Dancing The Effects of The Fine Print

Bouncing, still on a high from her leaps, she clasped the brown door; oblivious her climax would conclude with

Arif” …

So much time stood between them, so little to say.

“You missed me dance,” she finally blurted out, and after the words had left her mouth she wished she’d crafted them clearer, as they infused and everything became a blur. Silence. Did he hear her?

The only thing she was sure of was her yearning. Nostalgic yearning. Her look almost pulling the guy before her into the motion of her past movements. For she delighted in that thought and almost forgot the eerie silence, only she, appeared to be filling.

Maybe next time…”, his response was daringly pleasant, and sharp.

And with that “I won’t dance again” seemed to seep from her lips as she brushed past the only thing she wished to hold onto. A ball of emotion as she turned for the stairs, every step, heavy thoughts consuming her mind.

Her body wished to roll; walking took too much strength.

Arif stood composed, as he usually did. They type of guy to think what-ifs, the type of guy to fumble his words in his head so convulsively, he daren’t say them allowed. He was ironed, head to toe in the sirwal of his forefathers, and he draped himself in what his father would call a westernised cloak…a double-breasted smart Mac.

He fingered the metal beneath his thumb…read the flashing sign, flashing like it be the only important thing in the that time and space

File Saved.

He thought back to watching the girl who had caught his eye …like no Aisha, Mariam, or Rabeena had ever before. He was lost in her, and he cursed himself for not blurting out “good thing I recorded it” as she departed from him.

She was always a secret. And although he wished to grasp her in his arms in the view of every person who had ever tainted Love, a part of him wanted to keep it that way.

Turning for the stairs, he hit the horizontal triangle, an image consumed the screen before him. Her shape, more womanly than he had ever seen here before, his usual label for her, ‘Cute’…almost turned an insult as he watched her leap, convulse, stretch, incline, the movement of her thighs…

His mouth etched into a slight smile, he wept.

She despised sealing the deal.

It was never a position she would voluntarily claim. And she knew as she hobbled down the stairs this was no ending. She would think of Arif as she undressed, the leotard flung to the floor. As she climbed into the warm waters, as bubbles consumed her form…He was hers.

For he had nestled in her mind, fondled her utopian thoughts, walked her path, and she let him.

This was special, different, and she hoped he knew it as much as she did.

Many dancers have danced his stage…perhaps. Ones his Abi would approve of.

Unreciprocal yearning was never her portion. Pirouettes gone unnoticed, like a lion fetching the carcass of the day, for all to feast upon…shunned.

So she continued dancing. Fetched her meat. Crescendo. Diminuendo. Quietly, out of way. Stage light clear for another, perhaps the yearned one would step in and he would look on longingly. Everything was a perhaps. Dreamy. She danced the fine print she didn’t read.

No red hand rule came to her aid. Body hit he floor with every note. Gasps from the crowd. Curiosity became their own. For she had dived in, signed the lines






The unknown? her reality. “you and him?” “he could never go for you” A cackled laughter filled her head. She stamped it down with her music, her motion.

They waited, analysed in the shadows, the fine print. She was now paying for.

No cavities, they stared at the crumbs, the cake she devoured leaving her with that achy molar…

Something comforting about pain after delight.

She danced.

He, unnoticed, smiled on.



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