Reminiscences

Memories are like old friends. It eases your pain when you think of it, offer its shoulder when you're crying and just be there whenever you need it. It comes back and goes, protected by your mind and heart...And when you want to talk to it, it'll listen and keep reminding you of what happened or might have been.

~*~

I miss seeing things from one perspective, which was mine alone. The way I ran and ran, just like any other 3 years old, without fears or worries. And how I would scream at the top of my lungs or jump off the ground excited, not because I was supposed to, but wanted to. I miss getting hurt and when things seem like they’re falling down, without hesitation, I’d leap into my mother’s outstretched arms, the safest spot in the whole world. When she says ‘Everything’s going to be just fine’ I believe her because it will, eventually.

I miss my best friend, her focused attention on every detail possible and the sudden urge to question every question. I miss the times we used walked side by side to the library, discussing our latest read or mentioning our little brothers and sisters funny incidents. I miss the rush hour; the time of registering the borrower’s details and how we’d help each other out, wearing the position of Junior Librarians as a badge. I miss stuffing my bag with the books she needed to read so that we would discuss the plot together later on. I remember how she always tried to catch up with me when, in fact, my book-shelf have already flooded with novels she’d never even heard of before.

I miss teaching and my outbursts at the end of the day but then going back the next morning and repeating the circle all over again.

I miss the holidays, the way I used to wake up at 1:30 because of prayers and thinking that if it weren’t for that mere fact, I’d sleep the whole day. I miss having no worries about tomorrow or something else I am supposed to do and the thought of having nothing planned, just living the moment and anticipating what the next day had in store for me.

A lot of things I miss of the past but that, they tell us, are some of the advantages of growing up: leaving the rest behind you and moving on. But what if I keep thinking non-stop about them?

The One Who..

I'm the one who stares blank-faced thinking of tomorrow, next week or next year when people think she's angry, sad or just mad at someone and don't want to talk about it and when she admits the truth, they think she's trying to wave them off.

When her classmates are roaming around the corridors, gossiping about this girl or that, she'd be sitting behind at class, reading. At the bus, she'd take down a paper and a pen, waiting for inspiration to strike when the others are chattering about their day and how unfair particular teachers were.

During lunch breaks, she'd hurriedly have her meal, eat it alone or with some friends at class then ward off to the library and start moving her fingers over the titles of the English section, looking for a new and interesting book to read or some cool facts to learn about. When she comes back to class, without asking where the hell she was, they'd laugh and tell her it was totally expected as she's a nerd.

At home, she's either doing her homework, researching, reading, watching TV or writing. At bed time, she'd grab the book on her nightstand and start reading where she left, slowly, her tired eyes lull her to a good night sleep where she dreams of extraordinary things that the moment she wakes up, she'd jot them down.

When asked about her opinion, she speaks out truthfully, not afraid to edit some thoughts for the impression that she's rude, because, after all, they asked for it. When told off, she'd learned not to take it personally and simply listen, take what she thought was relevant and flush down the rest.

While walking, playing or even laughing, words form into her mind in their own way as if it was the force of habit that she narrates everything. When looking at certain things, she'd see them as words in print or in her scrapbook or her blog...she keeps searching for minor details to spice up the topic, and immediately, everything takes shape within minutes.

As soon as she's been given money, she thinks of which books to spend it on. She'd do her homework: logging on to special sites to check reviews and best-selling lists and type down those that interest her. Printing the paper, she insists on heading to Borders and buying whatever on the list. Then, she just can't wait to get back home and start reading already.

She's the one who dreams of her own library, her huge book-shelves and the smell of books filling in her place. She dreams of her library filling in with people, close-marching in lines for her to sign on their copies of her novel.

She knows so much of this might come true, but till then, she'll keep dreaming.

Hiatus Lane [4]

Hiatus Lane ~ Chapter Four
By Kitten

Ali

The phone was ringing alright. And I was absolutely sure who it was. She must have given him the number.

'Ali' Deema shouted. She was drawing in her room, with her door standing ajar. She always left it that way. I guess she had to because Nouf and I do not get along often.

'Yes?'

'Pick up the phone, will you?'

'I'm busy'

'Damn it!' She fumed and got up, causing the chair to knock down on the floor abruptly.

Storming into the living room, I slowly glanced from on top of my PSP to see her. She was a mess, really. Her hair worn in a messy-kind-of-way pony tail, her eyes tired. I was laying on my back on the sofa and the phone's stand was right across. I could have picked up the phone but I didn’t.

