One kiss, he vowed. One kiss and he’d be cured of his craving for her.
“Mansur...” she said breathily, invitingly.
“Amal...” He growled her name low, losing total control for a blinding, bewildering few seconds.
The brisk knock on the door pried them apart. A second and a heartbeat more and they’d have been locking lips. He knew it to be a fact. Neither of them had demonstrated restraint. And he’d seen it: her echoing desire. He wouldn’t have faced resistance in stealing a kiss.
The knocking that had halted what might have been either their salvation or their destruction started up again.
For a moment, Manny forgot where they were. Right—the hospital room. White walls and periwinkle wainscoting. A large bow window, with picturesque views of Addis Ababa and a shelf where an abundance of Delft blue vases and freshly plucked and trimmed floral arrangements were placed. Not to mention plentiful chairs, a sixty-five-inch wall-mounted television, and luxury gold silk jacquard bedsheets draping the state-of-the-art hospital bed.
“Come in,” he called, facing away from Amal in the nick of time.
The door opened and in breezed the neurosurgeon, a diminutive woman whose rosy brown skin was closer in shade to Amal’s. She instantly homed in on her patient. “Hello, Ms. Khalid. I understand you’re here to discuss a head injury resulting in a concussion and a subsequent case of retrograde amnesia.” She glanced at Manny. “Your husband?” she asked.
“No,” they answered in unison.
“Very well, Ms. Khalid,” she said, referring to her clipboard. “Then, with your permission, would you like me to proceed with the check-up and consultation with your companion or alone?”
He wanted to stay, but he could sense Amal’s fraction of a hesitation.
Standing, he said, “That’s fine. I’ll be waiting nearby. I want to grab a coffee anyways.”
“Mansur...” Amal began softly, but recognizably not urgently wanting to counteract his decision.
He’d made the right call to excuse himself. That was good enough for him.
“I’ll return once you’re finished.”
He walked away from her, past the neurosurgeon who would hopefully live up to her professional reputation, and out of the hospital room.
* * *
“Would you like me to call for your husband?” asked the nurse who had helped guide Amal back to the private hospital room, officially making her the second person to make that assumption in the span of an hour.
Amal opened her mouth to correct the nurse and call Mansur her friend, but discovered herself fumbling with that description. Because it wasn’t entirely true. They weren’t friends.
She still knew little about him and, although he’d shown that they had history, and she technically knew they had shared a childhood, it wasn’t enough. At least not for her.
But the nurse was staring at her like she was a crazy person, and Amal had to tell her something or risk her catching flies with her gaping jaw.
“He’s a...f-friend,” she stammered.
She blamed the jitters on the experience of being in the MRI machine. The awful, teeth-grinding battering sound as the machine powered on in its high-resolution imaging had left an indelible stain on her mind. She shuddered as cold, slimy fear pooled in her stomach. So far, it was one experience in Addis she didn’t wish to relive again anytime soon.
The nurse nodded. “I’ll let your friend know you’re done.” She left then, and Amal was alone.
She hadn’t realized how empty the lavish hospital room could feel. Really more of a suite than a room, it had a brightly lit wood-paneled alcove as a coat room, a washroom with a glass-walled shower, a plush sofa, and even a small crystal chandelier.
Amal caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the blue-and-gold geometrically patterned sink. Grasping the edges of the basin, she leaned in to examine her reflection. Either the bright white lighting in the room had washed her complexion out, or the pressure of having so many firsts—first travel, first flight, almost first kiss—was to blame.
Amal touched her fingertips to her lips and fluttered her eyes shut. It had nearly happened. She hadn’t imagined it. Her quivering mouth and thundering heart wouldn’t let her forget.
She dropped her fingers from her mouth as a knock on the closed bathroom door pulled her attention from her reflection.
“Amal?” Mansur’s low voice sounded from the other side. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m here, but take your time.”
He’d barely crossed the spacious room when she flung the door open, her cheeks aflame and her body lit with the need to be closer to him. She hadn’t known it could be such a thrill to have a crush. Couldn’t remember if she’d ever felt this way around him before. No, that was a lie. She recalled having a crush on him as a young girl. Had memories of being glued to his side when they’d play together.
But that didn’t come close to how she felt about him now. The sharp pull of attraction sliced at her more cruelly with each passing moment, and it was only her second day of being near him. She imagined the need in her for Mansur would transform into a driving pain as time passed.
Amal watched him turn around, his expression breaking from its usual impassive look.
His eyes widening was the first indication she had that something was wrong.
In her haste to see him she’d upset her headscarf. The silky veil had loosened to reveal her curly fringe. She blushed harder. Her rich brown skin warmed, but there would be no evidence of her embarrassment for him to witness. And yet he must know she was flustered by her mistake.
He whirled away from her.
Amal worked without a mirror. She’d been wrapping her headscarf most of her life, and not even amnesia could stop her hands from working quickly and effortlessly to cover her head.
Looking modest again, she called his name. “Mansur?”
