Meanwhile, she reminds herself that it has been years since she last set eyes on him or was in touch with him directly.
She closed her eyes, kissing him back, his early-morning stubble harsh on her chin.
She looked up while he still watched, his curiosity beyond restraint, and her eyes stared back at him, but she did not avert her gaze.
Her cheeks were flushed and the sun was hitting her in the eyes, so she squinted to see him.
These were the eyes that captured Baraheen Ashrafi when she first met him at their wedding in Bangladesh nearly two decades ago.
Yet she kept coming back to him: to his dark eyes, to the way he carried himself, and, time and again, before she could stop herself, to the beauty of his hands.
She smiles when mentioning the staring contests she made him play so he would look deeply into her eyes.
" The teacher's eyes filled with tears as she said, "I taught him the lesson.
She backed up at the mere sight of him his eyes were still bruised from his fall, his forehead was pinkly scarred, and his pale sweaty demeanor was ghastly.
Letting him do exactly as he wanted, she wore a look in her eyes that he mistook for surprise and shyness, and later identified with moods that verged on madness sequences of perplexity and focus, expressing a hooded rage.
His skin looked young, and his eyes had the same genial alertness that had attracted her the first time she met him, the same delight in the great adventure of being Jerry Elias that had charmed and infuriated her when they were married.
Her frustration with him and his intransigence welled up and she was thinking of leaving, letting him lie in his own mess until the orderly arrived, when she noticed that his eyes were not simply closed but squeezed shut, like those of a child playing hide-and-seek.
For months she had him wear glasses that cut his peripheral vision and shone a flashlight with a dark center into his eyes for increasingly long periods.
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