Fares

‘This better be good’ I heard her say. She might not have been aware that she voiced her thought out loud. I kept quiet, regretting my childish behaviour. And then a voice from far away that must have been Nouf’s said ‘swearing box’ which Deema responded to by saying ‘gosh, sorry, get a penny from my wallet’.

‘um..hi?’ I said, interrupting the mini talk.

‘Yes, who’s this?’

The moment she heard my name there was a hesitant pause.

‘How’s everything going on?’

‘Good, alright’ she said softly.

‘I thought of escorting Ali and Nouf to the zoo, what do you think?’

‘The zoo’, she repeated.

‘yeah, I thought they ought to attend the opening tonight’.

‘Thoughtful of you, but…’ and Nouf’s thrilled voice stopped her mid-sentence. ‘I want to go to the zoo! Please, Deema, pretty please!’

‘It’s settled then. Meet you guys at 7?’

‘Okay’ and she hung up.

Ali

The moment she held the phone tight next to her left ear and spoke to him, her mind had wandered a million miles. When Nouf asked if she could go, she’d agreed. Even though I was dieing on the inside to head to the zoo, Fares was, in fact, the last person I wanted to be escorted with.

****

Hiatus Lane [3]

Hiatus Lane ~ Chapter Three
By Kitten

Fares

The landlord was a nightmare. What if I forgot (okay, intentionally postponed the date of) handing in the money? Would he lose a dime? He would, technically, but god! He had the whole building for himself. But then again, I wouldn't have rushed through packing 2 years of my life if I weren't forced to.

I had moved into the Pearl hotel luxury when mom sent a reasonable amount of money –god bless her- for the fear of her only son being thrown out to live on the streets. She wouldn't do that under normal circumstances, but what about me that can fall under the normal category, I ask you?

To that day, I was still thinking of Deema's little family. My gut feeling told me she was on a vacation with her siblings for a reason. You don't just get on a plane for the heck of it.

The lobby was muffled with hushed noises, people making deals, others texting and like the majority, I was enjoying the view outside while sipping my latte. I have always favoured these few free-of-work minutes that I made sure to asset some every once in a while.

Outside, there was a teen-aged girl sitting on the bench, checking her wristwatch every 3 minutes. She must be dating someone, I was sure. Then, not far away, I saw the same dude with the dog. Now these two are an art alone. I don't even know why the dog-dude bothers anymore.

Nouf

Ali's been acting weird ever since Deema met the very tall man whose name I couldn't remember. He would ask Deema about him, where's he's from or what he exactly wanted. But I didn't care about him; all I cared about was enrolling in the ballet course. The ad I saw made me go crazy and I quickly ripped it off the wall and shoved it right under my sister's nose. I knew she would get furious because she was working on this particular painting for two days in a row.

'Nouf' she said, using the kind of voice that meant get-away or this-isn't-the-right-time.

'Before you say anything, please read it' I squeaked.

Saying 'Hmm' was good so I waited till she skimmed it and agreed. For it being too good to be true, I had to rush into Ali's room and announce my victory once again.

He said 'Okay' lightly and asked me to shut the door behind me while getting myself out of our room.

Fares

The phone was ringing but I took it as if they're out or they're busy and cancelled the call. I thought of calling again but decided not to. What would she say if she knew I'd been miss-calling the apartment's phone twice?

Summer 2010

This is the last day of summer 2010. I worked, read, played, watched movies, read some more, traveled, fasted Ramadhan, enjoyed Eid, spent my eidiyah and most of all, met my uncle and cousins for the first time in 3 years.

In every summer, I try to achieve as much as constructive things as possible and in this particular one, I've bought and read more books than I thought I would. Putting the good memories aside, school's starting tomorrow and like every year, the only motive that keeps me going is that if it I went, I'll be getting it over with.

Eid was great too and more than that. I wish if I could sit here all day and get my heart out about what happened but I have to write for my column, get some things straight and be ready to face tomorrow. Even though I'm not one to be attached with friends, my good friend moved out already and I'm afraid I'm going to miss her epically.

Other than that, wait for the upcoming chapters of Hiatus Lane which I've scribbled down during Eid holiday and after polishing them up, they'll be up on here soon. Ciao for now.

