Your memories stored in a matchbox,
Lit into flames, smolder away,
Return by the wind to where you are.
You were never mine to keep.
Dawn was fast approaching; she could see its creeping fingers gently caressing the blanket of clouds. Little sunbeams flickered weakly being subjects bowing to the coming of the sun.
Her hands were raised in prayer as she sat on the rug, while a deep sense of peace filled her, making the hollowness skitter away. Meek sunlight kissed the tips of her lashes, which instantly turned into curving golden sparks. The white terrace was the enclosure of where she'd dreamed, grown up as a child.
She let her palms press across her face for a moment and gently kissed her hands, the symbol of having finished her prayers. The morning breeze caressed her cheeks as if in a fond greeting and slowly, surely, a smile appeared on Hitomi Kanzaki's face, stretching until her spirits lifted.
"So, there you are! Your mother was beginning to think you ran away or something!" the panting, relieved voice of Yukari came from behind her, ending her moment of reflection.
Hitomi rolled her eyes as she turned around, "Yes, 'Kari, tell Mother I trust her quite enough as well."
'Kari giggled, "Well, I can't blame her, you know. Last night she was telling us how in her days there was this movie in which the woman ran away and wrote 'I loved, not sinned,' to her parents. Soon after, the rate of elopement rose with girls writing that very same note."
The green-eyed woman smiled, patting the prayer rug as she folded it, "What kind of friend are you? Should've told me about that earlier."
Yukari blinked as the sun came into her eyes and smiled, the sunshine kissing her lips. "A ticket to Gretna Greene can be arranged, you know," she blinked coquettishly.
Hitomi slapped her arm affectionately, "You are an awful influence on me."
"Always my pleasure. Imran looks too uptight to suggest anything even remotely daring so I suppose I must stick to my duties of providing that for you."
Smiling knowingly, her eyes lighting up as she caught her cousin and best friend's arm, "And is that the type of man you want, Yukari?" Her eyes glowed, "Somebody who'll defy the world, be daring as-you-please and carry you away?"
The brown-eyed girl pulled away, "You and your words, I swear, they're too kind and too tempting. If the poor man you describe, who's too good to be true exists…before we can even think of having a future, he'll die of exertion carrying me two paces away!"
Hitomi chuckled and winked suggestively, "Honey, I can only think of one place where you'll drive him to exertion."
Yukari gaped in mock-shock then narrowed her eyes dramatically, "I'll just have to find a heavy-weight and track champion—a combination of which will guarantee he has strength and…err," she laughed girlishly, "stamina."
The world blurred into pastels and colors, and for that moment Hitomi stared at her cousin. Her laugh gave her a minx-like look, her eyes the warmest of chocolate and glistening with intelligence, and her high cheekbones evidenced her stubbornness. Silently, mutely, Hitomi Kanzaki vowed she'd find a man for her cousin, a man who'd be worthy of her love, who'd find her life more precious than his very own.
"Why are you looking at me like that for?" Yukari asked abruptly.
She ruffled her hair messily as she adjusted her dupatta, a stole-like cloth used to cover the outlines of her chest. "I was thinking that I think this is the year where my wonderful cousin Yukari Uchida will find her man."
"And what, pray tell, Miss. Fortune-teller makes you say that? He hasn't showed up in the past twenty six years," she snorted.
She smiled, "I have no idea. I just think so."
"You think wrong," the brown-eyed girl said pragmatically.
"Well, if my thoughts are wrong, you'll just have to count on me to book a ticket to Gretna Greene in case the note 'I loved, not sinned,' starts seeming very appealing to you."
A giggle bubbled on her lips, "Oh dear Allah, I hope the possibility never arises. If this is the year, I wish the man would hurry up!"
"Me too, me too, 'Kari."
They went downstairs, as the sun had finally reached its throne.
She had released him into the morning sky, let go of his memories as if a thousand beautiful white doves had been set loose from their invisible ivory cages. It was all over; childhood was over, idealistic dreams were coming to a closure, the romance she'd begun to write about her own life was coming to its dénouement, fighting the illusion of a happy ending, of love surmounting all obstacles.
Love was not enough. Life was; her love wasn't so important that she'd destroy the chance for a happy life for others.
You hide from me, taking refuge in silence,
When your eyes plead for all that you dream,
All that cannot cross the seam of your lips.
