“I cannot stand without support for more than two minutes. You think I will be able to work and travel like I used to?”
“It is still early to say that. Let’s be patient…”
“I am practical.”
“And crooked!” She cursed.
“What?” Dark eyes found her.
“Crooked! You take somebody’s words the wrong way, you say your own words the wrong way, you act the wrong way, you just perceive every damn thing the wrong way.”
“One more shortcoming that you are enduring.”
“Samar, I don’t want to fight. Please.” She folded her hands to him. “And next time, please don’t ask me anything about yourself if you don’t have the patience and the power to listen to it objectively.”
He turned to her but she whirled around and stalked to the sofa. “Go to your room.”
She didn’t hear any movement behind her and began to shake out her bedding. Amaal lay down on the pillows, pushing the third one between her legs and turning away from where he was still leaning. She pulled the thin covering over her and closed her eyes.
Minutes ticked by. Then, she felt a weight settle on the sofa behind her back. His hand came to her hair.
“I know you are awake, and I know I am making this impossible for you. I am sorry that I am doing this… my own realities are exploding. They don’t stop exploding. And you refuse to leave me. I lived for you but I don’t know what to do with this life anymore because I didn’t think how it would be worthy of you. I am trying to stay afloat in my head but my only way to cope with it is movement, and that is gone, I don’t know if it will ever come back.”
He sighed.
“At 39, I am moving like I am 89. I know there will be recovery but I also know that practically it won’t be 100%. And I don’t want to become so emotionally dependent on you that I make you another crutch.”
She turned and buried her head into the side of his thigh. The cotton of his shorts had ridden up to expose the leathery skin underneath and her nose rested against it. She thought he would pull away but he stayed, setting his hand atop her head and stroking her hair.
“Sleep.”
“You also go and sleep.”
“I am good here.”
————————————————————
Amaal woke up to the warm scents of tea and coffee and butter. The sun was streaming in through the windows and the low sounds of the kitchen were punctuating the birdsong outside. She pushed the covering off her, feeling hot. The morning was warm but the fan was running on full. She checked, she had left it on medium last night.
“Good morning.” Samar’s voice made her crane her head to the entrance of the hall. He limped in, carrying a plate of sandwiches.
“Good morning.” She sat up, crossing her legs and rubbing her eyes. Her hair fell down her face and she pushed it all back, clawing it up to wind it in a bun.
“Are you going to take your coffee like this or you prefer it after freshening up?” He asked, coming close to the sofa and standing over her. Amaal looked up at him — “You made my coffee?”
“Sugary milk with coffee powder,” he enunciated. “Yes.”
Her mouth curved involuntarily. His eyes softened.
“Samar…” she whined. “Don’t.”
“Shouldn’t I work to make you forgive me?”
“With sugary milk and coffee powder?”
He smiled — “I state it as it is.”
She threw her head back on the sofa’s headrest. “Is last night swept under the rug?”
