The Essence of Noah (Muslim story)

Biographies

"Noah, it's been a while!" Saleem greets Noah enthusiastically as he reaches over the counter to eagerly shake his hand. "Where've you been, huh?"

"I've been around, but busy." He chuckles and grips Saleem's hand in a tight, but embracing shake.

"Hana, I haven't seen you in a while either." He nods in my direction and places a hand over his chest in traditional 'salam'. I return the gesture, feeling welcomed and buzzed by the lively vibe of the little hut.

"I was in Adelaide for a while."

"How's your mother?"

"She's well, yeah."

"Well what do you both want?" He gestures to the menu above his head, then to the displays of food behind the glass screens on the counter.

"I'll have the yiros." I say and pull a ten dollar bill from my purse.

"I'll have the same, with a plate of felafel." Noah glances at me with a smile, when he orders the felafel, and I can't help but return it. "What drink do you want?" I turn my head to the fridge by the counter, with a selection of refreshing but too-cold-for-winter drinks, then up at the menu.

"Are there any hot drinks?" Saleem takes the money and returns the change, before calling into the back kitchen.

"Ya Omar! Kaste'en shai!" He then turns around to Noah and me, "Just for my two students. Stay in school, huh." I hold back a laugh, and reply with a 'thank you' before following Noah to a table.

"All I heard was 'shai' at the end." He says as he swings his bag off his back and lets it drop on the floor.

"He's getting us two cups of shai."

"Cool." I nod as I sit and rub my palms together. It's not cold in the hut; in fact with the heating ovens, grills, rotating spits and heated display cases, the hut is actually too warm.

I recline in my seat, getting as comfortable as I can on the plastic, while Noah sits forward, his hands folded on the table and eyes staring at me. I don't think he realises it, but despite the warm smile on his face, his stare is still intense. His eyes wander over my face, from the crown of my head, where suddenly I become conscious of any baby hairs, to the redness of my cheeks and the curve of my chin.

A few months ago, or perhaps the first time I came to Amu's with Noah, I would have rather set off, back to my apartment, than have Noah staring me down. It's not that I don't mind it now, but for some reason, it doesn't phase me as much. I'm not concerned if I'm blinking abnormally, or if my eyebrows are fuzzy, or my lips look chapped and dry. I don't care if he judges me, because a part of me has faith he won't, and I've learnt, albeit through tough experience, that if he comments on anything, he's being honest and that I shouldn't take offense. No matter how offensive.

"You have an eyelash on your cheek." He indicates to it on himself and I blush as I try to pinch it. I eventually do and feel the little hair between my finger tips, before brushing it off. "I used to make wishes on fallen lashes."

"Same."

"It was a big deal at primary school. Kind of like making a wish before blowing out you birthday candles- everyone would gather around, watch you blow it and then ask what you wished for."

"On my twelfth birthday, mum made a cake with a single candle, and told me to make wish before blowing it out, but then Baba told me not to wish on objects, and that if I wanted something, I have to make dua'a."

"I never thought of it like that."

"Neither did I, but it stuck."

"It makes sense." I nod and bitee the inside of my cheek as I look over Noahs shoulder to Saleem walking over and balancing two saucers with two cups of red shai.