Requited Unrequited Love

by Mina Ramzy

There is a saying in Arabic that goes: Ely etls3 mn el shorba, ynfo5 fel zbady. Literally translated, it means the person who got burned by soup will even blow on yogurt.

“When you receive the money, maybe you should invest it in something called a soul.”

“It’s a figure of speech, ya homar.”

HA

Makeup is an art form, and not everyone is an artist.

I would never marry someone that much older than me. Hell, I would never marry, period.

I excuse myself to go to the restroom. I don’t need to go; I just need a break. I’m glad my brain didn’t decide to run with, Mea culpa, I need a break. You guys are mentally draining me, and I have wanted to escape the minute I saw you all, especially him.

In the end, what defines whether you’re good is not your ethnicity, skin color, culture, religion, gender, sexual orientation, or someone else. But you. You define it by your intentions and actions.

Mothers tend to blow our covers sometimes by speaking the honest truth.

“Yes, we have already established that we’re not that fond of each other.” “Good. The feeling remains mutual. Don’t you want to stop wasting your time as well?” “I don’t want to leave things unresolved, even given our circumstances.”

When I wasn’t provided with what the standard should be, I went looking for it myself. I went looking for someone who could fill in your role. Male validation. And unfortunately, I looked for it in the wrong place. It made me the person I am today. Disgusted by men, repulsed by love, and, above all, easily frightened.

Adam: It’s because of what those people could have become. By parting with them, you will never find out whether that person would have been your soul mate or someone who would have shattered your very soul. That is why they are all tough, Eve.

“A man? So what? Allowing men to be outside is the exact reason you disallow women to be.”

God, I know J. K. Rowling created Dementors to suck the joy out of people’s souls, but did she really have to create my mother among them? Sorry, but not entirely.

I look numb. But I couldn’t care less because it’s exactly how I feel. Numb. I’m feeling too much all at once, which makes me feel nothing at all.

It’s like when you have been trying so hard not to look sad or cry and someone asks you whether you’re fine, you just break. Because you were pretending to be fine, and when someone sees through you, well, then there is no need to try to hide anymore, as all is in sight.

“So? What do you say, Miss Armanious, will you be my faux wife from this day onward?”

Did you even listen to anything I just said? I hate double standards, and I hate men paying for women because it’s the manly thing to do.” He looks at me, offended. Be offended, Augustine. It was meant to be offensive.

I LOVE HER

A person is not their disorder. They didn’t choose it; it happened to them.

Since that moment, I have tried to understand people by imagining anything that causes me to feel something that’s in line with what they feel.

“I know it’s not the real thing, but after the fact, I understand how not serious you must have thought I was. Here’s my way of saying that I was, in fact, dead serious.” It’s a candy ring. The ring is black, and the red candy is shaped like a diamond, strawberry-flavored—my favorite.

“I would like a coffee, please, black,” Augustine says. A chuckle instantly leaves my lips. “Black, like your soul?”

“So? Are you satisfied, Miss Armanious? Will you accept the offer of my last name?”

Here’s the thing about fears though. You will be confronted with your fears in life; it’s inevitable. But it will be all right, and if not, at least it will be over. Because everything is temporary, and that’s a comfort in itself. It means you get through it if you push through it.

He stands behind me and opens the cabinet, closing me in. But he doesn’t make physical contact. Then, he grabs seven cups and puts them in front of me on the counter. He’s so damn tall, like a titan; it’s insane. I’m even wearing heels right now.

LORD

Adam: I’ve never hated you, Eve.

Eve: The feeling is mutual. I have never hated you either, Adam.

That is what Augustine symbolizes. From being in an enclosed environment my whole life, just like that, I get to see outside and everything it has to offer.

“Regarding living together, we obviously have to have separate rooms, so when can we go house-hunting?” “I already found a house. It has separate rooms, as you wish. It’s going under renovations as we speak.” He pauses and nods once. “Literally.”

propose an apology in advance.” I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “For what?” I ask, muffled. And before I know it, he gets up, stands beside the table, and goes down on one knee while holding up a box from Tiffany & Co. with a big emerald-shaped diamond ring in it. I shift in my seat for my knees to face his and put the napkin down. I don’t say anything because I’m truly speechless.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I love the fact that you’re paying. Fuck the patriarchy.” “I agree. Fuck the patriarchy.”