Whisper it and I'll catch it in my lips,
Show it, and I'll hold it in my hands.
"She will absolutely not agree to your offer," he drawled mildly, firmly.
"Thanks for the support, Amano; always knew I could count on you," Van bit sarcastically.
"I am not doubting Hitomi's strength—she'd run to you if she didn't have responsibilities," he ploughed on logically. "Trust me, I'm born Arabic," his heavily-lidded eyes were a stamp of proof, "and if my sister had run into some lover's arms on her wedding date, we'd kill the man." He wished his sister had; he would've even abetted the lovers.
The maroon-eyed man paused as they went through the security, "What makes you think that her parents won't attempt the same?"
"I'm hoping you'll stop being an ass, attend her wedding with a bouquet and best wishes, and let her go." He was more controlled while Van was volatile; he smiled grimly, he'd have to keep an eye on the raven haired man before he got himself killed…or worse, killed someone else in the process.
The hiss of air, and Van turned around, "Does your scrawny heart have a soft spot?"
The brown haired man faltered for a moment but blinked and let it go. Soft spots, what did he know of that? Van Fanel did not know of the anguish that tore his heart into shreds when his younger sister came home bruised by a husband who had loved her for a year, lavished upon her the world until the moment she'd given birth to a girl. Amano had ached to stop her, halt the farce of a marriage and yet, his sister, with quivering lips and sad eyes stripped of innocence, had stopped him to save the dignity of her family. Women, they were born to be someone else's. He had never experienced such a keen pain of loss that gouged his heart. She belonged to her husband now; his claim to her was reduced to polite love that constituted as Happy Eid's and I Miss Yous.
This was the dark side of humanity, the craven beasts that hid behind the face of religion and goodness, twisting faith to fit their purposes.
As far as he was concerned, marriage was an unnecessary hell on Earth that he'd been too naïve to protect his sister from.
Van Fanel frowned as he watched the clock. 5 p.m. She'd be married in three hours. O' Allah, he had to reach her even if it took everything he had. Memories of her clouded his mind; her laugh, her pure affection, her efforts to hide the passion beneath the veneer of perfect composure and goodness, her wicked delight as she'd spotted a Harley that she'd longed to ride, her loyalty to him as her parents had acted coolly…
God, he wanted to uncap her passion, to liberate her from whatever inhibitions held her together, to pull all her strings until she came freely to him.
He wanted to yank all the barriers away, wanted to give and take her first kiss, wanted to be her first and only lover.
Countless nights, he had wondered what would she be like when all her control was gone, when she was free to say, to do, and to feel whatever she desired with him.
Him. Only he would see her opening her petals, revealing herself to him, as she would do for no other man. He wanted her to know the pleasure of laughing so much that your jaw hurt, of being so happy that the smile on your face became a part of your feature.
He wanted to give her his very own life.
She had come to him like an angel of mercy and for that moment, he could've sworn by the Qur'an she had glowed. There he lay on the deserted street, wasted with booze, smelling of marijuana and nearly dying.
His eyes had opened slowly as if it took all the power he had and he distinctly remembered those eyes, those steady green eyes with something akin to remorse and fear in them. Somewhere in the process of being treated in the hospital he had held onto her hand as if it would guarantee him heaven, salvation from death and all his sins.
He had been nineteen and made too many mistakes to count and the angel that curved on the stool looked unsullied as the cotton white sheets that covered him. Hazily, drugged, he had wanted to with childish fascination touch her face with his dirty hands, see how she would react to his grime, whether his touch would permeate through her skin, tarnishing her. He had closed his eyes again and held on dearly to her for his life, unknowingly memorizing the face of the scarf-wearing Muslim girl.
He'd woken up alone with no signs of the female who had saved his life, making him wonder if she was an illusion his desperate mind had fashioned.
In a fast-moving world where beauty was disappearing at a rate only slightly less fast than filth was being created, he had grasped onto her memory. She had become his reference, his conscience, his beacon to turn to when the temptation rose, when his world crashed into the depths of shallowness.
At twenty, Van Fanel fumbling for the purity he so lacked and maddeningly desired, staggering on the crooked path that seemed to threaten to swallow him, destroy his very soul, accepted Islam.
The acceptance of Islam was like the acceptance of love; it didn't discriminate on his past identity, what grave errors he had made previously; all that mattered was who he was now, what he would be in the future, and by God, he had hung onto that as a life-line.
