Aida Zabidi
There was a sensuality about her, etched in the fine contours of her face. It was there in those full lips, in the heavy lidded eyes that followed him throughout the room, a sensuality that seemed to be enhanced by her aloofness. My eyes were always drawn to her every time she came into the room, amused how she studiously greeted everyone while trying her damndest not to look at him - the one person who her gaze would focus on the moment she thought he wasn't looking. 

Perhaps that was what made her so striking, so beautiful, the helpless longing that seem to permeate through her entire being whenever she was in her presence, and how she seemed so much more alive, so much more vibrant.

I wondered if she knew how her face changed when she looked at him.

Imperceptible maybe, to the casual observer, but not to me, for I found those subtle changes fascinating; the way her entire face seemed to soften when he entered the room, how her eyes would light up when he talked to her, how she stiffened when another woman drew near to him.

God forbid I ever tell her this, for we live in the era of feminism, and she herself would sneer at the suggestion that she wanted him, but I knew - I could tell that every fibre of her being resonated with his very presence, and it seemed so obvious to me that I often wondered how he seemed so blind to her machinations.

I wondered if she noticed how she mirrored his actions, constantly moving around him so subtly that it seemed that he was her sun, and she was revolving around him like a planet in orbit, never quite drawing near, always in that close proximity.

I could tell she was saving herself for him.

And I knew he had no idea, blissfully aware of the lovelorn miss with the sensuous lips and the dark eyes which tracked his every move behind the mask of her aloof personality.

And I wasn't quite sure, but part of that realisation made me feel very very sad, as if I knew that the ending wouldn't be one of grand passion and great romance that was more suited for her temperament, but it would very likely be something that would be swallowed by nothingness, deadened by his blissful ignorance and her inability to reach out from behind that veneer.

But who was I to say?

I am only an observer, and the best of observers have no say indeed.


2 Responses
  1. Al Says:

    is this about me? kidding.

    Some people have that thing about them,be it the face,eyes or just a certain sensibility,that makes you want to rush for your notebook and write.and pieces like this,lines that travel like a consumed romantic,I could completely get lost into this piece.


  2. maybe its because im lost of words,or the plain fact that i have limited vocabulary for big words, but i think i'll just use one word to describe this:WOW.

    discreetly sensual,yet the building momentum really picks up the heat.and then,the lingering end.damn.awesome.

    and as a third party to feel those resonance from that girl.hmm.something to think about there.

    ur a great writer.awesome.


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