Hiatus Lane [2]

Hiatus Lane ~ Chapter Two
by Kitten

Deema

If it hadn't been for his polite way of talking, I wouldn't have been at ease talking to a total stranger. Strangely though, with his broad shoulders, he reminded me of a giant bear.

When he complimented my drawings, I had the urge to show him some of my other doodles lying around. I didn't know why, but he seemed interested and I saw myself falling for the attention he gave me.

Ali

I quickly took a bath, changed and peered through the balcony that, luckily, gave me a clear view of Deema and the new dude we met a while ago, Fares. Being the man of the house I am, I reluctantly allowed him to be with her this time, given the fact that they were surrounded by people and I was watching his every move.

I first noticed him earlier, while I was teasing Nouf. I'd stopped splashing water all over her without Deema having asked me to, and that was a first. But I really had a strange feeling about this guy once my eyes set upon him. He could fool Deema but I'm not one to be fooled. He grinned and laughed and cracked joke as if he'd known her his whole life. Heck, he might even think she's his friend from now on. Hold on a second and don't get me wrong: I'm not jealous. It's just that my sister doesn't usually talk with random tall and tanned boys.

'What are you doing?' Nouf startled me. As though I was found guilty of cheating in a Math exam, I tore my eyes away and gazed at the dog that was pulling his owner somewhere near my two targets who also, by the way, looked like they were having the time of their lives together.

Ismael

Wafa hadn't stopped nagging about calling her daughter every single day once I thought they should go and have a blast, without us. Deema herself especially needed that, I knew.

'Let them have fun' I told her.

'Fun?' she gritted between her teeth.

She could be so cute and annoying at the same time when she's angry. Ignoring her, I flipped through the channels till The Simpson characters stood out of all. 'Homer is a God' I shouted 'In India'.

As soon as I said it, I knew it was a mistake for Wafa stared at me, resentfully.

'You don't have a heart in you, do you?' she just said.

**

Hiatus Lane [1]

A/N: As promised, here's the new story that I've been working on lately.

Chapter One

'Deema!' Please ask him to stop!'

Nouf''s pleas of help reached to her oldest sister Deema who wanted some change of scene: instead of having her paintings filled with green-ish materials, she went for blue ones thus she chose to come to the side of the hotel that had a huge swimming pool and the whole accessory of a beach. The sun-kissed sands lay around here and there and the umbrella-shaded benches made it all the more convincing.

'Your sister is calling' He said, the tone of sarcasm filling his voice. Deema looked curiously at the man who was now sitting next to her. He had a muscular complexion, but not the same muscular type you'd see on wrestlers, a pale skin with a slight hint of a tan spread across his face and the most gorgeous emerald-green eyes she’d ever seen.

Fares

Deema, as her sister called, took a moment to reply back, 'Yeah, Ali is a natural teaser, he'd never stop splashing water on Nouf, and it's actually becoming a habit'. I laughed genuinely and reached my hands across and said, 'I'm Fares and you're probably Deema', she grinned and asked, 'Fares, as in..Are you an Arab?'

I wasn't particularly astonished that she'd ask this. People have always mistaken me for several nationalities that were far than mine. 'Yeah'.

'Where are you from?' she asked and quickly added, 'or let me hear your Arabic'.

'Hmm, okay, shu bedii oul?' I said and she immediately said,'Lebanese'.

'You're good. Now it's your turn'.

'Eish tabeeni agool?' she said with a gulf accent.

'Kuwait'

'No'

'KSA'

'No'

'Before I could make a total idiot out of myself, you're from the gulf, right?' I said.
'Of course, keep guessing'.

'Bahrain, Qatar…'

'No to all of those'.

'OMAN!' I almost shouted.

'Yes. I thought you'd never mention it'.

'My bad. I've never heard an Omani accent so..'

'Well' she started saying, and at that moment, her brother and sister approached. She took out two towels from a backpack and handed them over.

'Hey guys', I said, shaking hands with both of them, 'I'm Fares. Do you swim in here often?' I asked.

'I'm Ali', he said and his young sister said, 'we live in that hotel' she pointed at the same hotel I've been living in for the past three days.

'Well, that, happens to be where I am living as well' I replied back and caught a glimpse of Deema offering me a gentle smile.

'So…' Deema said to break the silence, 'how about you guys race each other to the flat and get dressed while I gather around my things?'

'Okay' both Nouf and Ali said in unison as they ran off, their towels wrapped around their bodies.