For the next four years he studied the faith, mastered Arabic and Farsi, landing a government job, a subgroup of the FBI.
Flushed from the toxins of the material world, life seemed hopeful. It was then he'd met Hitomi Kanzaki once more. The day was Friday as masses of Muslims gathered for the Jumma prayer in Washington D.C. Once the prayer was finished, he'd headed towards his parked car…and there, in front of him, beside his very own car, she turned the ignition to her own automobile.
His heart had skipped a beat, his eyes had sprung to life, glittering maroon and the world had come to a screeching halt.
"Oh wow," the Arab's sarcasm was unmistakable, "where the hell did you bring me?" Thus was Amano's reaction to the noise, the chaos, the cheering people at the side waiting for their family, friends…the yellow-black cabs that seemed to be in a perpetual mode of honking. The very air seemed different.
Something lingered in it, something mysterious, beckoning. It was lively, it was playful, it was bursting with such sorrow and joy that one didn't know what to feel, to see.
"Oh my God," Van murmured softly to himself, captivated by the sights. He was bombarded, his senses completely dominated over and a million things came to him. A beggar with half a leg, the woman in a sari embracing another, the lights that blinked on for miles, a man carrying small glasses of tea, and the smell of…spice.
Hitomi had said he would like it here.
She had been wrong, so very wrong.
He was already in love with it.
This was…beautiful, beautiful in the sense of the doomed feeling that stalked the corner, the abject poverty…yet people, smiled, laughed, lived and the paradoxical juxtaposition of these sights gave it a certain allure that was magnetic, that was heartbreakingly striking.
"What's next, Master-mind?" brown eyes carefully gave the man a side-glance.
It's as if everything pulls me
Inexorably nearer to you.
The further I run away, the closer I am,
The more I let go, the tighter I hold on.
Kohl in her eyes, her lashes swept up and thickened till they were smooth curtains, a subtle blush on her cheeks, lips painted a deep burgundy, and hair pulled up. She was getting ready for her marriage.
Yukari came over to help the dresser who promptly excused herself, carefully putting the veil of sienna over her best friend's head, then adjusting it so that her face was visible. The brown-haired girl herself was clad elaborately in a gold lehnga, a full skirt that brought out the subtle light shades in her eyes and accented her trim waist.
"Picture perfect," she whispered, smoothing away Hitomi's intricate gown, then looked up to her face and smiled. "You feeling, alright? Looking a little pale."
"I'm fine," she said tightly, "just this dress is killing me. It weighs like a fifth of what I do!" She wrinkled her nose and tried to hold her head high as the weight of the dupatta was constantly trying to push it back down.
Hitomi noticed Yukari the second she felt the silence. Her friend's eyes had misted, and something dangerously like a tear glimmered on the surface. "Yukari Uchida, if you cry, you know I will burst into sobs."
The brown-eyed girl hugged her tightly, "God, Hitomi, I can't believe you're going away. I mean, I'd seen it in my head so many times—but now, you—you really are leaving me."
She hugged her fiercely, "It isn't the end of the world. Next thing you know I'll be putting the veil over your face and lamenting on marital bliss." That brought a grudging chuckle from Yukari's lips and put a smile on Hitomi's face which might as well was a good thing for a tear had started to develop and she knew, once she started, she would not care if her make-up was affected, how swollen her eyes got, how hoarse her voice became, or if her pink nose had to be covered with foundation.
The brown-eyed girl pulled away, hastily scrubbing away her eyes. "I nearly forgot—your brother's coming to take you to your father. Something about a talk."
On cue, there was a rapping on the door and both girls started. "Come in," Yukari adjusted her dupatta, which had fallen to the side.
He was by all means a handsome man; tall, with warm hazel eyes, brown hair bleached by the sun, and a mouth that had jokingly mocked and laughed in the past. His lips curved into a smile, his face showed faint traces of awe. He was Mamoru.
"Oh, I'll just be leaving—" Yukari mumbled and exited through the door hastily.
Hitomi forcefully made her painted lips return the warmth as he spoke. "My little sister's finally a woman."
"This little sister doesn't want to be a woman," she replied dryly. Not true; she only wanted to be Van's woman.
He laughed lightly, "Whatever you are, whatever you want to be, you have all my good wishes and prayers."