Given the all-clear, he flicked an assessing look over his shoulder before he realized she was ready for him now, though her cheeks still burned, the heat creeping to her collarbone.
“The nurse said you were ready,” he explained, an apologetic look in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to barge in.”
“I told her to call you,” she said.
He stared, and then asked, “How did it go?”
The rough edge to his voice rubbed her sensitized nerves and frazzled her even more. She didn’t think anyone could sound so...so sexy. She could close her eyes and hear him talk all day long—but then he’d think she was crazy.
Then he’d know how you feel about him.
And she couldn’t allow that. For so many reasons. The top motivator being that Mansur had no life in Hargeisa. He’d built one in America and soon he’d leave her. And she didn’t want to be left mending the pieces of a broken heart. It wasn’t like she hadn’t had that experience only recently.
Just like that, her thoughts were redirected from Mansur to her father.
Her father hadn’t come to visit her except for that first day she’d got out of the hospital. And even then it hadn’t been to ensure her well-being, but to ask for money. Again.
She blinked rapidly, forcing the stinging from her eyes. She didn’t dare cry in front of Mansur. He had his own family problems. And he’d been considerate enough to avoid burdening her with his troubles. She should do the same and spare him the misery her father continued to cause within her.
Realizing Mansur awaited her reply, she said, “The doctor is reviewing the scans. I was instructed to wait for the rest of the consultation.”
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked, his gaze boring into her.
She knew that if she said yes, he’d leave. But she didn’t want him leaving her again. She had the strong sense that she could use him as a buffer if the neurosurgeon returned with bad news.
“I’d like you
to stay, please.”
“I’ll stay, then,” he said.
They resumed their seats, sitting close together again, and Amal couldn’t help but notice him tapping his fingers on his thighs. He looked good in one of his suits again. Polished and immaculate and powerful. Mansur commanded the room with his presence alone, and she felt a mix of envy and admiration. Especially as more childhood memories were resurfacing with each passing day.
He certainly didn’t look like the young boy from her past. Older, yes, but the lines on his face told a story. Each furrow and crease spoke of the struggles he must have faced on his own in America. She still couldn’t believe that he’d left at seventeen. Amal barely remembered the day, but even after all these years Mama Halima got sorrowful when she thought of her son living apart from her.
Amal had learned to avoid speaking about Mansur, period. Maybe that was why she blurted now, “Do you miss Hargeisa when you’re in America?”
Mansur snapped his head to her, a scowl slashing his brows. “Sometimes,” he said, frown lines bracketing his downturned mouth. “Why are you asking?”
“I was thinking about your mother.” Amal laced her fingers together, staring down at her hands. “She gets sad whenever you’re mentioned.”
“Who mentions me?”
Taken aback by his snapping question, she looked up and murmured, “I did...a couple of times. But then I learned not to bring you up. I didn’t like how upset she’d get.”
“I call. Though I suppose not as often as I should—especially not since my father passed,” he said gruffly.
His father was clearly still a sore subject. And he had mentioned that to her before they’d left Hargeisa for Addis. She might not have understood why he disliked his father before, but she knew better now, after he’d reminded her of his half-siblings.
Amal still couldn’t believe she’d forgotten such an important detail. She hadn’t loathed her amnesia more than she had in that moment. It had left her blindly navigating a field full of hidden emotional landmines. If she so much as stepped over a trigger—bam! She would lose Mansur to whatever battle he was clearly fighting internally.
She’d seen how he had left her in a hurry yesterday. Without his having to explicitly say so, it had been obvious he was stressed from having to decide whether he should meet with his half-siblings and stepmother.
A part of her was curious as to whether he’d settled on a decision. But she wasn’t going to ask and pick at those scabbing wounds on him. Just like she avoided mentioning him to Mama Halima, she would tread cautiously where his other family was concerned.
“I’ll have to call more often.” He grasped his knees and tipped his head toward her once more. “Thanks for letting me know.”
Amal flashed a smile, feeling a little more heartened now. “I can’t blame you if you don’t. You’re busy. I barely find time to catch up with Bashir and Abdulkadir. It’s hard for us to find a time where we’re all free.”
“They’ve grown up,” Mansur remarked, a small grin pulling at his lips. “I remember when they’d follow us everywhere. Follow you, actually. They worshipped their big sister.”
“Only because I found the best trees to climb and the best games to play.”
He smiled wider. “Right...how could I forget?”
“I’m recalling more of my childhood, and it’s nice. I feel less of a disconnect, and it gives me hope that I’ll fully regain what I’ve lost.”
“Is that how you view it? As a loss?”
“By definition amnesia is a loss—of memories.”
It wasn’t what he’d meant, though, and Amal knew that. She realized her deflection tactic wouldn’t work when he stared, waiting for a better answer.
Giving in, she said, “It feels like I’ve lost a part of myself, yes.”
And she didn’t think that was an exaggeration either. She had lost several pieces of herself. Her memories were bundled with her personality. She didn’t know if she was making the same mistakes, and if she was less of herself for doing it.
