She leaves through the pages of the book she’s read a zillion times before, trying not to look at the person sleeping just inches away from her. Trying not to give in to the temptation of touching him just one more time. Because she knows that after tomorrow, they might never meet again.
She slowly inches closer to him, trying very hard not to make any sudden movements that might wake him up. She puts her hand on the sleep-warm forehead. And then proceeds to ruffle his hair. As her hand slowly drops down to his face again, he turns and mumbles in his sleep. And grabs her hand. Her heart skips a beat. What if he wakes up? She slowly tries to extricate her hand from the vice like grip. A minute passes. And then two. Her heart is pounding so loudly that she’s sure he’s going to wake up because of it. She prays to The One above to help give her the strength. She tries to pull her hand away, and this time, she’s able to. She makes her way back to where she was sitting before, and curls up with the book again.
She subconsciously clears her throat. He wakes up, glances at her, and closes his eyes again.
“Am sorry, did I wake you up?” she asks.
“Don’t worry, I only wake up when I want to. Not even an earthquake can wake me up when I don’t want to.”
“Peaceful?” he asks, extending his hand to touch her arm.
“With you, always …” is what she is dying to say. But she’s scared. To be so blatantly honest.
“Very.” she says. “Very.” And she gets back to her book, pretending to read, while she watches him sleep like a baby.