Khaai – A short (love) story


June 6, 2017 • FICTION • Author:

It’s been a while that she’s left. Maybe too long for me to realize that it’s gonna be a much much longer time before my eyes can embrace her smile. Maybe even longer for me to keep lighting this feeling for her.

Her perfume still lingers in the guest room. Hope no one saw me sneaking into the guest room last night. Sleeping on the bed she once laid upon though we can never sleep together anymore. Playing with her falling strand of hair, though I cannot ever rest on her shade. Kissing the pillow where she pressed her lips, though our lips can never touch each other. She might not be here but I still feel her. Maybe these tiny bits of her is what really made her, maybe what made me fall for her. Maybe what I fell for.
Do I love her?

I should not!

But do I?

Is this what they call love?
I slept the sweetest sleep clutching her shawl that she had forgotten to take with her. I envy the shawl, for it was always hung around her neck. Wish I could be like that. Such simple, small piece of cloth but such luck. Fuck.
I just came out of the bathroom, the room where I lay all my problems aside. Where I become myself. Where the four walls caress me and tell me it’s all okay to be who you are. They only said that the walls had ears but today, I found that it had hands too.

I don’t believe it’s a coincidence, but I think it’s nature’s treachery that her and my toothbrushes were kissing each other passionately on the brush cup. Her brush was just like her, beautifully shaped that you feel shy when you hold it in your hands. Tinges of pink on white background. It was just like her. The bristles were silky smooth and such well crafted. Every strand was crafted with care. Just like her hair. The ends were professionally sharpened. Just like her hair.

Somewhere after the neck, you could feel a soft spot which teased the softness of the morning dew. The pinkish spot made of the softest rubber made me cautious. Maybe just like her breasts. The purest thing in the world. Her soft spot.

Her brush felt like it was made to fill the gaps between my closed hands, just like how she was made to fill the gaps between my fingers.

My brush lay there flaccid, placid and rancid just like any other cheap brush.

But they laid there twisting their mouths, their hands laid helpless, numb. But they were gracious. For they loved each other. I believed they did. Actually, I hope they did.

I heard a knock and my mother questioning if I had fallen asleep inside the toilet. So I got out of my daydream and woke up to reality with my pants pulled down.
After doing all the things I should, I pushed both our toothbrushes against each other. Harder.

Outside I saw that my aunt too had arrived and was sipping a cup of free coffee. But who wouldn’t love one? I was still stuck into the hangover of my sleep on her bed, fantasizing what it would be like to have her beside, naked. And do things I wanna do, but I shouldn’t. Her picture was still tattooed on my mind and lack of possibility made me gloomy.
As I moved closer I found that they were scrolling through photos of men. Handsome and well off men I should say. Commenting on how handsome he is and how handsome his bank account would be. I was confused.

I then asked mom why were they looking at so many photos. Then she replied with a smile, “Looking for a nice husband for our chori.”

The chori I dreamed of making her Buhari.


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