Palestwinians - One Shots.

V. Muhammed's POV.

This chapter is dedicated to sajmra because of her awesome book 'Once Upon Qadr.' I hope you don't mind but I fused in some of your characters into this chap! You guys should definitely check her book out!

P.s. this chapter hasn't been edited since I feel like I'm going to pass out from exhaustion, so please kindly, point out any errors and I will fix it in the morning. This chapter was written out of boredom anyway, so it's nothing great. Enjoy!

 P.p.s don't forget Muhammed is Yasmine and Zach's oldest son.

V. Muhammed's POV. [At 19 years old]

I exhaled angrily and clenched my fists. This girl was seriously testing my limits. “Why must you always disagree or rule out any ideas I propose?” I questioned, glaring right back into her challenging eyes.

“Because they just won’t work,” she countered stubbornly. 

“How do you know that?!” I asked, trying very hard not to raise my voice. “You have to give it a shot.” Ignoring the wide-eyed glances from the other people in the room, we continued to have a heated stare-off. We were in one of our YES alumni meetings. It was a youth and exchange study program, where students who went abroad on exchange and returned, could contribute to the community with their newfound passion and experiences. We were organising a fundraising event and as much as I loved volunteering, I was beginning to get fed up with Yasira’s obsession at shutting down everything I had to say. 

“One hall, we put a curtain in between and that’s final,” she seethed, her hands perched against the solid wood table, her back bent over it authoritatively. We had been arguing over the same issue for the last ten minutes, and as usual, whenever both of us found ourselves in a conflict, no one dared to intervene.

“Two halls, men downstairs and women upstairs,” I pushed. “That way we can fit more people and sell double the tickets.” 

“We can’t afford hiring two rooms, how many times do I have to say that?” 

“We can raise the money in a month. And imagine the return from ticket sales, if more people have a chance to participate.” She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. 

“No and that’s final.” 

“But-,” I began, before she cut me off. 

“I said no!” she exploded. “I am the leader of this committee Muhammed and if you have a problem with my leadership and decision making skills, then feel free to leave or quit. I make the final decisions here.” 

Bristling, I pushed my chair back roughly, it’s movement bringing with it a high-pitched screeching sound. “You know what, I will quit. And you want to know why? Because I’m sick of sitting here whilst you whinge and whine at every meeting that nothing gets done, just for you to go ahead and slam us down when we put any effort in. You’re a controlling and overbearing tyrant and I’m pretty sure every single one of us is fed up with you.” I stood only a second longer to watch her shocked and hurt expression and hear the gasps from our fellow team-mates, before I stalked out of the meeting room.