Desert Song

“Those men are staring at us. We should leave,” Reena muttered, pulling her bag closer to her as she warily eyed the group of men crouched in a circle, animatedly playing a game of cards.
Leah closed her eyes and rubbed at the headache that was threatening to take over, “The chai-wallah said it’ll be over in an hour or so.”
“Like he knows anything, he probably lied just so we’d stay here for a bit longer. Did you see the way he was looking at us? All of them,” she hissed, eyes darting around, filled with disdain.
“If you weren’t so absorbed in yourself, you’d have noticed he wasn’t looking at us like that, he’s just a simple villager-”
“Oh, so now you’re a defender of the poor? They’re just lazy, illiterate opportunists,” Reena interrupted, a spiteful gleam in her eye, “You never cease to amaze me. You have so much compassion for the poor, and none for those who care for you. Maybe Christopher was right.”
Her voice coldly polite, she asked, “About what, Reena?”
“You know what I’m talking about. You’re just a frigid, insensitive and lofty idealist. You’ve always been such a pretentious snob, Leah, even now, pretending like you care for them. Admit it, you don’t care for anyone but yourself,” her delicately beautiful face crinkled in righteous anger.
Leah gazed at her nails, face set in an inscrutable mask, “Maybe I don’t.”
Sputtering indignantly, Reena turned away in disgust.
The sandstorm raged outside, wind moaning with the sound of what Leah liked to think were the battle cries of men who’d fought to survive in this harsh land for hundreds of years. Perhaps if she listened closely, she might have heard the clatter of swords, and felt the tears of the women, resigned to watch from the sidelines, as those that they loved were lured away by the mournful song of the Desert Siren.
She gazed through the little gap in the walls at the tarpaulin that flapped wildly in the gale. The storm didn’t seem to dampen the enthusiasm that flowed inside the teahouse. Old men reminisced; the few little children were huddled in a corner playing with marbles, the even fewer women kept a watchful eye over them whilst exchanging village gossip. But for the most part, there were men, seeking refuge from a hard day’s work with a hot cup of tea and a lively gamble.
Much to her annoyance, Leah found herself enamoured by the life around her. Despite first impressions, here too there were formalities, a code, rules of conduct, but strangely, they didn’t seem as suffocating as she would expect. But then again, the grass always seemed greener on the other side.
A movement to her right caught her eye. Ignoring the restlessness of her companion, Leah watched, as a man cloaked heavily in a rough shawl, splashed water on to his face, which was gritty with sand.
He was surprisingly tall, a little over six feet. Wet strands of his unkempt black hair clung to his forehead. His skin was the colour of tanned leather. She watched the water drip down his strong chin, which was dotted with stubble.
Her eyes completely focused on him, she followed his large hands, which scrubbed his face clean, noticing the paler skin that stretched over his knuckles. In an impatient move, he tossed his shawl aside, revealing a traditional white kurta, which failed to conceal his strong build.
Unconsciously, her breathing grew shallower, as she mentally tried to envision what his body would look like underneath his garments. Wide shoulders, a strong chest, there was nothing about him that seemed weak. So lost was she, that she failed to notice that he was staring back at her.
His dark eyes pierced through her, as he continued rubbing his face with water, his long fingers passing over his frown. He was young, possibly around her own age.
Instead of deterring her, she blatantly returned his gaze, looking straight into his eyes, as if in challenge.
He momentarily paused, one hand still gripping the tumbler. As his frown deepened, he seemed to consider her, before slowly dipping his fingers into the tumbler.
He ladled a small amount of water out in his palm, and eyes unwavering from hers, touched his lips to his palm. Somehow, through the wet locks of hair covering his eyes, his intent still divulged itself. The corners of his mouth slowly curved upwards in a smirk, as if staking his claim over her.
His arrogance both enraged and exhilarated her. Her lips moved to mirror his sneer. Desire, so foreign, engulfed her. Absently, she noted the rhythmic beats of the blood pounding in her head, gazing at him as much in surprise as a brazen hunger.
As he continued watching her, his smirk turned into an amused grin, revealing pointed incisors.
She faintly smiled back at him, eyes still simmering.
With an almost imperceptible nod, he broke away from her gaze and sauntered away to join his companions at a crowded table.
She closed her eyes, still smiling as power hummed within her, igniting a painful need, for something more. Something as loose and reckless as the tempest, devoid of restraint. Her eyes only revealed a spark of the fire within her, ruthlessly under her control, for none to see and judge but those she deemed worthy.
No one would know of the comfort that she unexpectedly found in the honest eyes of a stranger, nor of the shameless understanding that passed between them, unsaid, yet acknowledged.
Perhaps, she mused, it was that quest for the extraordinary, for that something more, that had enticed so many men into the Siren’s arms. It was a sad song she intoned, that had endured freezing cold nights and blisteringly hot days, but it had sustained. And so had the few fortuitous travellers, who despite being weary from the journey, clung to life until they were rewarded with that very abandonment the capricious notes of her song offered.
For all the storms that she would have to endure, Leah knew then, that she would be one of those few fortunate travellers.


Note: This is a story I came up with after I asked a friend to give me three elements to base/include in the story, namely:lust, desert, and water.