Thursday, 18 August 2011

through the half opened window. It was sufficient to maintain the temperature of the room to the bearable level.

Mehmet was still awake. He was looking at her wife, who was lying, slept just a few inches from him. She was so near to him. She had always been very near to him. There had never been any differences between them. But today, this small distance of a few inches, between him and Deniz, seemed to him as if she was lying miles away from him.

He was burning with desire. A differing combination of desire, carrying the extreme feelings of opposite nature. Love and hate. He was burning in both. He loved her too much. He was hating her too much. . “I hate her,” he said.

He looked again towards her. Wearing her black night wear, she appeared very beautiful. Her face was innocent. “No, she is not innocent, she cheated me,” Mehmet barked inside himself. He again looked towards her. Her face, her lips, her eyes, her nose. Her overall Filipino sort of face, that he had been loving so deeply all through those days, had instantly become centre of his hate. He turned his face away.

“No, let me sleep,” she muttered. Mehmet had failed to control himself. He had kissed her. His inner love had overcome his feeling of hate. He felt himself deeply in love with her. His renewed love, wanted her to awake. He wanted to make love with her. He wanted to return back to the good old days. But she was sleeping.

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