The Ride 3

Work…. how Nour hates this 4-lettered word. She knows she is lucky to have a job in this economy. Just finished a long day at work, what a day it was!! She was longing to run to the station, to stand among familiar faces. She stops in her tracks looked around her, Nour never paid attention to the colorful alley on her route from the “office” to the station.

The fresh smell of spices mixed with the perfumes of rich woods , the traces of salty sweat in the air, the shouts of merchants praising their products, urging passersby to purchase a brightly dyed piece of fabric, or buy some fresh walnuts. Nour tries to distinguish between various odours and fragrances, but every try fails and ends up with  a weird concoction of smells.

The train, the leather seats, the memory of a pair of piercing brown eyes are just distant memories. She wants an escape, a restart or maybe a life cleanup. Every thought, action or feeling are proving to be more painful than ever. I’m so drained she thought while trying on an old agate ring. I need out… what a persistent thought… a repetition of the same vowels and constants.

I hate him… but o God I miss him. He’s weird, I can’t predict what would come out of his mouth. Sometimes he’s too good to be true, that I’d pinch myself in the elbow, but sometimes I want to reach out, and simply smother him in his own pillow. Nour walked to a food stall grabbed whatever sandwich the buyer had and walked back to the street…

She stops admires her new ring, smiles, hopes an email would be back on her laptop, or the reappearance of those brown eyes staring at her, counting her breathes, counting each bead and frill on her shirt…


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