I've had enough of this. I'm leaving.' I yell.

'Aw, sis I'm sorry.' Pleads Ziyan as he walks towards me with the ball in his hand.

'I didn't want to come anyways. You dragged me here and now you banged my head. I'm going home.'

'But, sis...' Through the corner of my eye I catch Eliza cast a pleading glance at Ziyan.

'I'm done.' I say.

Recognizing I'm in a temper Ziyan doesn't argue much, Eliza begins to pack up the picnic basket.

'This isn't some show going on here.' I tell the kids gaping at us making them scatter. I head over to the car. I can feel Ziyan's eyes digging holes into my back.

I'm acting like a child, immature. These days every little thing sparks my anger. It's as if I'm angry at everything and everyone. I realized sometime back that it's better to be angry than to be hurt. Tears make you appear weak. Anger stops the tears. And so I chose to become a ball of fury.

'Do you want me to drive?' Ziyan's boyish voice asks seeing me seated in the front. Eliza piles our things in the back.

'No.' He slips into the passenger side while Eliza gets into the back.

I roll down my window letting the sea breeze wash into the car. The wind frolics with my hair. I press down the brakes as the traffic light turns orange and then red. I tap my fingers against the steering wheel impatiently waiting for the pedestrians to pass. An awkward silence hangs in the car after my burst. I begin to feel guilty about my outburst, unfortunately I'm not the one for apologies.

Instead of taking a right I keep going straight. I drive them to Baskin Robins. An indirect apology for my behavior. Eliza lets out a small yelp. Ziyan grins at me and I stare stone faced back at him.

Another thing I'd learned, to hide my emotions. We enter the tiny shop, and Ziyan and Eliza excitedly place their orders, both talking at once pointing at the ice creams and the colorful array of toppings beneath the glass counter. The girl behind the counter has a confused expression not knowing who she should serve first.

'Are you taking double chocolate chip ? Ziyan calls over from the counter once he has finished ordering. I shake my head, uncertainly. I'm not sure what I want.

'Umm...honey nut crunch?' He nods and places the order. Eliza returns with a towering sundae dripping chocolate syrup topped with sprinkles.

'Mmm...' Dramatically she licks her lips before digging in. Ziyan joins us with our orders. We are seated at a pink table surrounded by white chairs. My siblings are oblivious to the world around them as they dig into their pink and white cups with the pink spoons.

Ugh...this place is too pink and I don't like ice cream. Anymore. My ice cream is finished by Ziyan and Eliza in addition to their sundaes.

I head over to the counter and order a chocolate ice cream to take home.

'Here is your order ma'am.' She passes the packet over the counter. I pay the bill and we exit the ice cream haven.

Soon we are home. My siblings get out and I take my time to park the car in the garage. It is sunset and I watch the orange hue of the sky with streaks of black, hundreds of birds returning home, as I  walk across our lawn. I enter the hall from the French windows. Laughter erupts from the drawing room where I find my family seated. Mama and Dad look up as I enter.

'Did you have fun?' Dad inquires.

'No.' I reply and want nothing more than to slink back to my room, to my solitude.

'Dinner is almost done. You can go to your room after dinner.'  Mama says reading my mind. I sink into the cushions and let the voices and laughter of my family wrap around me.

***

A loud bang wakes me up from sleep, I get up groggily and find Eliza shutting and opening drawers with no regard for the people who find sleep precious. I look up at the circular, black clock hanging on the wall. It's only seven a.m.

'What are you searching for?' I mutter.

'I'm going out with friends after college, I'm looking for the perfect shade of lipstick to go with this outfit. What do you think will go ?' she asks pirouetting in her peach skirt.

'Sky blue.' I mutter angrily and slip the blanket over my head.

When I do wake up the house is quiet. It is 8 am. My parents aren't awake yet, Ziyan and Eliza are out of the house. So it's peaceful. I head to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of milk from the carton in the refrigerator. I think of making scrambled eggs for breakfast and begin to crack the eggs against the bowl occasionally sipping my milk. Two years ago I had zero knowledge of cooking. The only thing I knew was to make an omelette and coffee.

But Numair was a foodie.

He loved experimenting with food always dragging me with him to different restaurants to try out numerous cuisines. If we weren't dining out he would be surfing for recipes and trying them out on his own. Our kitchen was his own little research lab. Strange, exotic, appetizing and sometimes burning smells erupted from our kitchen. His love for cooking gradually rubbed off on me. Within a few months I could cook with palatable results. He often guided and criticized my dishes which helped me improve. Within a year I was much appreciated for my food by who ever happened to dine at our home. The words our home brings a pang of nostalgia.

Reveling in past memories in these quiet moments I find whatever shreds of happiness I can. Because that is all I have left now. Memories of those times to keep me going.

I heat the oil in the pan and wait for it to heat before I add the eggs. I can hear my parents moving around. They must be awake by now. I put the bread in the toaster and add spices to the eggs tossing them at a low flame. I peel an apple and put it in the blender with some milk and strawberry jam. When my mom comes into the kitchen I'm ready with scrambled eggs, toast and apple milkshake laid out on our miniature dining table in the kitchen. She smiles up at me.

'Awake early again?' She asks. I merely nod and continue arranging the plates. Breakfast is a quite affair. Dad leaves for work with mama who he will drop at her school where she works. After a quick goodbye I have the house to myself again.

I grab my purse from the dresser in front of the mirror casting a causal glance at myself. My long black hair is neatly tied up in a ponytail, the black tee I had changed into hopefully matches my white pants. I slip into my most comfortable footwear. A pair of plain black pointy toed shoes. I lock the house and walk across the street to the library.

Having nothing better to do and unwilling to resume my previous job I had applied at the library as soon as I had seen a vacancy. It's been three months since I've started my job. The peace and quiet of the library and my love for books made up for the low pay.

William, my colleague officially opens it at seven am. My shift begins at nine am.

'Hi.' William says, when he sees me entering. He is behind a pile of books on our counter adjacent to the door. His sandy blonde hair fall across his face as he bends down marking the books. He looks up to give me a smile.

'Hey!' I smile back at him. He motions to the stack of books arranged at the counter and I get to work along with him, shelving and marking the books in companionable silence. It's still early and only a few people are scattered around on the couches. I head over to the children's section sorting out the books the kids have returned the previous day, putting them back in the right slots. I bend to arrange the nursery rhyme books on the lower shelf. My back begins to hurt making me kneel. I place the books on the floor beside me spreading them around me to better see the titles. Finished with them, I stand up stretching my legs.

I begin sorting out the Wimpy kids when I feel someone is staring at me. I look around puzzled failing to see anyone near me. On either side I'm surrounded by towering bookshelves, down the aisle I see a guy reading, his face covered by a book, jean clad legs stretched out in front of him. The sunlight streaming in from the window casts a halo around him. There is no one else except him. I rebuke myself for becoming paranoid and get back to the Wimpy kids.

***

A/N : Hey lovely readers, I hope you are enjoying the story so far.
Do let me know your thoughts !

P.S : All chapters are in the POV of Zara, unless otherwise noted.