I sigh as he pulls me against his chest, kissing my head and wrapping his arms around me tightly. It feels right. I feel right.
‘I have to go,’ he murmurs after a moment, but he doesn’t make a move.
‘Then go.’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘Then stay,’ I say softly.
‘The having and the wanting aren’t necessarily the same.’
He sighs protractedly, placing his hands on my shoulders and his lips against mine once more. With the barest of touches, he nudges them open.He smells and tastes so good.We kiss slowly, every touch deliberate, filled with an intensity betraying our fears. Tears tip and trickle across my face as I move to break apart, but he continues to hold me to him, arms at my back, his kisses clinging, reducing to small, soft movements as he refuses to let go. To delay the end. But it comes eventually. We break apart, my tears clinging to his shirt like badges of regret.
‘I’ll be back soon.’ One hand strokes my cheek. Are those words consolation for me, or him? ‘Go inside,habibti.’
Leaning around me, he opens the door and manoeuvres me inside, all without stepping over the threshold.
‘I love you,’ I whisper, my disappointment as quiet as the closing door.
