A tune of the most profound emotion within every human was bustling inside me, growing and evolving, taking on a new shape.
Eyes, lips, and voice- all leading back to the most precious soul, retracing every path back to you. Echoing back, whispering once more: the time I give you is only for you.
Would I be alright? I didn't know.
Why did it end up this way? Yet, if there were even a trace of regret within me, I would've pulled back.
As the pages filled with words, the thoughtful poems slowly revealed themselves to be a secret diary, unveiling the deepest secrets held close to the heart.
Haider straightened his glasses and continued reading wordlessly alongside me.
And amidst the turning pages...
Another poem caught my attention.
My and Mine
Taught me how to love,
but didn't end my sorrows.
Bloomed my desires,
sweet and shallow.
Paved into my heart,
swift and sudden.
Made me feel alive,
with no conscience.
From the day I met your eyes,
my gaze never wandered
towards other eyes.
For yours became the only sight.
Far and beyond,
close and distant.
For you to be mine, I'd kneel and beg,
till eternity itself lay at your leg.
If you could do so much,
just by being alive,
what would it be like
when you're finally mine?
My eyes remained fixed upon the final line.
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
Each word lingered in my mind, sinking deeper with every passing second. I read the poem once more, then again, as though repeating it would somehow change what I had just understood.
Taught me how to love.
My fingers paused against the page.
There were countless things that could inspire a poem, countless people who could become someone's muse. Yet the further I read, the more familiar the words became.
And I became certain.
From the day I met your eyes...
My breath caught.
Those eyes.
Mine.
It was about me.
Every line felt like another piece of the truth he had hidden between these pages.
How could someone hold so much within themselves and still look at me every day as though nothing had changed?
I turned my gaze towards him.
Haider remained silent, his eyes lowered towards the pages, as if the words before us were nothing more than ink on paper.
But they weren't.
They were pieces of him.
And somehow, I had become the subject of every one of them.
The smaller fragments of memories traced back to me- the day he left Nur Hayaati on my table. It seemed almost too obvious that he willingly wanted me to read it.
Be curious about it, suspect that it was his writing, and eventually wonder who it was meant for.
I was the one who found the book first, but in no time, he had quickly planned it all. That just proved how sharp he was once again.
My heart began to beat louder, almost becoming audible to his ears. Everything he had planned for worked accordingly, so why was he making that face?
The genuine concern and nervousness, almost on the verge of breaking down into tears.
I bit my lips before opening them again.
"Who... did you write this for?"
I knew it; however, I wanted to hear it from his mouth. My confrontation finally made his gaze shift to me.
His nape was drenched with cold sweat, in contrast to the freezing room.
I saw his dark hair swept back from his brow, which was furrowed in deep distress, pulling his gaze into a desperate, vulnerable plea.
His eyes were wide, glassy, and filled with quiet agony, while his lips parted slightly as if caught mid-gasp, completely unable to hide the overwhelming emotion breaking through his face.
He appeared as if he had prepared himself for this moment a dozen times already.
Yet still finding it difficult to relay his message.
"...For the longest time, I counted every day until I couldn't keep track of them."
His voice was raspy, almost like an ephemeral whisper.
"A love that grew uncontrollably and, at some point, became too heavy to store in my heart..."
He continued after a pause, his eyes shutting momentarily.
"The first thing that the Almighty created was a pen, noting everything down. But I wrote them down to be remembered, felt, and read by the person I wrote them for."
My pupils quivered in sync with my hands, turning to ice with the overwhelming information. He didn't look away, just spoke further.
"For so long, I kept telling myself that writing was enough. That if I could put every thought, every feeling, every moment into words, I wouldn't need to say them aloud."
His voice faltered for a moment, but he continued.
"But every word only made it harder to keep them hidden."
He took off his glasses, his eyes remained fixed on mine, no longer trying to conceal what had been buried within them.
"And now that you know..." He drew a slow breath, as though finally surrendering to the truth he had spent so long carrying.
"I want you. All of you. Your flaws, your mistakes, your imperfections. I want you and only you."