Elevator Man (Pt. 2)

The days at her new job flew by like shooting stars in the night sky. Hours felt like minutes, and with every task completed, the pang in her heart for Mubarak died. In almost a week's time, Mubarak was nothing but a distant memory; a faint vapor of what used to be an ocean of emotions.

She flitted from office to office, smiling to herself and feeling jolts of empowerment with every step she took. There was nothing more gratifying to her than the feeling of self-sufficiency. She didn't need Mubarak. He could curl up and die for all she cared; she was independent and working her way up from the dark hole he'd thrown her in.

Though she remained on the 4th floor, her mind was up on the 6th floor. As many coincidences as she'd have with Elevator Man, her thoughts were floating way past the confinements of her skull. Thoughts of what he was doing, eating, reading, and thinking crowded her brain and made her feel deliriously excited.

Elevator Man was a man of few words. When they'd coincide in the elevators, he'd catch a glimpse of her radiant smile, and smile to himself, lowering his head. He'd never speak to her, or anyone, for that matter.
One morning, she'd walked into a near full elevator to find him standing in the corner, towering over the shorter employees and pressing his rippled back against the elevator walls. His hands were clasped, and he nervously twiddled his mesba7 between his fingers. The heady scent of his bu5oor filled her chest cavity as she quitely said, "Salam".
His voice was the only one she heard. "Salam," his husky voice replied, sending tingles down her spine and numbing her chest.
To her dismay, the elevator ride ended too soon, and she was out on the 4th floor again, climbing her ladder to recovery.

Every drive home gave her a natural high - eight hours of hard work and praises from her manager gave her the perfect boost to last her the rest of the day. She'd roll the windows down and let the beautiful spring air in, and crank up the volume on the sweetest country songs. Everything that hurt faded away with Faith Hill's soothing voice, although they were love songs, and every girl knows not to listen to love songs after extreme emotional scarring.

But something inside of her, in her heart, was bursting so wildly that she felt it pushing against her ribcage, seeping out of her skin like nectar from a peach.

Was it love? It couldn't be. It felt like it, though.
It felt like the love flower that was once wilted and withered had decomposed and regenerated in her being, blossoming and unfurling it's new vibrant petals through her limbs.
She felt brand new, and it was because of him.
The thrill of infatuation consumed her, and in no time, he became the sole reason for her waking up, getting dressed, making it to work on time, and giving her work her all.
He made her feel beautiful, desirable, strong, healthy, and happy.
Without speaking a single word.

Elevator Man

February 1st was a new beginning.
After the traumatic heartbreak she'd experienced during the weekend of January 19th, she was lucky enough to have a week off from work to regain her composure and pull herself together.
Ten agonizing days of holding her tears back and biting her tongue whenever she was about to say his name passed by, and with every swipe of her Visa card, she spent him away. Every shirt, every skirt, every pair of shoes filled the huge void that had invaded her vulnerable heart. Whenever she came home with heaps of shopping bags, her mother said nothing and would give a sympathetic smile and a huge hug. "It'll all change when you start your new position," her mother promised.

The morning of February 1st was a blur. Starting a new position in a new building was exactly what she needed, and she wanted to dress the part of the new employee, fresh and ready for action. She got dressed in the cutest and most professional outfit she could find in her closet, and headed off to work with hopes of a day free of heartache.

She stood by the elevator, waiting for a familiar face to come by and make her feel like less of a stranger. Swarms of employees rushed in and out of the building while she waited patiently for an elevator that wasn't crowded. She could feel the heat of embarrassment and insecurity prickle her face and the back of her neck as the elevator waiting area grew crowded. Something in her heart told her to look around; to study the faces of the people that will play a part in her new life.

