The Essence of Noah (Muslim story)

Judge

I changed my mind at least five times in the few hours I had before I agreed to meeting Noah. Sitting on the cushions littering my living area floor and slurping on the last of my two minute noodles, I could hardly focus on my lecture note without constantly sneaking glances out my balcony doors and contemplating what I'm going to say.

After going back and forth with myself, I decided to be frank with Noah when we meet up. I don't want to be in any relationship that's out of wedlock. Or at the least something that's formal, like an engagement. Even thinking about I can't help but scoff to myself. Mum was right, I'm giving him the option of one of two extremes on a spectrum and can't really expect him to agree to either of name. And even if he did, he's not Muslim, so it doesn't really apply to him anymore.

Once again, my eyes flicker to the balconies, but this time I actually see Noah's shadow reflected on the concrete by his outdoor lamp and instantly I feel the noodles in my stomach tangle and knot in a nervous mess.

Adjusting my scarf, I set the cup on the rickety table and stand. I dust my joggers and look down at my t-shirt, pondering whether or not to throw on a cardi, but when I look up, Noah's already leaning against the banisters and I have to assume he already saw me. I don't want him to think I'm trying.

I make my way to the door and pull it open, letting the warm spring breeze stream through my apartment and raise a couple of hairs on my body.

"Evening." Noah smiles as he rests his forearms on the banister and leans forward.

"Hi." I reply, but once I say it, I realise how unfitting it is. I look down at my feet as I inch towards the banister and wrap my arms around my middle.

"Study well?" He asks.

"Not too bad." I look up, and Noah smiles at me before turning to gaze over the roof tops and car hoods.

He stares at the pathetic view for a while, and when I grow impatient and part my lips to ask him what he wanted to talk about, he beats me to it.

"I like this view." He says and then turns to me. "Don't you?" A frown settles on my face as I look over the zinc roofing once again, thinking that I may have missed something that's remotely likeable.

"What's there to like?" Noah laughs airily as he leans forward and clasps his hands together.

"I like to think of what's going on under the rooves. What families live there, or couples, or friends and I make up stories for each one." He points to a house with a yute parked outside. "I named the guy that lives there Bob, and his neighbor, Margaret." I smile  as I picture the two figures in my head.

"So what's their story?" I ask.

"They're hopelessly in love." Noah gives me a wide grin as he brushes loose strands of hair away from his face. I myself can't help the smile that grows wider across my lips at his four word story.

"That's it?"

"Well it's pretty hard to think up an entire plot for everyone."

"Why do you bother then?"

"You think it's stup-" He starts and instantly guilt floods through me at my bluntness.

"No, it's cool." I give him a smile, but shut my mouth to refrain from saying anything else that an pass off as rude.

"Do you want  coffee?" He asks after a pause.

"I'm good." I nibble on the inside of my cheek, tasting my dinner and then ask, "What did you want to talk about?"

Noah falters for a moment and I gather that my question comes across as rude and partly dismissive, but, I want to know what he wants to say before I tell him what I've decided. He parts his lips as if to say something then presses them shut and exhales softly through his nose.