Hazia’s Reflections

I must have been really inspired when I wrote this. I simply poured out a few paragraphs, and then it took a life of its own. I don’t have to explain where I got the idea from;) But I’m going to need more insights into the art and into his mind before I could complete this story, hehe…

Oh, btw, he ‘filled in the blanks’ for me. We were in 1 same class during our 1st year in varsity. We worked on a project paper together, that was how we came to meet up often, just the 2 of us. The other members of the group didn’t contribute much or something, I think.

I’ve also tried to utilise most of my 5 senses (instead of only sight) as learned during the Beth Yahp workshop today eg. smell, taste, texture and sound.

The Kebaya King - 1st Cut

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I stood near the window display, again admiring the rose and white silk Kebaya on the mannequin for like the hundredth time. I gently caressed it; the fabric felt satiny in between my fingers. Its mild fragrant lilted in the air. The dress was a real work of art; the material was carefully selected and cut; the exclusive and stylish embroidery was sewn with the utmost passion and care. Puteri Merah Jambu was a masterpiece, a proof of Raden’s signature touch.

Suddenly, a movement caught my eyes. I glanced across the road. It was her. She looked stunning with her long hair down like that. Today she had on a baby pink chiffon gown down to her knees, the colour brightened up her complexion. With her curvaceous body; generous bust and buttocks and a slim waist; I knew that the Kebaya in the window was meant for her. It would complement her figure beautifully.

She got into the Kopitiam by the road. I opened the boutique’s glass door and stepped out. I felt as if my legs got a life of their own. They moved quickly and took me there in no time.

Within minutes, I found myself standing in front of her table. Being so close, I noticed the mole on her right cheek. She took out her laptop from the leather bag. Then she realised that I was staring at her. I quickly pulled out the sleek wooden chair and sat opposite of her.

“Hi, Ain? I’m Adi, remember me?” She was quiet for a few moments, perhaps a bit startled. Oh no, I thought, I did get the wrong person. I wish I could creep under the dark wooden table and burry my head underneath the floor.

She looked at me. “Adi! Oh my god!” she shrieked. Her thin rosy lips curved into a wide smile. “What are you doing here?” I smiled back, a feeling of relief and happiness danced in my stomach.

“I have a boutique across the road, do drop by when you are free,” I gestured with my hand. “A boutique? She seemed surprise. “Wow! Really?” I smiled at her and nodded.

“How long has it been since we last met?”

“11 years, since we both graduated from UM.”

“Yes, we used to hang around a lot together, studying, I think,” her forehead wrinkled slightly as she tried to remember.

“We were working on a project paper together. It was for one of our first year’s subjects, Introduction to Marketing.” Unlike her, my memory of us was carved in stone. How could I forget?

Whenever in her company, I would be sweating; it was as if my heart was on a corkscrew roller coaster ride. Being with her was like indulging in a sweet cupcake on a bad day; like basking in the scent of fresh jasmine after a heavy rain. Every minute was unforgettable.

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