There was an awkward silence. A knot formed in her throat and slowly, Hitomi moved, her heavy dress making her pace sluggish. She met her brother's eyes and wrapped her arms in an embrace. If only this was fifteen years ago when her brother could make all aches better.
Minutes later, she'd have to face her father.
Woefully, in her haste, she didn't notice the bouquet of tender close-budded roses that a servant had placed in her room.
He was almost there.
You think I don't see
The shadow of dreams
That flirt in your eyes.
The dark study was a reminder of the years when she studied late nights with her father as a mentor; the years of going over mathematical problems, of faithfully reciting her tables. This was the place where as a youngster she had written five hundred lines of "I will not yell back at Mother," as a punitive measure of when she had heatedly raised her voice to reply to her mom.
Her father's dark beard was sprinkled with white hairs; after all of these years, Hitomi Kanzaki realized how truly he had aged, the man who she thought was immortal.
"Hitomi." Her father's eyes lit with a mixture of pride and love. He went to the door and helped her take a seat but first—
He embraced her tightly. He loved her, she knew, he loved her with all the life in him as he loved his family. "I've never really told you how much you make me happy. How much you're making me happy right now."
Her lips quivered and she met her father's eyes hesitantly, afraid, "I'm—I'm scared," she choked the words out.
His smile gentled, "Every woman has her fears before marriage, little insecurities. Marriage is an adventure itself." The dark haired man made her take a seat, "Whether you succeed in the next stage of your life has to do with your attitude as much as your strength." He sighed, "A man is nothing without a woman. She can tear him into shreds, or she can polish him like a star. Your fate," he met her eyes, "and your family's respect rests on your shoulders."
She looked to the floor and smiled weakly, "And what if this shoulder falters?"
He laughed, "We wouldn't have arranged this marriage if I believed your shoulders were weak."
She smiled into his eyes; he had no idea. She was already flagging.
Yukari knocked on the door cautiously before she entered, "Uncle—," she referred to Hitomi's father, "the car's ready. We're all waiting for Hitomi."
He nodded smilingly, "She's ready." She was ready as she ever would be—which wasn't very ready at all.
So, they went, down the stairs, outside to where the sleek, black limousine waited to escort her to the wedding hall. This was no dramatic movie; it would've been fitting if the skies were shredded, raging with thunderstorms, painting the perfect picture of her martyrdom. No, it seemed as if everything celebrated; the skies blossomed like a lotus, pink, with splashes of purple and searing lines of clementine, the coconut trees swayed in the breeze adding their husky murmurs of blessings.
Vaguely she recalled being seated into the car beside Yukari, remembered the masses of people who waved, smiled, who would only meet fifteen minutes later at the site of her wedding. Briefly as she heard the caws of crows, and wondered whether they prayed for her after all the partial treatment they had received from her in her younger days. She smiled; her mother had teasingly said that Hitomi's fate would be blessed once she wormed her way into the hearts of these roguish, clever crows…
Every living thing prayed to Him, glorified Him in their own way, the roses with their musky odor rose to meet His essence, the crows felt the air beneath their wings and thanked Him for flight. And these living things silently offered their prayers for the girl on the verge of womanhood; the roses for being watered religiously, being cared for, the crows for being fed to—all wishing for such a loyal love as she had shown them.
She hoped that Imran would be all of that and more. After all…he would be her husband in merely hours.
My eyes are closed,
Yet my heart awakes
Stumbling through
The darkness to
You.
The sound of voices, they were everywhere with laughter mixing in. But she was blind to it all, her eyelashes lowered, the sienna veil covering her face. One hour. All she had to do was wait now.
She took in gusty breaths for fortitude. Yukari had hastily left for the car where she'd forgotten her mother's ring that she was supposed to deliver. Her palms felt clammy yet the enclosure was warm, brightly lit. Her chair, magnificently carved in gilded gold was set upon a high dais, surrounded by bouquets of chrysanthemums, lilies, roses, and daises of all colors. Children played on the dais, some throwing fistful of flower petals at each other, with an occasional one aiming at the bride. At her. A little girl pretended to be a bride with a small veil over her head, while a boy near her age with a devilish grin pelted her with marigolds.
So many years ago, she had been the pretend-bride, she had thrown fistful of flowers, worn a veil over her head in pretense, fantasized about having her whole arm covered with henna instead of just her palm and the inches of her wrist.
