’ she bit her bottom lip, standing so close, he wanted to kiss her so bad! ‘Don’t be, it sounded like you needed to get it out.’ ‘I guess.’ she whispered, feeling herself sway towards him, ‘I’m sorry I called you the devil.’ she was so close, her nipples almost touched him and he was so tempted to run his fingers over them. He couldn’t help himself, he leaned down slowly, his lips touching hers ever so lightly. The moment they made contact it sent a jolt straight through her body, crashing so hard it brought her back to reality, ‘I better go.’ she gasped nervously than pulling back fast, than turned around running to her back door. She shut it hard, than locked it faster. What the hell was wrong with her? She saw first hand what love did in the end, she watched her mother commit a slow suicide after her fathers death. She had lost to much already, she didn’t want someone else to love just to eventually loose them. Everyone she truly, deeply loved had left, and she refused to ever. Their desperate flight to Germany, then America, was an echo of that day, a moment in time that had left both survivors bitter, their lives empty, devoid of all love save one for the other. And that love had always been enough for them both. ‘And how was your school today?’ Amila asked her daughter. ‘Good. We’re going to be doing some cool projects next month!’ ‘This is good. You are happy still?’ ‘Very much. Why?’ ‘There is so much in the news these days. So much hate. Sometimes I wonder…’ ‘It’s no worse now than when we got here, Mom. Sometimes people’s hatred is palpable, other days it’s not there.’ ‘But still, no one suspects…?’ ‘No, Mama! What is there to suspect? You need to relax!’ They had arrived in America weeks after the September 11th terrorist attacks in 2001, and Amila had been wise enough, or perhaps simply paranoid enough, to understand that affirming their Islamic faith in America would be tantamount to suicide. On their immigration forms she put down that they were.
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