'Hmm..' I muttered while Deema started stuffing in her belongings inside the brown backpack. There were painting materials everywhere, from brushes to hefty artistic drawing papers.

'I noticed you were drawing something before I came in and interrupted you', I said.

'It was nothing', she shrugged.

'Can I see it?' I inquired.

She handed me the drawing that if someone was to look at it, he'd defiantly mistake it for a photograph. The scene ahead was captured intensely, with every detail standing out perfectly.

The only words I could master were 'Wow'.

'Really?' she asked.

'I'm amazed, Deema, you're very talented but I'm sure you know that'.

*

[Poem] Once Again

The crouching murmur fills the air,

An echo hisses within the walls,
A lady weeps underneath the blanket of darkness.
Protected by its secretiveness,
The crying continues.

Hours and seconds,
Misery corrupts the wave,
And an absolute stillness takes control.

She stops,
Notices the indifference
The scene then is a blend of both,
Crying and silence,
Once again

Note: You've probably noticed how short and simple this poem is (if it can be described as one) After all, this is my second attempt in poetry after Isolated Soul.

Few Thoughts

(1) A lot of things happened with me at the past week. Two of my family members, both mothers, passed away on the same day. It confused me and I had to get things straight before getting back to cyberspace. I learned not to take anything for granted, especially our own parents.

(2) The true blessing is having the chance to do the Taraweeh prayers daily in Ramadhan at a mosque.

(3) Khawater is becoming interesting by the day. Yesterday's episode hit an all time favourite after introducing a straight-forward point.



Hearing the British lady and the Jewish man standing up for what's right, regrardless of their nationalities or religions spoke loud and clear to me. To all of us. When humanity is being ripped apart, there's no excuse not to stick with the truth.

(4) خطوة | A Step blog is created by 3 intelligent Omanis and 2 Palestinians. Follow them to take a step forward to Palestine's history.

"In 1895, Herzl started his fake dream: "The state of Israel penetrates the Red Sea through the gate of Jordan" A dream to have their own state. And his dream became true by a single book, protocols & global summits. He united the Jews from east to west to build the evil state on the Palestinian lands, tooling away farms, hourse and family members of Palestinian’s Jews, Christians & Muslims. So would we ever start making our own dream?"

(5) Eid is approaching by each passing minute. Even though I'd miss Ramadhan greatly, I'd love to enjoy the happy vibe Eid spreads around amongst people of different ages.

[FanFiction] A Walk To Remember: Epilogue

A/N: After reading 'A walk To Remember' I desperately wanted to know what had happened at the end, or, at Jamie's end, to be exact. I had watched the movie a very long time ago that I can't recall how the ending was so I made one up.

The book ended with these lines:

It is now forty years later, and I can still remember everything from that day. I may be older and wiser, I may have lived another life since then, but I know that when my time eventually comes, the memories of that day will be the final images that float through my mind. I still love her, you see, and I've never removed my ring. In all these years I've never felt the desire to do so.

I breathe deeply, taking in the fresh spring air. Though Beaufort has changed, the air itself has not. It's still in the air of my childhood, the air of my seventeenth year, and when I finally exhale, I'm fifty-seven once more. But this is okay. I smile slightly, looking toward the sky, knowing there's one thing I still haven't told you: I now believe, by the way, that miracles can happen.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or the main plot. They're Sparks' as featured in the original work of 'A Walk To Remember', the novel and later, the movie. This is merely a fan-made fiction based on the book: My perception of the ending.

A Walk To Remember
FanFiction: Epilogue

Landon Carter
I'd be lying if I said that memories of that particular day doesn't come back chasing me. You see, after all these years, I still remember the first and last love of my life: Jamie. As I also remember the day when I flipped open the yearbook, looking for a candidate to ask for the homecoming dance and wonder: What if I had chosen someone else? Would I have never gotten to know her?

After she passed away, I couldn't keep myself from blaming and regretting both at the same time. Blaming myself for not noticing the reason behind the spirit and the beautiful smiles Jamie used to spread wherever she went. I thought her good heartedness was over-rated that I didn't fathom it.

The regret part then comes in for not spending the remaining moments of her life with her before our marriage: Of course, I couldn't, with Hegbert breathing down my neck even after our love for each other was no secret. I regret the days I wasted in trying to get rid of her and the fact that I always hated to have to make the 'right thing' around her.