That is when her eyes locked into his gaze. He was standing approximately a meter away from her, fixating his eyes onto her cascading locks and flushed cheeks. Had it not been for the amount of embarrassment she'd cause herself, her knees would've buckled and her legs would've given way and let her crash to the marble floor.
He was beautiful. Not beautiful in a Mubarak way, but beautiful. His thick low-set eyebrows almost obscured his wide eyes, which were surrounded by thick long eyelashes. His lips formed a soft pout, and his goatee was perfectly trimmed. His crisp white dishdasha emanated the sweet scent of bu5oor and dihn 3ood; the perfect scent for a cool winter morning.

'Is everyone else smelling what I smell?' she thought to herself, amazed. 'Is everyone else seeing what I see? Why isn't anyone as blown away as I am??'

She'd stared for a second too long before she lowered her head in discomfiture, but his eyes never left her form. She could feel him stare at her, and her pulse raced a mile a minute. While adjusting her purse strap against her shoulder, the elevator pinged, as if signaling the end of a moment; time for you to take her eyes off of her. She sighed in relief at the thought of the comfortable seclusion of the elevator, praying silently that he'd take the next one.

He gently pushed through the hoarde of half-asleep employees and squeezed into the almost-full elevator, standing less than twenty centimeters away from her. The scent of his bu5oor dizzied her, and she looked up, closing her eyes in bliss.
"Sixth floor, please," his voice broke her train of fantasies.
"Fourth floor, please," she chimed in, and the stout Indian man standing closest to the elevator buttons pressed his pudgy fingers against the numbers.

The ride up was quiet, the air thick with awkward tension. The bell sounded for the fourth floor, and she took a deep breath, strategizing in her mind how she was going to get out of the elevator without pressing herself against his tall muscular body.
Luckily for her, another employee was getting off on the same floor, making way for her exit. She slipped out of the elevator, and it was only when she heard the doors close behind her that her heart stopped pounding against her ribcage.

Would there be a place in the future for her Elevator Man? Only the days to come would tell.

Venus Fly Trap

It's been harder than granite bricks.
Harder than concrete blocks.
Harder than angry blue waves crashing against the boulders that lined the sea.
So hard and miserable without him.

He left her standing in the dark, with her eyes wide open in disbelief, in front of his car as he sat in the plush seats with another girl.
The feeling she felt was ridiculously overwhelming; she didn't know whether to scream, cry, laugh, or curse. So she did all of those things at once.
In the dark shaded parking area in Kaifan, she found him, when he'd promised for months that he missed her and still had feelings for her. And that he just "couldn't", rather than he "didn't want to".

He left her standing in the mist of her rage and the downpour of her tears as he sheepishly hung his head. In shame? In shock of being found out? She will never know.
He ran his fingers through his hair as she once did, slicking it back under his cap and trying to gain composure and explain himself - explain himself to the other girl that was sitting next to him, confused as to why there was another girl standing right in front of his car in hysterics and not moving.

In haste, he revved up the engine and slithered out of the parking lot like the snake that he is, and escaped the ear-shattering sounds of her cries - the cries that he once went out of his way to pacify. Little did he know that her cries will forever haunt him, and that she'll never let him forget.

The days after him were less. Less of food, less of sleep, less of smiles. She deprived herself of everything but the flashbacks of that night, and they played in her head like a short film over and over again.
Hate filled every vein in her being, and every breathe she took and every word she spoke for the days after exuded anger and disgust for him and for all men. When men tried to approach her, she started to feel sick to her stomach - literally. When men followed her in the car with an intention to get to know her, she'd scream in the sanctuary of her car so that they'd see her discomfort and go away.

Every relationship trial afterwards was an error. When she felt like her heart has opened up a little, she'd remember the heartbreaking night of January 19th. And like a Venus Fly Trap, her heart would seal it's small opening up and shut every potential person out.
Even when the best men came forward; funny, smart, handsome, caring, and sweet, she didn't want to be with any of them. The mere thought of getting her heart broken again was something she couldn't fathom.

And so her journey alone began on the 20th of January.
It's been harder than granite bricks.
Harder than concrete blocks.
Harder than angry blue waves crashing against the boulders that lined the sea.
So hard and miserable without him.