An Un-balanced Equation

What Ayesha thought...Part 8

The birds cooed once again in the chilly British dawns. Ironically enough, it seemed like they too had caught a chill just like me. They missed a note here and a note there while I croaked a 'Thank You' to Omar Khan who'd just made me a hot boiling cup of 'Indian Masala Tea'.
Yes, we were back to sneaking under his filthy stinking blanket, struggling to be warm and snug, fitting two big masses of flesh in a bed made for one. I never got to know who she was and what she meant to him, and honestly, I don't think I wish to know either. It's none of my business. When I first fell in love with him, I had't signed an agreement with my heart calling it a two-way transaction. Love isn't a balancing statement. Love credited, might not always be debited. So, I feel I have no right to know who she was, is, or might be for him. My love shall be unconditional, untouched by the fact that he doesn't love me back, that there might be someone else somewhere, who Omar might love, like Ayesha loves Omar.
You feeling better now?", he stroked his fingers through my hair.
"No, you make horrible tea." He honestly did make really bad tea. Too much sugar, too much milk, uncooked, just churned into boiling water from the electric kettle and into an unwashed mug that looked like it's been specially imported from the International prisoner's jail in Pakistan.
He smiled.
An unexpected beep on my cell phone get us both surprised. It's my friend from Uni, and his old friend.
He introduced us, and we've been talking since then. I find myself smiling, and him peeping into my phone.
"Who is it?" he asks, as if threatened someone would steal his bait.
"Dhrup, he's such a silly guy, keeps texting all day." and with that I get back to fidgeting with my blackberry.
"Dhrup." he pauses for a mili second and continues, "he's on your BBM now?"
"Yeah, why?" I ask, rather nonchalantly.
"Nothing, I'm going off to sleep." he says, pissed, and turns his back to me while hiding his face under the duvet.
"Night night!" I sing to him and get out of his room.
On my way back that night, I swear I walked with my chin help high up in the air. I smelt something burning. What did I set on fire? A heart, or his ego? Don't know, but whatever it was it felt nice.
Possessiveness, I realised, always feels good to a girl. Even when coming from a friend. And he wasn't 'just' a friend to me. But why was he jealous? Did he love me? Probably no obviously no!
But... A girl can dream, can't she?