Like this:

“I want you as a glass, never as a mirror.” She fiddled with the olive in her drink. It was drizzling and the breeze carried tricklets of water to her eyes. “Promise me, you will let me see the world through you. You will let me be here.” He was afraid to look up, wondering if it was the rain outside or the pain inside that moist her eyes.

It was never meant to be this way. He could never bear the thought of hurting her, it pained him, to reflect on her actions. He had become the “mirror”.

“Home is not just the ground beneath your feet, it is the people around you. You are not bound by the land, nor the sky, but by the affection, love in our hearts.” She flinched and downed the shot of tequila with an apparent vengeance. There was a sense of restlessness that kept creeping in his head, scenes from years ago, flickering like a candle, about to burn out. He could see in her eyes, the joy of their first meeting, her errant ways and the mischief .. How she would force him out in the rain .. roam around the city wary of an attack, and yet free of all fear .. the way she said “joie de vivre”, in that tainted arabic-mexican-indian mix of accents – on reading his personal diary .. and never understood … Never.

She blinked and his heart skipped a beat. It was her last day. She would be deported back to Syria, her ‘official’ home.

He signed the order with a heavy heart. They were still in love, but their nations had divorced !

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