When Silver Met Gold

Chapter 8 - Madrassah

"Your religion is where your love is." –Henry David Thoreau

Mr. Anwar, a neighbor I knew, invited me for dinner at his house. He was this sweet, kind-hearted retired army officer who now lived with his two daughters and wife.

When I told him who my mother was, he was surprised and told me how much of a good woman she was. He told me about her kind nature and generosity. I felt proud, hearing her admiration.

I accepted his invitation. First, I was in a good mood. Second, he invited me on the weekend.

"Can I bring a friend, Aaliyan Haider?" If he knew Mom, he would most probably know Aaliyan.

"Sure, I'll invite him myself," he said with a warm smile.

"That won't be necessary," I laughed. "I'll bring him if you allow me."

"We are settled then."

That cold morning, I was getting ready for college when I got a text from an unknown number. It said, Get ready. I'm coming! – Aaliyan.' Which was weird because I never gave him my number.

I saved his number to my phonebook and ran to my room. I took a shower and dressed in a sleeveless top, black jeans, and my black boots. I was going to wear a shirt, but a mischievous idea hit me, and I chose the sleeveless. I was going to freeze, but I wanted a reaction.

Hearing the horn of his car, I ran downstairs and then out of the house. I sat in the passenger seat. He was busy with his phone, handsome as always in his gray round neck shirt and black pants.

He looked up at me, smiling, and his smile disappeared. A frown formed on his face, and his golden eyes turned a darker shade.

"What are you wearing?" he asked harshly. "We don't wear these here."

I gaped at him with a little baffled, because girls at my college wore far more revealing clothes than this shirt.

"Answer me?" His snarl startled me.

"It's a top, why the hell do you care?" Being startled irritated me enough to fight him.

"Because you're going in public Musca, public, people, men." The next instant, he took off his dark Gray shirt and slipped it over my head, ordering me to put my arm in the sleeves. I did as he asked, trying to hide the grin that was not leaving my lips.

"I'm sorry," after a brief moment I heard him say, he sighed, his tone softened. "It's your choice what you choose to wear but... I don't like it at all. I wouldn't let anyone related to me, become eye candy for strangers. That's just not acceptable."

He was talking more remorsefully, his shoulders were slumped, and a humbler expression stayed on his face—all I felt was my lips getting dry as my eyes stared at his toned muscles hidden with the white vest. The tempting sight made my hands twitch to touch. I licked my bottom lip, gulping down in nervousness.

I felt grateful that I was sitting; otherwise, no doubt, my shaking knees would have given out on me. I tried to move my eyes, but they acted stubbornly and froze where they were.

"You should breathe." He caught my eyes, staring at him blatantly.

"Huh?" I was disoriented.

"Breathe Musca." I didn't notice I wasn't breathing; embarrassment hit me like an airplane. Showing shamelessness and arrogance, I deliberately clenched my jaw, with a fat face, trying not to sniff his shirt because it smelled so amazing, and turned my face away from him.