Shattered Hope [1]

I ran my fingers across the titles of the same shelf again, making sure that I have not missed the book I was looking for…

'Aha!' I whispered, finally relieved.

'Ahem' someone cleared his throat, a man as I expected came forward, and I looked him directly into the eye; the honey-coloured eyes and the complexion of his face were oddly familiar. Suddenly, my mind threw upon me old flashes of school days memories.

I knew this man –

'Maria, right?'

How many times have I imagined him saying it before?

'Yes' I smiled back, flashing a friendly smile and nodding more to myself than anyone else, both for my forgetfulness and foolishness.

How could I forget him of all people?

'We were at the same school back in Oman....' and he added hastily, 'Remember me?'

How could I not, for crying out loud?

I stayed there, eyes unfocused, awestruck, trying to regain balance of my body which seemed effortless just a while back. I thought I was seeing things or daydreaming perhaps, because this is not and cannot be real –

'I am –'

'Mohammed' we said together.

'Yes, I do remember you' realizing the fact that my dreams cannot be so good and handsome; I spared him another moment of elaboration.

'Good, how have you been then? Or should I say what brings you here?' he asked, grinning.

He still has some sense of humor left…

'I study here, what about you?' I hoped my voice sounded as cool and calm as I intended it to be.

'The same reason' he replied.

The moment I dreaded the most had to come sooner or later. Awkward silence filled the gap between us, changing the atmosphere horribly. I had to break the ice and ask the question I have always wanted to ask,

'What are you studying?' I asked and he replied almost immediately as though he had seen it coming, 'Urban planning and Architectural design.'

'I see. I am studying Linguistics and Journalism even though I planned for English Lit. Oh well, you know how it is.'

No he do not. He probably had what he wanted, now shut the hell up. The guy have not asked you to retell the story of your life –

'You know what,' his deep voice interrupted my inner conversations, sounding excited as he said it, 'we should meet up some time, my sister included. I'm sure she would be thrilled to meet an Omani women, she has been so lonely lately'.

'Here....' he handed me a card with his full name, address and phone number on it.

He lives next door!

'Oh, we're neighbours!' I exclaimed out loud.

'You don't say! Where do you live?' He sounded as happy as I am for this fact, or was I imagining it?

'Just down the street, 3 buildings from the library,' I said, trying to sound casual.

'We live at the 6th building' Mohammed said as a matter of a fact, 'How come we never met each other before?' He sounded surprised at this.

I was asking myself the same question too.

I checked my watch, it was past 12 already, how time flew away, I did not know.

'I got to run, I should hand my essay in less than an hour time', regretting what I said I then added, 'it was nice meeting you'.

'Sure, good luck,' I knew that was not all and when I walked away he called back 'keep in touch, Maria'. No worries, I murmured under my breath.

Hands shaking, I went to my usual table and gathered around my files and stuffed in my laptop.

There is no way in hell I can type anything after this.

A cool breeze passed by while I stepped out of the library, walked towards my apartment, and then I saw him, and at that moment, my eyes were glistening with the ghost of my past.

After having second thoughts about texting him, I finally had the courage to do it tonight after exactly a week from that day. Hands trembling more than before, I picked up my phone and typed:

Hi... too casual. Delete.
How are you? Delete.

Hey, it's Maria. Just wanted to say hello and this is my number.

I hit the Send button before I could change my mind. My SMS sounded so anxious, like I was waiting for him to text me back. Though I was sure he had forgotten all about me after the day we met it self.

It was Friday evening; tea time. I sat on the living room's sofa and switched on the TV. Absentmindedly, I kept changing the channels and thinking of something else; something beyond both reality and dream; Him.

After all these years, here I am, thinking of him. Who knew that I would get the chance to see him again? I knew I did not. But, the thing is that I had –

My phone vibrations stopped my track of thoughts. I jumped off and flipped it open, with my heart beating so fast it might burst out of my chest, and the message read,

I though u might have tossed the card away :P But, hey, I'm glad u didn't bcoz I told my sister all about u & she has been bugging me about inviting u over 4 an Omani meal. What do u say?

I re-read the text three times, doubting it was real every time I did. I cannot say no to you, Mohammed.

I wanted to be as brief as possible in all my messages so I replied with:

- An Omani meal? That sounds tempting. I shall be there.

- Great! Saturday night is fine with u?

- Yes, thanks.

- Don't say that again. U r welcomed anytime, Maria :)

Oh god! What have I got myself into? There was a part of me that wanted to see him again, and the other contradicts it completely for significant reasons.

The reckless, dominant part usually overpowers the rational and sane one; this is how it always was with me.


[Shattered Hope: Part 2 & Part 3]