She was a thief, a sweet and angelic one at that who stole away my bad behaviours, thoughts and misconceptions about everything. Without her, I wouldn't have forgiven my father and moved on to focus on starting all over again which I didn't think I'd be able to.

Jamie made me fall in love and know the incredible meaning of it. Love is, I learned, when you prefer to live the rest of your life with your beloved, in good and bad times.

Watching her suffer because of Leukemia on her final days on bed broke my heart every time I had looked at her; pale-faced, sleepy-eyed yet the stunning smile never failed to linger there, no matter what. The realization of having no power to protect her of the pain made me weak to the point that I'd sink in my chair, wishing I was the one in bed instead. But when I had gone through the Bible she gave me, I'd suddenly recall her words about the Lord's Plan.

The day she walked through the aisle, against our protests, to meet me right there on the altar, I saw the angel again. Jamie was wearing the same white dress she wore at the Playhouse and I couldn't have been more grateful. That day, when I first caught a glimpse of her behind the curtains I knew I was in love as I did at our wedding night. The wedding, she told me later, was just like her dream.

As surreal as the wedding was for her, the day Jamie passed away was the most painstaking day ever, for both of us, but I am sure for me, the most.

I took a nap that day and out of habit, woke up an hour and a half later to check on Jamie. As I turned around to face her, she was staring blankly at the ceiling, as if she'd never seen it there before. I let my hand rest on hers and she gave me a little squeeze while turning her head to face me.

'What are you thinking?' I asked.

'Of us' she answered breathlessly 'of you', she added.

Pulling myself up, I squeezed next to her and gently took the weight of her body onto my chest. Taking a strand of her hair in my finger, I said 'I love you, do you know that?' She rested her head near to my heart and I wanted the moment to last for eternity.

'I think it's time', she whispered soundlessly that I thought I'd imagined it.

With that, my tears started rolling down my cheeks and falling right into her milky-brown hair. She slowly raised her head to look at me up-side down and kissing her forehead, I wiped away my tears with the hem of my sleeves and helped her lay on the bed once more.

Smiling faintly at me, 'I love you more' she breathed for the last time.

There are certain moments when you feel like you're in space, and after a while, the oxygen which is keeping you alive cuts down. When life was sucked out of Jamie, it did for me, at the same time.

What Keeps Me Going...

With days passing by so fast, my writer's block keep occurring more often. I'd be clueless on what to write about for my column and on every Sunday night, I switch on my laptop and place my fingers on the keyboard, waiting for some miracle to happen and hit me with ideas.

Last night, while my Dad and I were cutting and pasting his own articles and placing them in a portfolio, this mini conversation happened:

Dad: What day is it tomorrow? Saturday?
Me: No, it's Sunday.
Dad: Okay.
Me: Why?
Dad: You haven't written your article yet.

I should have known, one way or the other, that he'd bring it up even though I had repeatedly asked him not to.

While I was browsing through his articles that dated back to 2003, I'd noticed how, over the years, the papers have turned to yellow-ish brown. He'd had 2 pages full of his coverage on a specific event and I had asked him if he really did all of that in one day. He'd said yes: He'd attend an event at night and would come back home, note down the details, even if it meant staying up till mid-morning, because, he said, he is supposed to turn it in by the morning.

I wondered if I'd be capable of doing that when I'm reluctantly writing for my column before the day of submission it self. Dad showed me his column; it was full of interesting articles and plots, rich in meaning and vocabulary and I wondered if I could ever live up to his achievements.

If Dad, I decided, wasn't pressing me in about sitting down to write up something for my column over the past few months, I know for a fact that I'd become careless by the day and forget all about it. Keeping the fact of having asked him that it truly bugs me aside, I am happy to realize that this is exactly what keeps me going: Him.

Healing ~ Sami Yusuf

An ad in MBC (I guess) featured this nasheed by Sami Yusuf in Arabic that I absolutely loved and thought to share it;

قلب بين يدي قلب و بيد الله كل قلب

عين ترعى عينا، وعين الله ترعى

كلمة طيبة صدقة

تبسمك لأخيك صدقه

كل معروف صدقة

اللهم اشف شفاءً لا يغادر سقماً

Here's the English version of it.


Enjoy!

In His Late Memory

March, 11th 09

'Why!' she continues screaming, her voice the only audible one above the others.

