<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4622302005816590995</id><updated>2011-07-08T16:47:38.166+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Eden's story</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stepupeden.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4622302005816590995/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stepupeden.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Dezpatz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18337188777320889998</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_f8_51ajhZ7o/S2W2IB6b3XI/AAAAAAAABKY/poockDovNlU/S220/n524582521_7489a.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>7</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4622302005816590995.post-3051915004372218311</id><published>2008-09-11T00:00:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2008-09-11T00:00:01.424+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Part 6</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Laughter rang in the air, children running around with joy; summer is here once again. Everyone rejoiced for holiday has finally arrived as books were instantly thrown aside and soon forgotten.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Melodious tune of the piano drifted along with the wind as Nasim stepped onto the porch. Peering in through an open window, there he was playing the piano. With such passion he played, like it was only him and the piano. As if in a trance Nasim stared at his back, letting the music flow through.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;As the music stopped, she dazedly woke up from her trance, walked to the door and knocked on it. The door opened and there stood a little girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“You must be Nava, nice to meet you.” said Nasim smiling at the little black headed girl with curls. Timidly the little girl turned around and called out in Farsi. In the next moment Riyaz was at the door out of breathe. The little girl giggled at the sight of his brother’s dilemma. Blushing, he ushered her back into the house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“She's really cute, she does not speak English does she?” asked Nasim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“Yeah she is still learning. You're early, sorry I was still getting ready.” Riyaz replied as he tried to regain composure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“Thought I would give you a surprise, instead I got one myself.” she said as she thought of him playing the piano, how peaceful he seemed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“What kind of surprise?” asked Riyaz.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“Surprise at how well you play the piano.” smiled Nasim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“I'm not that good. I just really like to play the piano, it helps me relax. My dad was the one who taught me how to play the piano, he has deep passion for music.” as he explained his face somehow brighten and sadden at the same time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“So where are you bringing me?” asked Riyaz as he snapped out of his thoughts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“You'll see when we get there, come on!” grinned Nasim, taking his hand in hers leading him on.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4622302005816590995-3051915004372218311?l=stepupeden.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stepupeden.blogspot.com/feeds/3051915004372218311/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4622302005816590995&amp;postID=3051915004372218311' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4622302005816590995/posts/default/3051915004372218311'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4622302005816590995/posts/default/3051915004372218311'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stepupeden.blogspot.com/2008/09/part-6.html' title='Part 6'/><author><name>Dezpatz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18337188777320889998</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_f8_51ajhZ7o/S2W2IB6b3XI/AAAAAAAABKY/poockDovNlU/S220/n524582521_7489a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4622302005816590995.post-851738236180831361</id><published>2008-09-09T16:59:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2008-09-09T17:01:27.473+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Part 5</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“Don’t mind Yusef, he is just being annoying as he always is.” Nasim said with a reassuring smile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“Are you really his ‘girl’?” asked Riyaz curiously.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“Someone’s gotten talkative since I gave you that notebook eh? And no I am not his girl, at least not to me. You see, my dad and his dad are very good friends. So the two of us had been playmates since kindergarten.” explained Nasim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“Then you must really like him.” Riyaz said teasingly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“No I don’t! I just talk to him because my dad wants me to.” rebuts Nasim defensively.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“And he’s not even my type.” she added with a cheeky grin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“So what is your type?” Riyaz probed on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“That’s for me to know and you to not find out.” replied Nasim with a tint of blush on her cheeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“And I thought that you are a very quiet and solemn person, I must have got that very wrong.” she added on trying to change the subject.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“Well, thanks to you I’m not one.” he rebutted ruffling her hair playfully.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Confirmation for his existence seemed to break through from behind those dark veils of the past. Was this it? This feeling, this heartwarming sensation, is it love? As he watched her talk cheerfully, he can’t help but smile. Something he rarely felt in the past 18 years of his life. Maybe, just maybe, this was a new beginning.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4622302005816590995-851738236180831361?l=stepupeden.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stepupeden.blogspot.com/feeds/851738236180831361/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4622302005816590995&amp;postID=851738236180831361' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4622302005816590995/posts/default/851738236180831361'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4622302005816590995/posts/default/851738236180831361'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stepupeden.blogspot.com/2008/09/part-5.html' title='Part 5'/><author><name>Dezpatz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18337188777320889998</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_f8_51ajhZ7o/S2W2IB6b3XI/AAAAAAAABKY/poockDovNlU/S220/n524582521_7489a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4622302005816590995.post-3866028627786720153</id><published>2008-09-03T01:40:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2008-10-17T13:01:49.820+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Part 4</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“Riyaz? Are you alright?” a soft voice penetrated his thoughts. As if being lifted from his worst nightmare, he vaguely lifted his head looking for the source of the voice. Why was his vision blurry? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“Riyaz, answer me please.” the voice said again with increasing urgency followed by a gentle gesture on the shoulder. Swiftly Riyaz wiped his eyes; it was tears, tears of pain. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“I am fine.” he replied bluntly, turning his back towards her, not wanting Nasim to see the hurt in his eyes. There was silence, and then he heard a gentle plop behind him. Somehow, her warmth composed him, draining away the terrible memories that engulfed him. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;They sat there in silence; she had helped a lot by just being there for him. Not talking nor asking questions; wanting to ease his pain and wishing them away. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“Thank you Nasim.” he finally blurted out. That was all he could say when in his heart he wanted to tell her more but know he would be brushed away. “Thank you for talking to me; thank you for teaching me; thank you for being here for me; thank you for being you.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“Hey, no more thank you’s, remember?” she said. He nodded with a smile, the most cheerful smile she has ever seen from him; a smile that seemed to cover all his sadness. In as much as she wanted to know, to feel what he was feeling, she would rather give him the time to heal.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“Lookie here you guys, it’s the terrorist boy.” a jeering voice snapped them out of their thoughts. It was the ever-dreaded Yusef. His aura itself blew people off their feet. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“Hey terrorist boy what are you doing with Nasim? Trying to hit on her are ya? Back off boy, he is Yusef’s girl.” snarled a guy with the amount of flab even two people cannot handle. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“No you back off Miguel, he means no harm, just leave him alone ok?” rebutted Nasim as he glared at Miguel.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“You heard my girl, do as she says.” said Yusef as he smirked, throwing Riyaz a loathsome look as they left. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4622302005816590995-3866028627786720153?l=stepupeden.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stepupeden.blogspot.com/feeds/3866028627786720153/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4622302005816590995&amp;postID=3866028627786720153' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4622302005816590995/posts/default/3866028627786720153'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4622302005816590995/posts/default/3866028627786720153'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stepupeden.blogspot.com/2008/09/part-4.html' title='Part 4'/><author><name>Dezpatz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18337188777320889998</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_f8_51ajhZ7o/S2W2IB6b3XI/AAAAAAAABKY/poockDovNlU/S220/n524582521_7489a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4622302005816590995.post-8284457521358902766</id><published>2008-09-02T00:27:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-10-17T12:59:10.559+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Part 3</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;The ground shook tremendously as yet another impending bomb was dropped at where he lived. Holding on to his younger sister to dear life, they took cover under his bed as she wept with fear. One bomb followed by another and another. Deafening explosions and bright flashes were followed by screams of agony in vain. After what felt like endless hours of terror, the bombing stopped completely, dead silence filled the whole neighborhood. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Carrying his sister and placing her onto her bed, he ducked low and crawled to the window. What he saw through the shattered window revolted him. Fire was burning high, with thick black smoke swirling from attacked areas. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;What are those? Riyaz’s heart gave a heavy thud. There were bodies on the street, distortedly angled and lying everywhere. Cries of extreme pain and loss filled the street. Panic stricken, his heart seemed to stop. His parents were still out there somewhere. He did not even know if they had survived this attack. Waves of fear crashed over him as tears of wretchedness rolled down his face, his heart felt like it has been stabbed repeatedly. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“Riyaz! Nava!” there it was, the sweet melody of his mother’s voice floated from outside. As his mother appeared with clear aftereffects of survival, he hugged her so tightly not wanting to let go ever again. Feeling his mother in his arms was all he needed now. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;It was then that his mother told him what he feared most; his father could not be saved as he was at that time working underground. The whole ground crumbled, giving the workers no chance of escape. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;As the three of the fortunate survivors hugged together, crying over the loss of their father, hate threatened to replace pain in Riyaz’s heart. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4622302005816590995-8284457521358902766?l=stepupeden.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stepupeden.blogspot.com/feeds/8284457521358902766/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4622302005816590995&amp;postID=8284457521358902766' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4622302005816590995/posts/default/8284457521358902766'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4622302005816590995/posts/default/8284457521358902766'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stepupeden.blogspot.com/2008/09/part-3.html' title='Part 3'/><author><name>Dezpatz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18337188777320889998</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_f8_51ajhZ7o/S2W2IB6b3XI/AAAAAAAABKY/poockDovNlU/S220/n524582521_7489a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4622302005816590995.post-3824480121556056996</id><published>2008-09-01T00:03:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-09-01T00:20:41.315+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Part 2</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“Good morning Riyaz!” called out Nasim enthusiastically. It was the third week of school before the bell rung.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Good morning Nasim.” smiled Riyaz as he saw the friendly face of Nasim. Since the first day of class she was the only one who had taken initiative to converse with him. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Here are some phrases I have written for you. I thought it might help you.” Nasim said as she passed him a notebook. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As he flipped through the book, he saw how much she has written in it. How long it must have taken her to do so. He felt warmth enclosing him as she saw to his needs. How many times he had thanked her, feeling they were simply not enough to return her kindness. She simply shook away his gratitude and made him feel at home, feeling like he belonged. How long it has been since he had felt that kind of feeling. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looking back at his past, all there were was treachery and darkness. He lived in constant fear, worrying for the safety of his loved ones and his own. Fearing for the fact that he might not even live to see the next day. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4622302005816590995-3824480121556056996?l=stepupeden.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stepupeden.blogspot.com/feeds/3824480121556056996/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4622302005816590995&amp;postID=3824480121556056996' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4622302005816590995/posts/default/3824480121556056996'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4622302005816590995/posts/default/3824480121556056996'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stepupeden.blogspot.com/2008/09/chapter-3.html' title='Part 2'/><author><name>Dezpatz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18337188777320889998</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_f8_51ajhZ7o/S2W2IB6b3XI/AAAAAAAABKY/poockDovNlU/S220/n524582521_7489a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4622302005816590995.post-2410035407771578267</id><published>2008-08-31T14:50:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-09-01T00:20:28.981+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Part 1</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;“Class, warmly welcome your new classmate from Iraq. Please do take care of him, I’m counting on you.” said Miss Sebastian with a gentle smile. She directed the dark brown skin, jet black hair teenager with a shy smile to the empty seat near the back of the class. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“He does not speak much English, that does not mean any of you can press him with anything hard, is that clear?” warned Miss Sebastian sternly.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A group of guys sitting at the side eyed the silent handsome teenager as he walked to his seat. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“I wonder if he has been too much of a ‘terrorist’ until he was banned from Iraq” whispered Yusef, the so-called hunk in the class.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All his faithful followers snickered just a little too loud, earning a swift glare by Miss Sebastian. Instant silence swept the whole class as he sat in the empty seat. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Hello, my name is Nasim. What is your name?” asked a pretty dark head sitting beside the new guy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Hello, I am Riyaz.” replied the shy teenager.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Why did you come to Ecuador?” asked Nasim as she took out her textbook.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Riyaz’s face seemed to darkened all of a sudden. Without giving an answer he forced a little smile and turned to the front facing Miss Sebastian, leaving Nasim with the question hanging unanswered. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4622302005816590995-2410035407771578267?l=stepupeden.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stepupeden.blogspot.com/feeds/2410035407771578267/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4622302005816590995&amp;postID=2410035407771578267' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4622302005816590995/posts/default/2410035407771578267'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4622302005816590995/posts/default/2410035407771578267'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stepupeden.blogspot.com/2008/08/chapter-2.html' title='Part 1'/><author><name>Dezpatz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18337188777320889998</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_f8_51ajhZ7o/S2W2IB6b3XI/AAAAAAAABKY/poockDovNlU/S220/n524582521_7489a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4622302005816590995.post-1749328914859114828</id><published>2008-08-31T01:46:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2010-02-07T20:21:19.187+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Prologue</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Absent mindedly, Nasim started to play with the silver pendant hanging on the necklace she was wearing. The pendant reflected her face as images of the past rush through her like flowing water. In her heart and mind, each drop and trickle of memory played itself. Like an illness that never fully healed, her heart started to ache again. She loved him, or was it the other way round? There was no point lying to herself about how she felt, how she never really did forget him. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;“I love you.” His words echoing inside her head, like it was yesterday.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;“But you know I cannot be in this relationship, it’ll just be a fantasy that’ll never come true.” She exclaimed, as her heart seemed to stop beating.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt; &lt;br /&gt;“I understand, I will wait for you. No matter how long it takes. Wherever you go, whatever you do, I’ll be right here waiting for you.” He whispered into the phone, as tears welled up threatening to fall.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That happened just 2 months ago, where his words had left her speechless. She loves him with all her heart. Fantasy and dreams are always better than reality. She of all people knew that for she knew she was drawn into a fantasy of love. He was all she ever asked for, but how can she ever know if her heart will not waver in his absence? Distance is an unseen obstacle, bringing about hardships and heart breaks. She was still young, with numerous pathways and challenges to face.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4622302005816590995-1749328914859114828?l=stepupeden.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stepupeden.blogspot.com/feeds/1749328914859114828/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4622302005816590995&amp;postID=1749328914859114828' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4622302005816590995/posts/default/1749328914859114828'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4622302005816590995/posts/default/1749328914859114828'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stepupeden.blogspot.com/2008/08/absent-mindedly-nasim-started-to-play.html' title='Prologue'/><author><name>Dezpatz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18337188777320889998</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_f8_51ajhZ7o/S2W2IB6b3XI/AAAAAAAABKY/poockDovNlU/S220/n524582521_7489a.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