“And if you can’t regain all your memories? What then?” he asked.
She rolled her shoulders. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
“Guess we both have decisions to make,” he surmised.
Amal saw an opening and went for it, her intrigue overpowering her. That and the fact she’d done enough squirming in the hot seat. She figured it was his turn.
“Have you made yours yet?”
“No,” he said. “Though I’m considering driving out to survey the land.”
“You haven’t seen it yet?” she asked, sucking in her lips when he appraised her quietly. She dredged up the courage to say, “I thought you were going to sell it. I assumed you’d seen it.”
“I’ve had surveyors take measurements and photos. Everything I’d need for a sale once the deed is in my name. But of course, there’s the clause I’ll have to fulfill if I wish to claim my inheritance.”
She thought over what he’d said. “Will it make a difference if you see the land?”
“I’m not confident it will. It might.” He pushed back, sitting upright once more. His movements were fluid and graceful. No one would believe he was troubled by his decision, even when he gave it voice. “I’m only hoping that one way or another I’ll settle on a decision.”
“And be able to live with it?” she said, filling in what he hadn’t expressed but what his statement implied.
She understood more perfectly than most, being in the situation she was in. Coming to Addis Ababa had been a tough decision for her—albeit one she’d made quickly, thanks to Mansur. She wasn’t certain she’d remain thankful once the doctor joined them and completed the consultation, but Amal couldn’t see herself blaming him for inspiring her to join him on his journey.
She’d come because she’d wanted to. She’d had to, for her peace of mind.
“I was thinking maybe you’d like to come with me?” He folded his arms, and there was a gruffness in his voice as he continued, “I’ll leave after we’re done here, but if you’d like me to drop you off at the hotel I can arrange for that.”
He wanted her to go along? Amal had trouble wrapping her head around his request. She saw he was in earnest, though. All she had to do was agree and they’d be leaving the hospital together, heading out on a new adventure to see his inheritance.
“Okay,” she said, not needing to think too long on it after the initial shock had worn off. “Why not? I’d like to see more of the city.”
“Actually, it’s not in Addis,” he informed her.
“That’s fine.”
She beamed then, as the reality set in that she would be spending the remainder of the day with him. True, Mansur made her nervous. He unsettled her with his commanding gaze and his frank manner of speech, and yet she’d be lying if she said there wasn’t a thrill in her heady attraction to him. She felt like she’d swallowed bubbles and they were popping non-stop inside of her. She felt as if she could walk on air when he gave her a rare smile or a laugh. It was an exhilarating experience in and of itself.
“Then it’s settled,” he said smoothly, smiling. “We’re going on a road trip.”
“I know it’s not a trip for fun, and that this is crucial to your decision-making, but I can’t help but be excited,” she admitted shyly.
“Amal...”
Mansur was staring at her, his focus so painfully sharp it felt like he touched her. He’d done it before, when he’d first seen her at his mother’s home. But back then it had been like he was looking at a stranger. He hadn’t expected to see her in that moment.
This time it’s different.
He looked at her like he was truly seeing her. Like when they’d almost kissed earlier.
“Amal,” he said again, “I don’t want you locking up that excitement on my behalf.”
“I won’t.”
“Good,” he rasped.
The doctor entered, and she was moving like a woman determined to conquer what had to be a long day and a lengthy schedule. Somewhere on that clipboard she carried were the results of Amal’s MRI scan.
“Ms. Khalid,” she said by way of greeting, and dipped her chin to Mansur. “I have to ask again: are you all right with your visitor sitting in on your consultation?”
“Yes,” Amal replied, sparing Mansur a smile. “I’d like for my friend to stay.”
Amal didn’t know where that had come from, but Mansur’s eyes widened with unconcealed surprise. He didn’t correct her, but turned his gaze to the doctor. Amal did the same, though she was worried about what he thought.
She forced herself to pay attention to what the doctor had to say, even though her mind would’ve strayed to Mansur.
Did he not agree?
Could they not be friends?
They had been once, long ago, as children. He didn’t have to know about her attraction to him, and they didn’t have to talk about why he looked like he wanted to kiss her, too. Because suddenly there was something she wanted more than a kiss.
His friendship.
She hadn’t been open about her fears surrounding her amnesia with anyone but him. For the first time since waking up in the hospital, confused and unsure about her identity, she was dead set on retaining the small and fragile peace she’d gotten while sharing her feelings and thoughts with him.
Whatever happened, she wanted him to know that they could be friends.
CHAPTER SIX
AN HOUR LATER they were on the road, heading away from the hospital and the bustling metropolis of Addis Ababa. As promised, Mansur was driving them to view the land he was due to inherit under the terms of his father’s will.
Amal wished she could enjoy the sights blurring past as he revved the fancy sports car, but she was lost in her thoughts. A part of her still hadn’t left the hospital. Like a nightmare, she was stuck in that expensively furnished room, with the doctor before her and Mansur at her side, listening to her bleak prognosis for the amnesia.
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