B

My infatuation towards Barjas — a character that I purposely left out for an introduction — has been a tad too unhealthy. It all started somewhere in August of 2019 on a fine scalding hot Saudi Arabian summer morning when an unexpected ping on Skype popped on my screen. It was a simple 'hey' from him, shooting questions about works and about things that the answers were nothing but public knowledge. There was something amiss with the tone of his text — not that I could vocalize his voice and his intonations — it was harmless, dodgy and shy at the same time. It was as if he wanted me to decrypt his messages and expected me to understand that he was being flirty. 

Of course, I understood the assignment, mister. 

At that particular time, I figured, if I hadn't reciprocated, I would miss a chance in knowing the man of my dream as well. 

Barjas, a 6-foot tall well-built man with broad shoulders, chiseled jawline, manly rough stubbles, sparkling white teeth and smiles that radiate the universe. The muscles known to every anatomical book are visible on his body, his torso is almost sculptured — like a naked Romanian god on display at the Louvre; his hair is short with a clear receding line above his forehead; his voice is deep and raspy and gravelly at times; he walks like a club bouncer, head down, always avoiding eye contacts with people. His smell? He doesn't smell. He does not wear perfume. He smells as he is. 

Every single human on earth is attracted to beautiful things. Myself included. So that't the reason why when Barjas sent me a message, it was nothing but a jolt of excitement. 

Barjas is not an imaginary character after all, he's very much alive, sitting somewhere in his house in Riyadh, smoking shisha while browsing Snapchat. 

His personality is cladded with mystery, and our love story? It is a post for another day.


ZA



 

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