His children are done with cleaning him and now, they are taking him to his room, the one he used to sit in, with Oman TV switched on at all times. His body is covered with white linen passes across my eyes as I fight to shut my eyelids so that I won't see him like this. I just don't want to.

Some of them are walking in on him now, praying for him and sobbing. The women next to me watches me carefully as I let out my tears drop down my cheeks, not caring, I let them fall and as they do, I feel my heart sinking down to the floor. This isn't supposed to happen, I say inside my head.

'Let her be....'
'This is too hard for her…'
'Poor girl...'
'She can't....'

They think I can't hear their whispers but I can…and I am hearing them.

'Come with me….'
'This is your last chance….'

Her words echo through my ears and I finally make my decision and stand up. The woman who is a total stranger to me and who was hugging me moments ago so tightly let me go as I am standing up now and making my way to my mother across the crowd of weeping women.

My foot carried me till the final inches of his door. People are everywhere so as the tears and grief that are hanging in the air, wrapping all of us, especially his children who were brave enough to actually wash and watch his dead body.

I am here now and all my senses are numb. The next moment, my aunt holds me in a tight embrace and whispers in my ear 'Are you afraid, honey?' she says 'Don't be. It's just like he's sleeping'. And because I am a fool, I believe her and enter the room.

There he is, lying on the floor. Someone says 'kneel down and kiss him...'

'Go on now...'

But I can't. I am too weak to do that. Catching a glimpse of him there, I walk out quickly, thinking of how stupid I am to believe that he is sleeping. He is not, simply.

I go back to where I was before I made the bravest and stupidest decision in my life. I watch my brother, so tough that his face is the colour of bright red without any tears. I look around and watch my two cousins, the same state of face as my brother's. And then, I lay my eyes upon my Dad and my uncles. They are too numb to what's happening that they are not crying, I decide, because only that explains why they're actually holding on.

Where's my grandmother? I ask myself. Then hushed whispers flows in and I know they were about to take him to the grave. I close my eyes as they pass his coffin and out to the door although I catch a slight glimpse of the brown wooden coffin.

I try my best to not think of what this means but I fail to do so, because, for the first time, it's all real to me:

He's gone….
Not coming back again….
The last time…

And I cry and cry in silence, not letting out any voice out as I am sure there isn't any.

'Allahuma sakinho fi fasee7i janaatik' a woman starts praying for his soul and I keep crying and saying Amen all along. For the first time, I hear my grandmother's voice. She lets out a high-pitched scream that make me jump off my feet. She's crying so loudly that I can hear her even though she's at her room and I'm in the living room, surrounded by strangers.

After the prayers, a woman says to me 'Do you know who I am?' I look at her stupidly. I do not care if I am rude or not but this isn't the time. She just says 'Your grandmother used to bring you to my house and you were running around with diapers' she laughed at a memory of mine that I didn't recognize or didn't actually care to.

Some of the women look at me and acknowledge each other 'She's X's daughter'. I look around once more and notice that I'm the only granddaughter who dared to attend my grandpa's funeral. The rest are not capable of doing this, my older sister included.

Flashes of his last moments with us are appearing in front of my now-foggy eyes.

~*~

When I first knew about his condition, I wanted to visit him at the hospital. He has been there for a week and I knew I must visit because I'm usually the one who does. My sister hates hospitals and can't watch sick people sufferings and miseries. I can't too but I vowed to so as to be there for the people I love no matter what.

I entered his room and he immediately asked 'Where's Mohammed?' Mohammed is my brother and has always been my grandpa's favourite. 'He wasn't allowed to come', I said because he's under-aged.

One week later, I heard Dad talking to Mom about his condition and how the doctors asked to take out the respiratory device that is helping him breathe. My Dad's brothers and sisters, Dad said, insisted on keeping him alive.

And Dad made the right decision, because, once, when it was dad's turn to sleep next to grandpa's bedside, he woke up and said 'You're a good son'. He lived another 2 weeks before passing away. Dad still remembers what he last said to him. It means a great deal to him and I'm proud of their relation for eternity.

May god bless his soul, I loved him so much and I still do.

Neoteric Glance [Finale]

Neoteric Glance ~ Finale
By Kitten

A/N: The final part! Yes. Too soon? I understand and because I do, I chose to end it right now. Another idea of a story jumped into my mind two nights ago and I just knew I had to finish this one or the latter would vanish and this would clash with my thoughts for the upcoming one. I tried as hard as I can to lengthen the story but luck wasn't on my side during the process so why would it hit me now? Without further ado, you may proceed to find out what happens...

