The Deepest Cut by Beena Khan
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
she tucked to tendril behind her ear and looked up at him shyly. She liked it when he smiled, he looked less intimidating and less brooding than I like this dress much more than your other two, Dara said, his eyes roaming over her, his eyes darkened. You look like a woman. Less like a girl is meth instantly tensed under his words, she wanted to hide her body from him, but she secretly liked him. Looking at her. She was happy that he liked her dress. After their last conversation yesterday, she picked it out carefully. She picked out a daring burgundy red color. This time her sleeves were long and the dress was long and flared at the bottom like a frog. Her hair was in a loose bun behind her, with a few tendrils loose that framed her soft features. Then his dark eyes met her. He turned toward his side, still leaning against the wall. He crossed his arms over his chest and rested his head against it. I brought you something. She looked at him, surprised, waiting for him to continue. He turned to the window sill behind him. She followed his movements with her eyes curious. Now he turned toward her, holding a book. She was caught off guard and stared up at him. He remembered. You said, You like books. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest. This little gift, this little gesture of his, overwhelmed her. She had told him off. She liked reading, too, but Imma had never given her a book as a gift. She frowned at that thought before shyly looking up a dara. He was waiting for her response. What's book? His face stretched in a teasing smile. Romeo and Juliet, her own face, broke out in a smile of her own star crossed lovers. She didn't know why he had picked this book out for her, she said. Ma'am, Noon. Thank you. She reached out for the book so he could give it to her. But he didn't. She looked at him, confused, her hands still outstretched in front of her. It seemed like he was keeping the book hostage. Then he leaned over and handed it to her. What made you choose this book? She asked, flipping through it. Inside the pages, she found a small, fresh red rose. She smiled again. I like the sound of forbidden lovers. Her eyes automatically jerked up at him. She should run now. His smoldering gays scorched into her, her body flushed with heat, and she rubbed the back of her neck uncomfortably. It sounds very tempting, Dara added. His voice was so low and a leering. He was a big, bad man. And yet she stood in front of him, gaping at him, open mouthed like an idiot. She should have run away from him on the first day. She wasn't used to talking to a man like him. A man had never talked so confidently and boldly to her before. In a conversation. He talked differently than Imad, as if he were sure he knew exactly what he wanted, and he wasn't afraid to take it. His words made her heart race rapidly. He was like a hunter, and if she didn't act quickly, she might be his next prey. She had read about men like him in fictional books before, and the next thing you know, the heroin was pregnant. She wanted to smack herself across the face to slap some sense into herself. I don't want to leave. She was so conflicted about her feelings about him. He was mysterious and charismatic, thrilling and exciting. He studied her intently, still leaning against the wall, casual and relaxed. While his words made a mess of her emotions. She didn't understand why he had to talk that way indirectly to her. She half wished he would stop and half wished he wouldn't.