In a Brief Second

As she lay nestled in the hollows of his body, deeply inhaling his poignant scent, she stared beyond the windows into the waking sky. Has anyone felt such tranquillity as I, she thought? Her body warmed by their heat, her hair cascading down the pillows over his slumbering form, she gingerly traced his heaving chest, up and down with her fingers in perfect rhythm with his heart. She inched closer and closer to his body, hungry to have their flesh touch.

A lone crow's pitiful cry caught her attention. The first streaks of dawn were splashed across the horizon. A misty gray dipped in brazen bronze appeared behind the cloudless veil. In a few hours, he will be stirring and grudgingly waking for work. The weekends seem so short now that summer was in full swing. Yawning and stretching her arms, she hesitated between getting up for a quick run or prolonging the lazy contentment in bed. The health nut in her won and she quietly got out of bed.

The arousing sun by now faintly lighted the room. She silently foraged through her closet and extracted a pair of track pants and a comfy t-shirt of his. Once dressed, she walked over to his side of the bed and sat softly on the edge. He was flat on his back with one arm casually resting above his head on the pillow, the other arm resting in the empty spot that her body had vacated. Her heart swelled staring at him. As she bent to leave a soft kiss on his forehead, a whiff of his scent flooded her with delicious memories. Goosebumps erupted. Five years of togetherness hadn't diminished her cravings one bit. Five years of togetherness hadn't dissipated the fervour they generated together. They were intertwined together, their lives fated to leap and bound over each other. She longed to stay behind, cradling around his body once more, but his words of wonder at the sudden formation of a belly cajoled her to stick to her morning fitness. She knew he hated excess of any kind, especially excess of flesh. She, too, wanted to look fit and stunning for the upcoming events as well.

In ten minutes, she was outside her building, heading towards the park. As the morning light slowly torched the mirrored towers, the city seemed to stir herself awake. She already recognized many neighbours out for their morning runs as well. They nodded or grunted greetings as they passed each other. Early mornings were her favourite part of the day in New York. The absence of large crowds at that time imparted the sensation of the city truly belonging to her and only her.

As she neared the park, she changed the track on her ipod. She retrieved the wedding album selections and opened it. Now was the perfect time to sort out those songs. She had been neglecting this pivotal aspect of their wedding plans for many days now. Work always took precedence in this part of the world. This hour of solitude served as the perfect opportunity to sort out her music. The end of summer would soon be nearing and she did not have much time left before she had to send her final approval back to their families. She relished in the detailed work and attention that entailed planning such an elaborate series of events leading to their wedding.

The large iron gates guarding the park beckoned runners to enter into its verdant belly…

He moved in his sleep from one side to another. Instinctively, his arm rested on the vacuum left by her absence. He jerked his head towards the emptiness, adrenaline soaring through his body as he belatedly realized she must be on her morning run. Dropping his head once again on the pillows, he rolled on to his back staring at the ceiling. Don't go now, a little more he vainly pleaded as sleep swiftly evaporated. The bed clock read six thirteen. Light flooded the room. Annoyance piqued as she had forgotten to close the curtains before leaving. She was becoming quite preoccupied with the planning and more and more absent-minded, he thought.

Instead of sleeping, his mind meandered over ordinary planes. His new plans for his small art management company flashed in his head. He had discovered a new talent that was on the periphery of making a brash statement in the art world. His new discovery could single-handedly reconstruct his company bringing in enough revenue to expand his business. As a failed painter, a deficiency he realized and accepted way before it became a handicap, he re-directed his love for art into a business that located, nurtured, and marketed new painters who would ordinarily never get a foot into the competitive and ruthless art world. As a person he found it quite gratifying to know he controlled the fates of the artists in his hands. He could make them or break them. It was no wonder that many of his new discoveries were females. He was quite well known in the art world, numerous articles cited him and some even ran profiles of him in their arts section.

His newest asset gave him immense satisfaction. She was unconventional and quite titillating. Her craft was seductive and surreal, provocative and primal, sultry and supreme. She was his new obsession. Cassandra Hudson rolled off his tongue in a brazen sexual manner. Her presence evoked long-repressed fantasies that he had forgotten. He felt rejuvenated, revitalized, and young around her. He could almost convince himself he was enamoured with her. But he wasn't a fool.

A distant siren ended his reveries. He checked the clock again, she was running late. Usually she would be back by now making breakfast before the mad dash to the showers. His eyes briefly rested on the framed picture of them. It was taken last Christmas, at a noted art critic's soiree, where he was galvanizing the art world with his latest profile in a prestigious art magazine. He was ensconced between them both. She had one arm tightly coiled around his side. Cassandra was wrapped around his other side. Both of them smiling for the camera. He was looking at something, or was it someone, away from the camera's prying eyes.

His mind tiptoed around the wedding preparations. She insisted that it took place in their country. He found this a comic notion considering they hadn't lived there long enough to claim possession. A country that was mistakenly identified as being their own by ill-fated births. A distant and detached land that faintly hinted of ownership. But he gave in to her. He usually did. He found it easier to go along with her instead of arguing his ground. Less resistance and more distractions for her. More distractions for him too.

She should be back by now. Maybe he should put the coffee pot on the stove…

She was heavily panting, her breaths caught between her throat, sweat clinging to her hot skin. She picked up her pace as she sighted the park's exit. She knew she was running behind time. Dread of a bulging belly drove her to exceed her usual number of laps. He must be up by now, definitely already in the kitchenette, brewing the coffee pot, settling down with the papers, waiting for her. She smiled at the image of him waiting for her.

As she finally emerged from the park, she stopped before the traffic signal. Traffic was already snaking along the road leading towards midtown. She strained to see the clock embedded in the colossal building dwarfing the park. She squinted as the sun's blare prevented her from seeing. As the green light flickered faintly, she sprinted across the street. A scorching burst of bright light knocked her sideways and she felt herself suspended in mid-air. She instinctively shielded her eyes from the intense glare. But the glare transformed into a pain that she never imagined. Garbled screams echoed in the background. An immense terrible pressure descended upon her. Her legs buckled under her and the ground rushed to embrace her. Her eyes pricked with annoyance as the distant cacophony inched closer and closer. A series of fading images rushed through her mind…images of him…of them…of him and her…of him and the other one…of them together…of him alone…of her alone…. Stop buzzing, move out of my way, I need to run home…I must select the songs…he's waiting for me…what is that song buzzing in my ears….

He heard the bell from the shower. He was waiting for her to open the door. When the bell kept on ringing, he emerged from a premature shower, annoyance blazed on his face. Where was she? Why was she so late? She was going to make him late now. She should have been here by now. He wrapped a towel around his lower torso and marched to the door. He called out her name. No answer. He looked around the room for signs of her return. Her trainers weren't tossed aside on the floor. There was no new coffee pot brewing. Her dirty clothes weren't thrown carelessly thrown on the bedroom floor.. She was late and now he would be late too, he muttered to himself, so inconsiderate of her to put him in this spot. He opened the door. Two policemen. Strange he thought.

"Mr. Imran Rahman?" asked one of them.

He nodded.

"Do you know a Ms. Areena Kha-der?"

He nodded, noting the enunciation of her last name. Quader, you half-witted American townies.

"We have some bad news…"