I found her very beautiful, in a hard, unfeeling sort of way. She reminded me of a statue, just as rigid and half as inviting. Her eyes were distant, cold. Smooth skin, three shades lighter than caramel glowed in the pale light.
She was thin and small, barely five feet three inches tall. Her slenderness only emphasized the delicacy of her frame but the muscles in her arms and legs were defined and clearly visible. Bones and tendons showed though the exquisite skin of her hands and faint bluish veins drew intricate designs beneath the surface.
Her jaw was fine and just a degree rounded enough not to be considered angular, cheekbones, not high but rather mild, tinted the barest flush of coral.
Glossy dark hair of burnished mahogany curled gently around a heart-shaped face. It spilled down her shoulders and over her collarbone in a wave of soft, loose ringlets. Pressed together, her bottom lip was slightly fuller than the top and a lush rosy pink. She had not the barest hint of a smile.
A small freckle dotted her cheek just to the left of her lips, pretty. Elegant brows arched gracefully across her forehead. Large dark eyes stared out from under curving lashes. They held an unavoidable attractiveness, something about the color. Like pools of sweet melted chocolate, they were liquid and had a faint sheen. It was strange to me how they looked melted and warm while having such a frigid glint.
I never understood why she was so distant, forever a mystery.
Her name was Sahar, “dawn” in Arabic. But she was not Arabian. Indeed, she was fair as Dawn herself, just as soft and glowing.
Sahar’s voice was quiet and sharp, but it had a lovely lyrical quality that took the edge off her tone, easing the bitterness.
She didn’t like me, not one bit. So we never spoke and I retreated, admiring from afar, that perfect marble beauty.
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