Ryan

I wanted to stand there, in case if she felt like coming out but I didn't know what to tell her exactly because, I decided, I was the stupidest man alive, a total failure, which is no surprise, at all. Even though I couldn't have known, I regret acting foolishly and admitting about what bothered me, I only knew later that I should have kept it to myself.

I hurt her beyond measure and I took full responsibility for that but I couldn't allow that scene to be the one that would end our relation. I wanted to be there for her no matter what, even if it were outside the borders of the school. At least, of that, I was sure.

Giving her time, I fought the urge to call Sarah for two long nights in which I spent in and out of sleep, reluctantly. Only on Sunday did I build up the courage to pick up my cell.

'Hello Kate. Can you send me Sarah's address?'

~*~

Nearly two minutes passed till I heard light footsteps on the other side. 'I'm coming', Sarah said.

She opened the door and was surprised to see me, of all people, standing there. 'Hey', I said immediately. It didn't take long for her to whisper back, 'Ryan. Hi'.

I then asked a simple question 'How are you doing?'

'Fine', was the word that pierced my ear the most as I knew for a fact that she wasn't.

'Sarah', I wanted to cut right to the chase and say it, 'I'm so sorry for your loss, I wouldn't have said a thing if I knew'.

'I am too', she said, in a distanced-voice that wasn't hers.

Then she gestured for me to come in. I walked inside her house knowing that there were people who lived here but no longer did. People whom were so dear to Sarah that she might have taken a long time to get over them and I brought their memories back, ignorantly.

The living room had a nicely decorated shelf containing over two hundred books, I assumed. The bookshelf was so wide that it covered the entire right side of the room and gave it a rectangular outline.

She followed my gaze and said, almost soundlessly, 'They used to be my Dad's'. At that, I couldn't breathe.

'They passed away in an accident', she whispered and I didn't bring myself to look at her face, her used-to-be cheery face that I forever distressed.

'Oh, Sarah', I exhaled heavily and went up to her this time. Sitting next to her made me realize how pale her face had become since the last day I saw her. She kept staring at her hands while speaking, 'A young driver hit their car. My Dad was driving and Mia and Lizzie were playing rock, paper or scissors at the back seat'. She smiled halfheartedly and continued, 'They all died at once'.

'Sorry', I choked out the only words I can say even if it wouldn't make any difference. Without thinking, I opened my arms and she fell right into them. She hugged me back so tight that I nearly gasped for air.

'They left me all alone', she sobbed, tears flowing right into my white shirt. 'Shhh', I wanted her to shake off this idea, 'if they had the choice, they wouldn't. No one would. I know I wouldn't ever leave you'.

We sat there for several minutes, Sarah crying and I, well, trying my best to sooth away her pain. Suddenly, she backed away from me and eyed my now-ruined shirt. 'I'm sure you didn't come here so that I could ruin your shirt', she said and reached her arms for some Kleenex. She wiped away her tears with trembling hands. 'If you ever felt like talking to someone', I started saying, 'then know that I'm here'.

When she nodded, I held both her hands between mine and said, 'Sarah, I know this isn't the time but, when I first met you, I knew you were different and that's when I became a different man. I had insomniac nights in which I began thinking of what I would do about my feelings, the ones that I have for you. My parents divorce forever changed me, made me sulk in a whole other world where its population was one person; me. And you, well, you amended that. Watching you every day with the kids made me get in touch with my little siblings that I haven't heard of in weeks and overall, enjoy the little things I had'. I felt like I said all of that in one breath. What the heck, I thought and finally said it, 'I like you, Sarah, very much, and I even think I'm falling in love with you'.

She seemed to digest all of this. God! This is way too much for one night, she must be thinking.

'Ryan' she said my name with a special tone that made me adore her every time she uttered it. 'I think I do too'. She smiled right this time because it reached to her eyes. 'Your arrogance and stubbornness makes you unique', she said and I felt my heart pounding hastily.

'Is that a good or a bad thing?' I asked, grinning.

*****

This may sound bossing around but, I would like you to give me honest comments on how to improve my writing. That being said, I also tried to get into the male character here (Ryan); Let me know if I did. And special thanks goes to Squinty, Naba and Rummy.