Something stilled among the crowds; she could feel it, sense it as intrinsically as she sensed her heartbeats rising. A murmur of whispers spread like a breeze over the countless guests…
He was a magnet. It was in the manner he walked, the measured, confident steps of a man who had nothing to prove, the face set with a mysterious purpose, attracted nor distracted by the females or any of the livery.
Women huddled in corners, giggled as they blatantly pointed to his stature of a little over six feet. His face was beautiful; honey-golden skin, glittering maroon irises that pushed, pulled, the dark slash of eyebrows carving his features, and the curve of those lips that God Himself would have spent more than passing moments on during his creation.
Simply put, he was angel.
His eyes were soft, so soft, like melting magenta paint on a canvas as his eyes rose seemingly heavenward to the beacon of light that illuminated the burgundy-dressed bride.
The sea of people parted as if he was a prophet, and with leisure, slow steps, he went up the staircase to the raised platform.
Her heart skipped a beat. What was wrong with her? The shadowy veil concealed the view, just giving her vague outlines. A man. In front of her.
Could it be Mamoru? Yes, it must be him. After all, none of her male cousins would come to see her before she formally married.
His name was at the tip of her tongue. He squared his palms on her shoulder…and it was as if an electrical current shot through Hitomi Kanzaki, as if she'd been zapped from death, from sleep, from dreams.
She gasped. This was not Mamoru.
Her eyes snapped open. Those fingers gently gripped her shoulder, pulling her up, holding her, supporting her…
Her mouth had gone dry; she was in a state of shock.
He gripped the tips of her veil, slowly and gently…he raised it.
Lightning struck; the earth opened below her feet; the world blurred; the sounds muted.
Green eyes collided with maroon specked irises. Van Fanel. She was looking at Fate directly in the eye and all her words had been stolen from her mouth.
He smiled slowly, in awe, "I suppose I'm late to say 'come away with me'?"
Rain on your cheeks,
Heart on your sleeve,
Passion on your mouth,
Love in your eyes.
He was a faceless stranger in the night, the darkness his veil, his advantage.
If she had any sense of logic, Yukari Uchida would simply pull up her skirts and make a run for it. But damnit, of all things, she had to get find the ring! Where had it gone, where, where? An unusual, provocative wave hit her wanting to curse so badly yet she checked her tongue, biting the inner walls of her mouth to stop the dratted thing from coming out of her lips.
After being in an odd position, her back-side rising up to meet the man's eyes (who she knew was looking, curse him!) as she crouched down to check for the ring underneath the seats—she was rewarded with the golden case that held the precious circular gold jewelry. Aha!
He hadn't moved from his spot, leaning across the hood of the car in a frozen position. Little patter and drops of rain kissed her skin like a million diamonds, and yet the man was immobile, silent, watching; a predator of the night, a panther that she'd only read about in stories.
She could almost swear not a single strand of his hair had moved and wondered a little feverishly, if he was a statue…but she was too scared to tip him over to see if he would break.
Grrr! Please, oh God, don't let him be some sort of attacker…, her eyebrows raised in worry, you know today's the first day I'm not carrying my pepper spray!
She walked a good…fifteen seconds, until she paused and when she turned around, a mixture of shock and fear consumed her at the sight of him two paces away from her as she placed her foot—and the next thing she knew she was slipping into a pot hole and nothing was going to stop it…
The movement was fluid, agile, one moment he was as alien to her as a statue, the next…she felt his strong, steady heartbeats, the firmly muscled arms around her, supporting her back, holding onto her wrists.
Painful. It was a mixture of pleasure and pain, warmth, unbelievable warmth crept from her toenails to her face…and she was breathing too hard, too fast. And there was this gusty heat on her neck, she looked sideways to realize—they were the breaths of her savior—those breaths that nonetheless made her shiver as if it was a cold December night rather than the humid monsoon one, but one that possessed neither arctic tones or monsoon ones—it was a tropical, scorching kiss of air on her neck.
It was then she realized: he had her practically cradled in his arms.
She did what gut instinct told her to: she flailed, thrashed, not being able to see the face to judge whether it belonged to an angel or a criminal.
A distinct slap resounded in the air; she had struck him. Her captor released her…roughly, yet inflicting no harm.
"Fine," his voice was rough, scratchy, entirely masculine, "you ungrateful little hellion. Have your way." It jolted her into reality; this man was real.
