Focus
When he first boarded the plane to Heathrow, he thought about his family and friends; his life and its magnificent, lively routine. Always exciting, always on the edge, and a lot to do. He was already missing it. The unexpected thing was he started to have back flashes of her too. He thought that was interesting, to say the least. A bit odd, actually. Now seated, he looked over to his left, looking down the window from 30,000 feet up.
He rushed to the room number that was given to him, looking at his watch every other second. Fuck fuck fuck, this can't wait another day or until next week. He was skipping work, as usual, but this time it was for a purpose he told himself. Yeah, mm-kay. He feared that the lecturer would be there already and would not allow him in, simply because, well, he wasn't enrolled in that class. Actually, he wasn't enrolled at any classes. Well, actually, he wasn't enrolled at the university altogether anymore.
Through the corridors, his eyes caught the magic number on the 2nd floor. Looking down at his watch, it was 10 to 2. Why the fuck was I in a hurry? Ithghil ya isbay. He never really was in a situation similar to this one, so he excused himself for feeling the thrill.
Leaning and rocking his neck, the back of his head was banging very lightly at the surface of the wall behind him. Making silly noises with his lips, inaudible to anyone but himself he waited, and waited some more. No books in hand, and no one to talk to before class, he looked like an idiot. Everyone near the door was giving him a certain look of, hmm, unrecognition? But he didn't care; his eyes were searching. He just continued bouncing his back on the wall gently, obviously appearing anxious to the trained eye.
He figured might as well go and secure a seat inside before the lecturer comes; walking towards the door, he took a glance inside the room from the square-glass. Only a couple of girls were present, oh why not. He walked in and proceeded to the last row of the classroom. Getting his wallet and keys out of his deshdasha's pocket, and placing them on the desk, his hands flew in the air as they were programmed to do the same with getting out notebooks back when he was in college. He had a silly smirk on his face for remembering all the BS he pulled off at the time. Fuck institutionalized education, I say. Looking up, one of the girls quickly turned away to her friend again. He could just barely make out her whisper 'meno hatha?'
He laid back, as one by one the seats were being filled. Being at the end of the classroom, every single student, boy or girl, walked in, stared at him, and said something to his or her friend. All the friends would shake their heads, leaning in to the whispered question; apparently saying "I don't know". The lecturer walked in. He was getting impatient and looked at his watch. Again. Two minutes past 2, what the fuck? His knees started shaking, I'm sure it's the right room number. The lecturer kept going on about the 4 Ps of marketing, he just sat there hearing without listening with his eyes fixed on the door.
Oh. My. Holy mother of all that is sweeeeet, Batman. Things were moving slower now all around him, entranced. The door opened and he could see her move, as if dancing, actually, turning ever so gracefully to shut the door quietly. Yaboy, reg3y il bab.. kasry il bab.. men bekalmich. She sneaked and made her way through the room. Poetry. In. Fucking. Motion. His eyes fixed on her face. Blinded by her face is more appropriate to tell the truth. Angelic. That's all that was going through his mind. Her face. Angelic.
She proceeded to be seated one row in front of his, approximately eight seats away to his left. Ma khaab thannek, ay dawam ay ba6eekh ya 3ami zain. He was practically staring now. He caught himself doing so, and tried to stare at the board.
Bored, and already missing her face; he started staring again. Some of the details were now sinking in: the perfect 7ejaab, nothing too flashy, no hair sticking out. The perfect, subtle make-up. What make-up? He wasn't an expert so he decided to cross that one out. She probably doesn’t have any make-up on in the first place. The clothes not tight or anything. Just like the way he liked them. Preserved yet spoken.
Looking at his watch again, it was half past 2. He could've sworn it was just 2 past 2 a moment ago. He turned to his right, and left, and then again to his right. Everyone was attentive to the board and the lecturer. Mn sejhom? It was as if only he was there, yet actually he was the only one who wasn't. He couldn't hear anything, he could just hear her silence. He knew he would like what he'd see.. but fuckkkk.. he loved what he saw. Not pretty, but beautiful; nothing sexy, rather definitely all elegance.
He locked her in his eyes, involuntarily he felt his lips pressing against each other; and then released, slowly transforming into a hint of a smile. Girls like her have always made him feel something different. Something good. And if he knew one thing, it was girls. If he knew another thing, it was that girls like her don't just show up, you have to look them up. Just like gold. Period. So focused on her face he was, that he missed her turning to face him. Hello stranger. He did not know which came first: was it his eyes greeting such purity in purity; or was it his lips smiling at such grace with grace?
Fuck the poetic shit.. It didn't really matter, it was one glorious moment that's what matters. Only thing was, she wasn't smiling. Shfeeha hathy? But he lost the attitude instantly, remembering what he was told. Come to think of it, he didn't expect her to smile. Come to think of it again, he should be grateful she even gave him the courtesy of acknowledging his stare. Sure, it was a look of meno hatha shyabe theba7ni khaz. But he didn't care. He just wanted to see her and make her take notice. Nothing more; neither would've settled for anything less though. A simple smile wouldn't have hurt perhaps. But then he thought maybe it would have.
"Headphones, sir?". He felt a touch on his right arm, it sprung him back to life. He looked away from the airplane window, and as he turned his head to face the source of the touch his eyes were still living in the classroom. He smiled, blindly, at the passenger next to him; samewise with the flight attendant offering him a headphone. He thanked the flight attendant, blindly too. He looked straight back at the window. He didn't have enough of thinking about her just yet. Ever since, he had a new found respect for classrooms.
It has been five months now since that flight; six months since he first, and last, saw her. He had this silly smile on his face again, blinded. He was going to see her again.
Once. And not again for another six months.
He didn't mind at all.
