Yasmina’s eyes lit up as I approached her and her warm smile gave her a look I hadn’t seen on her before. It was sincere and without any attempt to mask it.
“They’re lovely!” she whispered excitedly, indicating the bouquet in my hand, and in a slightly teasing tone she added, “What a lucky girl you are!”
“Am I? I really don’t know what to think.” I couldn’t help giggling in a rather flustered way.
“You think too much. You’re very much like me that way.” She chuckled but I noticed a shadow cloud her eyes. “Dr. Youssef is one of the gentlest, kindest men I’ve ever met. A little quirky, but we all have our oddities, don’t we?”
Yasmina’s words quickly brought to mind Youssef’s nervous charm. I smiled. “Oh yes, we do. Yasmina, can I ask you something about Youssef?” She nodded and I continued. “I know he was your professor, but you seem closer to him than that. Not that I’m suggesting…”
“Oh no, I know. I was in his class when…” her voice trailed off and she cleared her throat. “Although I never confided in him, I mean, he barely remembered me yesterday when he saw me, we weren’t that close, but somehow he managed to keep me afloat for a while.”
“But how, if you never spoke to him about what happened?” I stopped abruptly. I didn’t want to push her too hard for information. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry.”
“Its alright, Amar. I know you know what happened. Do you think I didn’t hear you last night when you cried out in your sleep? Its a familiar sound, dear.” Tears gathered in her eyes, but she blinked hard to chase them away. I wanted to embrace her but something told me to hold back. She continued. “Everyone knew what happened almost as soon as it happened. Word travels fast in these small communities.” She smiled pensively.
I nodded sympathetically in hopes she would not stop her story.
“Dr. Youssef seems to have an uncanny ability to see through any facade and to understand exactly what the soul needs.” She shook her head. “Perhaps I’m giving him too much credit, but I don’t think so. Amar, I really can’t tell you whether he intentionally focused his lectures to give my life meaning, but the time I spent in his class were the brightest moments in those dark days.”
My stomach lurched partially from a deep seeded empathy for Yasmina, and from a sudden urgent realization about Youssef. I felt the bouquet in my hand, not the weight of it, but the optimism in it.
“Yasmina?” I almost whispered. “What is your husband’s name?”
She looked at me with eyes bright with relief. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“You didn’t say “was”.” She smiled sadly. “Housam. My husband is Housam.”
“Housam…” I repeated but stopped as I noticed Yasmina looking over my shoulder.
“Excuse me, Yasmina.” A soft, but gruff voice came from behind me. As I turned to see who it was, the man I saw there was completely unfamiliar to me. I thought I had noticed everyone in the cafe – at least seen them once since I’d been there – but he had eluded me. In his food stained, white apron, there was no question that he was the cook. He was probably in his late 40’s, on the tall side of average, broad of shoulder, and time worn in a most interestingly handsome way. I saw immediately the quiet tempest brewing beneath the surface. His eyes were dark pools nearly hidden beneath his furrowed brow. They were eyes which, under normal circumstances, would be impossible to read – but now, as they looked at Yasmina, they spoke a thousand words.
“Yes, Yazan?” Yasmina replied, her face softening delicately.
“Can I speak to you?” He gestured gently toward the kitchen.
“Of course.” She first smiled at him and then winked at me. “Yazan, this is Amar, she’s visiting from Canada. She’s seems to like this place.”
Yazan gave a brisk nod in my direction not even attempting to force a smile. “You haven’t been here long then.”
“Only a day.” My writer’s mind was whirring now. The exterior of this man presented a formidable challenge, but I believed the information held deep within may be a treasure trove. “But I’d like to stay longer.”
A low, indecipherable sound came from Yazan’s throat before he turned back toward the kitchen. “It was nice to meet you.” I called after him. He waved without looking back.
Yasmina shook her head. “He’s a big bear. I’ll go now and see what he wants. Enjoy your day, Amar. We’ll get together later?”
“I would like that very much. You have a good day too, my friend.” I hoped I wasn’t being presumptuous but her smile suggested that she appreciated my gesture.
—–
The romantic hero indeed. As his words washed over me, Youssef’s eyes were lit as though there were a thousand stars behind them. I knew then, as I stared into their inner depths, that I had definitely made a mistake – several, in fact. I had never imagined myself as a character in the story I was collecting here – especially not the love interest of my hero. And, although I saw the potential in Youssef to be a romantic, I had completely underestimated him. In none of my experience, and I would fully admit that there hadn’t been much in the way of experience, had I ever heard such an expression of affection. I was, in no uncertain terms, completely captivated by it, speechless, in fact – for a moment too long.
“Amar.” Youssef moved his hand toward my face as though he wished to touch it, but then stopped himself and frowned pensively.
“Youssef, I…”
“No, please, you don’t have to say anything.” He hurriedly interrupted me. “Its alright. Just walk with me to the beach. Give me this small pleasure, will you?”
Without waiting for an answer he began walking again, marginally faster than our previous amble.
Without a word, I walked close by his side and slid my hand into his, discretely, and left it there for just the right amount of time.
© Mariyah Ayoub and Mariyah’s Blog, 2008-2009. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Mariyah Ayoub and Mariyah’s Blog with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
I searched for my reflection in the eyes of this stunning and flawless woman. “Hello Amar, how are you today?” There was an aura of uncharted simplicity about her. Her outward candor, however, was illusive. A fool, as most men really were, would be cunning himself if he thought he could ever have an upper hand through deceiving her. She was simple in the way gods were supposed to be. To ever win her heart and mind was by being faithful not only to her but more importantly to oneself.
Mariyah
abufares
