Previously on: Belle-7-Rosemary
Previously on Belle
“It seems Belle woke up early and she is taking in all the beauty and scenery from the balcony.” Ifuoma thought to himself. He took his phone from the drawer which stood next to their huge king-sized bed. There were plenty of text messages and emails congratulating him on his marriage. Messages from the bank notifying him that he had received money from friends and family also poured in a lot. Ifuoma is happy that he settled his score with Rosemary. He had taken revenge against her by marrying her best friend Belle.
Ifuoma knows that Belle is a homemaker, a good cook, and she has a sensible head above her shoulders. But there is a problem, he found Belle while she was broken. It was easy for him to sweep her off her feet. And Belle clinged onto him just like he wanted. At first he never told her that he used to date Rosemary. He waited patiently till she was neck-deep in. On their wedding day, Rosemary came with a certain guy. I was not sure if it was to spite me but I noticed how Belle looked at him. It was as if he was someone she once knew.
She looked slightly worried yet her eyes said that she was glad she saw him one last time. But since Belle was sitting outside on the balcony sipping something, her mind far in thought. Ifuoma felt the urge to text his other lover, Zuhrah, the one who paved the way for Rosemary and Belle.
Were it not for the cultural and religious differences, Ifuoma would have married Zuhrah. But Zuhrah gave him an ultimatum, for Ifuoma to marry her, he would have to convert to Islam. Ifuoma’s parents did not take that kindly. Why is he thinking about her of all other days when he is supposed to be spending quality time with Belle?
“Baby, I have been searching like everyone else. I cannot say anything different about myself. I have been an angel and I have been cruel, and when it comes to you I’m just another fool. It is very honest. Not in the least corny. I should warn you that this message will not be eloquent. However I will be sincere, especially in the light of the fact that you would read it and that it would evoke emotions. Emotions that you have buried deep in the sands of time. I have felt these words like a weight in my chest.
I still find amazement on how such a heart can go on beating under such a burden. I recently got married Zuhrah. I married the most beautiful woman, I flew with her halfway the continent so that we could have ample time, but she is nothing like you. I still love you, and if it were not having to convert then we would have found a way to make things work.
I love you, I love you desperately, violently, tenderly, and completely. I want you in ways that you would find shocking. My love, Zuhrah, you do not belong with a man like me. Since you left I did things you would not approve. I ate pork, it was haram to you. I did things your religion could not approve of. Maybe this was to spite you, and I did those hundred times fold. I have led a life of immoderate sin. I have no qualms about it. I’m just as immoderate in love as it turns out. It is worse. I cannot shake my thoughts about you.
I still have those pictures we took in Mecca when you insisted that I should accompany you for the pilgrimage. I still think of how you kissed me outside the city of Damascus when we went on a humanitarian trip to help the war-ravaged citizens. I want to kiss you, every soft place of you, make you blush and faint. Pleasure you until you weep, and dry every tear with my lips. Only if you knew how I crave the taste of you. I know I’m not supposed to have such thoughts now that I’m a married man, still, I cannot shake it off. Today when I was making love to my wife, it took me back to the last passionate moment we shared together. Having you under me, on your back, and drinking the whiskey and honey from you. I am truly sorry. You deserve more respect than that, but I cannot help thinking.
Thinking about how your legs wrapped around me, your mouth open, how you used to cover yourself with those fancy detailed hijabs you used to don. I need too much of you. A lifetime of nights spent between your thighs would not be enough. I want to talk with you forever. I remember every word you said to me. If only you could give me the satisfaction to visit you as a foreigner who goes to a new country. I would learn the language of you Zuhrah, waltz past all borders into every private and secret place.
I would stay forever, I would become a citizen of your nation after all our country allows us to have dual citizenship. You would say it is too soon to feel this way. You would ask how I could be so certain yet I’m supposed to enjoy the sun, sand, and the sea with my beautiful wife. But somethings cannot be measured by time. Ask me an hour, a month, a year, ten years, and a lifetime from now. The way I love you will outlast every calendar, clock, and every toll of every bell that will ever be cast. If only you would read and reply so that I would know where we stand.
Ifuoma rose up from the bed and joined Belle on the balcony. He hugged from behind and lightly kissed her neck and asked her about her nice. They stood there marveling at the scenery that lay before them.
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