From the mountains of war torn village, the night had crept into the room. Two bodies stood against a wall. Her long hair caressed the surface of his face. Their lips touched. His hands traced her back. She felt the hair raising on her neck. It was a new feeling, being touched gently. The goosebumps on her arms made her shiver. She closed her eyes. The roughness of his calloused hands. The feel of his lips against her skin. She opened her eyes.
“Stop,” she said. He stopped. “I can’t,” her voice was barely audible. In that moment of halted intimacy she felt glad that she couldn’t see his face. The nights’ darkness and the absence of a lamp made him almost invisible. He took a step back. She wanted to reel him in. “You’ll leave and I won’t be able to get out of it.” He looked at her as if in a daze.
The sudden silence was broken by a lone gun shot. They both looked instinctively at the door. Any minute now. The army of the enemy liked every door to be opened. Then his eyes locked on her. Her rejection made him feel used. “Do you not like me any more?” He asked. She shook her head. It was not that.
Her eyes looked away. She wanted to run to hide, but couldn’t bring her self up to it. A lone tear garnished her cheek as she looked at him. “I can’t be with you because I like you too much.” she rested her palm on her chest, where her heart was beating, “I won’t be able to piece it back together after you go.”
“Where will I go?” his voice dejected. Shaking his head he walked back to the bed and sat down. His military jacket hung in the back. The smoke from his cigarette blurred her figure standing in the corner. You take after your father, he shook his head. An old memory had popped up. His arms still bore marks of the love of his father
She took at step at him but with her fists clenched moved back. The suitcase in the others room, the deafening silence. His house reeked with the possibility of inevitable separation. She woke up with the white sheets clenched in her hands. The suitcase was gone.