What Dreams Are Made Up Of

beautiFUL!!!

mills and boons stuff! can you go beyond this ``girls like boy`` theme?

Excellent work

I always feel like editing, especially first attempts. So here is my modified version of S.Khan`s story. maybe we need a place to do this in a more formal way. I hate fillers and sentences that do not have anything to do with the story, so i took them all out. some minor edits otherwise. I think she has talent, just needs lots of polish, the kind that comes from letting other people read it :)

In any case, I hope you take this as constructive. If you want, I can send you the word version with tracked changes.

is there a career in editing for me? discuss.


What Dreams are made of
Alternative title: Silent Dreams

I sat there and watched him play with the zipper on his jacket. He tugged at it, sneaked a glance at me and then tugged at it again.

“It’s great being here isn’t it?” he smiled.
“Fantastic,” I replied.

I pulled out a cigarette from my bag and lit it. He asked for a puff and I handed it to him. He crushed it underneath his shoe. Maybe I wanted him to do that, maybe I didn’t care.

“Where do we go from here?” I asked staring out at the busy street ahead.
“I drop you off to your place and I walk to my apartment,” he said.
Frustrated at his naivete, I didn’t even bother fussing. Besides I knew what his answer would be and I was sick of hearing it.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked as we walked towards my place.
“I’m perfectly fine. Do I not look fine?” I asked.
“You look fine,” he answered staring at me.
“Well then.”

It had gotten cold. If I were to let my mind wander away, I would feel the chill running through my bones. But I let my mind stay focused on him. It was the only thing I could do. Have him in my head, where he wouldn’t be able to object. He wouldn’t even know he was mine. It would be my big secret.

Like he said, he dropped me off at the door and left. I trotted up to my room and fell on my bed.

He wasn’t what I needed at this point in my life. But he seemed all that I wanted.
(there is a song that should play in the background. Oooo I want you, I don’t know If I need you but Oooo I would die to find out)

Maybe because he hadn’t stepped into my life in the sense I desired him, I wanted him. Maybe if we did hook up, it would be as mundane as things normally are.

He called me up early morning. He needed to talk. I dragged myself out of bed and tried to look good, even though I knew it wouldn’t mean anything to him.

He walked over to the table with my coffee and sat down opposite me. He tried to make conversation, he knew I wouldn’t talk much. I never did early in the morning.

“Okay. Thing is, I have to go back,” He said, avoiding my eyes.
I did not skip a beat as my heart skipped several. I was not going to cry, so I just stared at him. So many thoughts whirled around my head for a second and then everything went blank.
“When are you leaving?” I asked.
“Tomorrow night.”

I knew this time when he would leave, he would just leave. There would be nothing left for me. He wanted it to be that way.

“Come with me,” He said as we walked out of the diner.
“Where?”
He shrugged. “Nowhere, just come.”
With him I always ended up nowhere. That’s where he always took me, to the end of everything.

We walked down the busy streets. Choosing silence for words, we talked. In silence he held my hand and smiled at me. In silence he told me we could never be. In silence I mourned.

At the corner stand, he bought me flowers. We sat on a bench for a good hour. He told me what he would do once he gets back. I did not want to be selfish but I did not care. All I knew was, he was leaving.

It was dark when we headed home. He always led the way. He didn’t turn towards my place tonight. He led the way to his apartment instead. I wasn’t sure where this was going, but if it meant a little extra time with him, I was willing.

He switched on the lights and I got a whiff of his cologne. It lingered in every room. It clung to his sofa and settled on his bed. Could I catch some and keep it with me?

“Water?” He asked pulling open the door to his fridge.

I nodded. I drink water when I’m nervous. With him I was never really nervous. I was anxious, not nervous. We sat next to each other in front of the TV and he clicked it on. His hand lingered as it took away the empty glass of water from my hand. I looked at him. He looked at me and turned away, like he always did.

“It’s late,” I said giving after a half hour of silent conversation. “I should get going.”

“I’m not letting you go tonight,” He said. It was not a question. He didn’t even look at me when he said it. It was decided.

I nodded. Knowing him, we’d watch TV all night and he’d leave the next day with a handshake, a hug if I were lucky.

Somewhere between the TV drone and the computer hum, my mind went silent and I fell asleep. I woke up a while later to see him sitting on the seat opposite, staring at me. His eyes were red and intense and I wondered what he was thinking.

“Go to my room and sleep on the bed.” He said, “I have to pack things up here.”

I half shrugged and walked over to his room. Timidly, I settled on his bed. I lay awake, listening to him putter around the kitchen and the living room. After what seemed like ages he came to the room. It was dark and he couldn’t tell if I was asleep. He crouched around the bed trying to figure out.

I shifted and said, “Will you miss me?”
I felt his hand run across my face lightly.
“I will miss you too,” I replied.
He bent down and sat on the floor beside the bed. I could only see his silhouette in the darkness but it looked beautiful and I wanted this image to stay with me forever.
I got out of bed and sat next to him on the floor. I don’t care what he wanted, I cared about what I wanted right now and that was him.

I reached for his hand and nuzzled my face against his. He was so close. He leaned in and I felt it. I felt what dreams were made of. He didn’t bother getting up from the floor and I didn’t either. I ran my hand gently over his eyes and his lips as I wondered why I couldn’t keep him.

“Look, I don’t want you to feel as if ….,” He began, his voice husky.
I put my finger on lips and answered, “I won’t.”

I did not need to see his face. I could imagine his expression. I knew then, it would come back to haunt me.

I woke up to the sound of his nervous footsteps, all packed and ready to go.

“I’m going home,” I said picking up my bag.
He nodded and I knew this was good-bye.

“Try and forget me, will you?” He said coming up close to me.
I bit my lip, “Only if you promise you can forget me”.
“I could never do that,” he said his voice cracking.
“Selfish of you to ask me then” I said, holding back tears.
“You are stronger than me,” he tried to smile.

There were things I wanted to say, but suddenly they had lost all meaning. There was nothing left to do. I walked out, leaving silence behind. I was finally going somewhere, home to my silent dreams.

(instead of the last part of the story, play a sting song or something)

cool...Ryerson has a good journalism program.

I have a few friends that go there too...

Good to see more Muslims and desis in journalism...and you certainly seem to have a knack at writing fiction.

Thanks for liking it. Im in my second year of Journalism at Ryerson University in Toronto.
-shyema

very well-written...

If you don`t mind me asking, which university are you doing your journalism program at, Shyema??

hey bilal...i know what ur talking about...i`ll work on the actions more in my next piece... im all about mute conversations...thanx for ur input though.
-shyema.
p.s. if only i cud write like hanif kureishi :)

Shyema-
i really like the story! especially how you have managed to create an atmosphere of the silent pain of departure; muted, held-back ecstasy; and the detail of characters` actions, is commendable.

however, i think your story is `thinking aloud` too much. there`s too much noise that`s taking away from the quiet ambience of the story. you need to cut down on `what i am feeling` and try to convey those feelings via actions. let your characters` actions speak.
if you can do this, you`ll be the next hanif kureishi...:)

-bilal

Writing is a creative expression of the mind. Like a photograph, a painting, it reflects the imagery of the soul, imprinting it in time forever. It offers catharsis to vent anger, to shed silent tears. It comforts the afflicted, fights just causes, makes you think and helps others act. Dreams are wishes of the heart that are fulfilled by the mind. If you believe, you can achieve, as nothing is impossible. So dream away!

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