Breaking Her Walls

░Twelve░

"When I proclaim I am Muslim, I shudder,

For I am cognizant of the demands of faith."

-Allama Iqbal.

•••

SOPHIA

I narrow my eyes.

"You listen to me, Mr." I say gruffly. "I will not, whatsoever, tolerate this sort of behaviour. You want to go around ordering me, go find yourself someone else. Because if you want to marry me, you'll have to watch your behaviour."

His eyes pierce right through me.

That's when I note the actual colour of his eyes.

They are of an unusual grey colour.

They're lined with a light shade of brown with hues of black and a tinge of green in them. They're like clouds on a stormy night. But it's the emotion in them that actually sets me off. It is quite similar to my own. Eyes that have seen far too much of the dark side of the world.

What the hell is wrong with me? When have I started looking at people beyond the surface? And 'eyes that had seen far too much of the dark side of the world'? What the actual hell?

Damn it. I'm used to being in control. I won't let him break my walls.

He has pretty eyes, so what?

I do too. In fact, my eyelashes are definitely thicker and curlier than his.

Nonchalantly, I lean back against the chair and offer a wry smile.

My eyes follow the movement of his hand as it wraps around the coffee mug just brought by the waiter. The muscles of his biceps and forearms flex.

I consciously look at my own biceps. Well-built but not as good as his.

Ugh.

Something's wrong with me. Probably because I haven't had much sleep, I try to reason with my rapidly escalating thoughts.

He sips his coffee and then sighs.

"Okay. Let's start over."

I smile sarcastically. 

"What a good thought you have."

"Look, we won't get anywhere with this snobbish attitude of yours."

Did he just call me a snob?

"Attitude?" I scoff. "Look at yourself in the mirror."

Like I said, I'm sleepy.

"Look-"

There we go again.

Seeing my expression, the corners of his lips slide upwards. Just barely.

"Alright." He drawls. "Let's talk about ourselves a little. But . . . before you say anything, I do not want a maid. I know your head is quite small but try to get this thing in your head. Yeah?"

Is he trying to be British?

I tap my right temple. Think, you fool.

Oh my God! He just called my head small!

"I warned you not to talk to me like that. You're not my father. You have no right."

Probably realising what he was doing, he draws in another deep breath.

"Listen, I'm sorry. I've had a rough day, I'm not usually judgmental. Again, I'm sorry." he says, his words imbued with embarrassment.

That kind of old-fashioned chivalry is an extremely endearing trait in a man for me. 

So, I shake off his apology with the slight inclination of my head, trying to keep off the grin that is threatening to pull over my lips.

"Well," I say. "Tell me about yourself. First of all, how old are you?"

He seems timorous at first, but then straightens up and replies with a short, "Twenty-nine."

Okay. Not that bad. Just a year older than Aahil. 

"What do you do?" I ask, feeling like an interviewer with my legs crossed and hands braced on the table in front of me.

"I'm a professor."

This piques up my interest. For all the fiction I've read, I can't imagine getting married to a professor like in books.

"I teach at BNU." He says, and when he notices my interest, he continues. "I have a master’s degree in visual communication design. That's what I teach undergrads." 

I make a mental note to myself to search up what Visual communication design really is.

But I nod like I understand everything.

Now, I am actually considering this proposal.

The man is not only nice (SOMETIMES), but he's actually some sort of an artist. Plus, he also has grey eyes.

"What do you do?" he asks curiously.

Now, that is something I've feared all along. What do I tell him? What am I even doing in my life? What do I want to become? 

I don't have answers for any of these things.

I start with perturbation. "I studied Art when I was in A-level."

I shrug, as if that's answer enough.

"You weren't interested?" he speculates.

No, you know, I was quite screwed up back then.

"It was too much hard work and I didn't have that much energy back then." That's as far as I can go to explain what my situation was.

"And I'm not like you." I continue. "I don't know what I'm interested in. I love boxing but that's not even practical."

I expected him to look down at me and become all cocky, since he seems like a pretty big nerd, but he smiles tenderly.

His smile warms my heart. No one looks at me like I might be worth something. Like not knowing what field I want to choose and what grades I got defined my character.

"Yes." I say, not even thinking twice.

A puzzled expression crosses his face. "What?"

"I'll marry you."

His face works in astonishment. Then, he lowers his head and puts his face in his hands.

What I see next, nearly sets the whole world on fire because of my squeal.

HE HAS A MAN-BUN!