And, of course, I don’t want it to be a fairy-tale wedding, more like a tale I want to end.

He grabs my hand, twirls me around to face him, and swiftly pulls me into him, letting his hands rest on my lower back. I wrap my arms around his neck, making my hands dangle behind him. The perfect way to strangle him.

“The sunrise is beautiful, isn’t it?” “It is too beautiful.” And when I look in his direction, he is already looking in mine again.

When you’re on your period and have to change your pad, just taking it out of your bag is considered 3eeb, shameful, and unacceptable. Instead, you have to hide it or take your whole bag with you. You absolutely do not let it be known that you’re on your period around men. A fucking natural phenomenon.

Speaking of anatomy, I swear, the Y chromosome is called Y for a reason—why men?

“May I hug you?” I look up at him, disoriented. “Uh … what? Why?” He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he repeats his question by nodding, asking for my consent again without using words. I lower my chin, not even sure if it’s a nod myself. But he takes it as one and removes the remaining inches between us by putting one hand on the lowest point of my back and the other on my neck, holding it. Then he slowly presses me into him. My hands are not on him; they dangle at my sides like keychains. But it doesn’t take long, not even seconds, for him to pull himself off me, give me a troubled look, and then abruptly make his way upstairs. I’m left here standing, speechless.

🧍‍♀️🚂

The next thing I know, I feel a cushion-like sensation on my forehead—lips. His lips are pressing against the skin of my forehead. He keeps pressing them for the longest three seconds—because I’m counting—and then releases, but he is still leaning above me.

“The girl who’s a psych major and was about to get married out of convenience, straight out of a romance novel,”

Augustine is sleeping on the couch, and Lady is sleeping next to him, her body snuggled up against his shoulder and her little head against his cheek. The blanket is barely covering them. Was he waiting for me to get home?

CRYING???.?.?:??:??/?

He’s sitting up straight, leaning with his back against the headboard of his bed, while holding a book that’s resting on his knees. He’s wearing Wayfarer-shaped glasses. And he doesn’t have wax in his hair. All his strands are covering his forehead today, like wilted flowers in a flowerpot.

HELLOOO 🧎‍♀️

And thus we have our first meal together in our new home. And it is delicious. And he thinks so too.

Against my ear, he whispers, “You can’t. I’m wearing slacks; it’ll be noticeable.” I mock him. “What? Insecure about your measurements?” “Very, so keep covering them, please.”

I sit between his legs but not against him. He braids my hair, all of it in one big braid.

“It’s not that I don’t like it. I just don’t love it.” “But you searched for the recipe. Why?” He glances at me. “Because you love it.” Then, he immediately adds, “And I happen to like cooking.”

“Well, it seems that sushi is dealing with unrequited love because it loves you; it obeyed your cooking.” I eat another piece. “It’s delicious.”

What is life worth living for if you don’t live it with a partner? If you don’t get to reenact that part of life? It reminds me of the speech of Jaques in As You Like It, written by Shakespeare: All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts.

Without thinking, I bring my hand to his, comparing them, and my fingertips barely reach his top knuckles. As I try to retract my hand, he slides all his fingers in the spaces between mine and wraps them around the back of my hand, holding my hand. My fingers are still pointing upward.

spending all his time with you. Augustine’s situation is so much worse. “I understand,” I say. “If you want to talk … I’m here.” I can hear him smile by the exhale from his nose. “I appreciate it, Teen.”

I look at what I’m hugging—more like who I’m hugging. Augustine fucking Elias. My head is resting on the left side of his chest, and my hand is on the right. I have also managed to put one of my legs, bent, on his. And his left arm is wrapped around my waist, holding it.

AHWHEHEHEGEHEHE

“I never said they’re for the house.”

😭😭😭😭