"I will," she inched away from him, realizing she had begun to limp. "Don't you even dare come close to me!"
He smirked in the darkness, "I won't."
She panted and there was a crack…Yukari paled.
The heel of the sandal had twisted, her foot along with it painfully. She couldn't help but groan.
His ears caught it; the ragged breathing of the woman, the pant, the groan. God, what sort of man was he? Hell, he was finding this…shockingly exciting.
"What happened?" he toned his voice to dispassionate, polite concern.
"Nothing," her voice sounded oddly muffled.
He watched her silently, annoyed by the fact that his unreasonable heart tugged at him to run to her, escort her. He noticed her limp, and in five minutes of observation she hadn't gone far, because of two reasons as he'd conjectured based on the fact that she carried a sandal in her hand: she was hopping on one foot and pausing to rest her foot on the other one.
Hopping like a pathetic bunny. His shoulders shook with laughter, his eyes gleaming with something he wasn't familiar with, and this girl-woman had stirred something within him…something he hadn't felt for so long. He felt alive.
Taking a brisk, silent walk and catching up to her in moments, he came behind her, not giving her an opportunity to protest—and whisked her up into his arms.
"Wha—" Not realizing what was she was doing, she whacked him soundly on the head with her sandal.
"Ouch, woman," he flinched slightly, as if the whack was a mere pat on his skull, "I swear, try that again and I'll drop you right this moment."
"That would be better than being kidnapped by you," she bit viciously.
He gave her a full laugh, adjusting her weight in his arms, vaguely wondering how pliable her body was…how soft it was, what it would feel like if he—, "trust me," his voice was strained, "you'd have to pay me to kidnap you. And we're heading towards the door, not the light."
His pace was steady and Yukari Uchida discovered in that moment, the heady sensation of being carried in strong, comfortable, secure arms.
"You," she sputtered, "I can't be seen with you—like this," her mind was reeling, "wet, in your arms—you're going to have leave me just a little off, away from the door." God, did she realize what tantalizing temptations she voiced unknowingly? He could almost imagine her wet in his arms…
"Nothing wrong with getting a little wet," she missed his innuendo—or did she merely choose to?—but then again, no woman could think sanely when in such a dire situation, "and as for my arms, they're going to collapse before we reach." He lied. He was afraid he liked carrying this prickly, contradictory, soft woman too much.
She frowned disdainfully, "I never mind getting wet," she closed her eyes, "it's just God does this to me at the most wrong moments."
He had to hide his laugh, had to suppress it. Instead, he curbed into a tone of gravity, "And do you consider this a wrong moment?"
"Most wrong moment of my life," she sighed woefully.
Unbeknownst to her (she decided she'd keep the sandals away from his head), her Prince Charming had shown up.
A/N: Belated as ever (are you surprised? I swear, we Indians, chronically late). Haha, I know I promised some of you an update last weekend…but sorry to say:sighs: life doesn't follow the pattern I wish it to. Things kept me from it; brothers leaving for respective colleges which made me engage in long hours of baking their favorite desserts and then collapsing into bed praying to God to dream of angels (yes, I'm embrassed to say one of my nicknames is Martha ;;; and…most recently dubbed, Mother Teresa.)
WOW. I sat there dumbfounded; the response to this story was soo encouraging! I was thinking maybe…at most, seven reviews or so… but you guys…are abosolutely wonderful. :D:D :hugs all reviewers:
My pirate hat off to Aina-lass. hugs you bearishly OOHH lass, I ABSOLUTELY canna wait till next year…err…next summer. You just wait, if you come, we'll have a grand time. :D:D I MIGHT pressure my uncle to take us to the Taj Mahal (mwahaha, but it would be soooo cool! And so fitting for us romance writers—beware world:angelic smile:) even though it's quite a ride from where we live…it's pathetic, I havena seen it either:coughs: Okay, so on another note…
I am falling for Amano's character (I wish SO BADLY I had a wrong moment like Yukari's). I had this huge grin on my face the whole time I wrote it; Yukari is gonna be quite funny. xD You'll see more of their scenes in the next chapter. Be aware that they havena seen each other's faces; just vague images in darkness. There's one more part to this story so I wanted to develop it well, rather than leave too much to the imagination. I'm already working on it and I'm hoping to finish it this weekend or so…
Aye, so sit back, click on the review button and let me see your opinions in my inbox when I wake up in the morning.
