His balding head shone under the lights, which illuminated the sparse, fly-away hairs that refused to unpluck themselves from his scalp. The darkened ring around the base of his skull reminded her of her grandfather, who loved to sit in his armchair with his wife beside him as the television screen in front of them flicked between different sports channels. His skin was chocolate milk, the sweet sight of it could make one smile in anticipation. It seemed to match his eyes, a murky green labrynth he shyly hid behind bottle-cap glasses. They were a rabbit hole in which she wanted to jump through, falling into another world. The moment she thought her feet would touch the floor, he would pull away from her gaze, and her gut bubbled with disappointment. His eyebrows, a darker shade of brown than his skin, seemed to reach for each other, not quite shaking hands above the bridge of his nose. His lips were thin, but still visible enough to make her wish she could feel them with her own. When they smiled, she smiled with them. How she wished she could kiss him, just to see if they were real.
His legs were long and thin. His arms were rubber hoses, his delicate hands and lanky fingers betrayed his profession. When he spoke, he flicked them every which way. When he listened so tentatively, they held his face, and they distracted her. She almost forgot what she was saying as she gazed on his physical self, and she often trailed off in the middle of her sentences. Focus; she shoke herself out of his eyes. Often times she had to look down at the lukewarm coffee sitting between her dark, scared hands just to remind herself of reality.
Every once in a while, she would reach out to him, feeling his warm skin vibrantly living beneath her warped fingers. Regretfully, she pulled them back, remembering his soft words, I’m trying to not be as physical as I was, to ensure that I am doing what I must. Yes, she must retreat back into herself to help keep his promise. Sometimes, the heat rediating from him was too much for her, and she had to reach out to see if he was still human.
When they parted ways, she reached out to him, just to graze her fingers against his. He brought his index and middle finger to his lips, lightly kissing them before pressing them timidly against the scar that curved beneath her left palm. Until Allah has dictated that we may meet again, he whispered. She looked into his opaque eyes and she smiled.