The Shades of Spring

Familiar strangers

Sunlight filtered through the mosaic window, tinting his long wooden table a mix of blue, yellow and red. Out of all other tables in the entire building, this was his personal favourite for the view it offered and the way it painted the boring table in a more interesting light.
Ayaan liked to do some quiet reading on weekend afternoons on the tomes of excellent legal literature penned by some of the greatest lawyers in the country. With an abundance of fellow Royalists swarming the building, he much preferred to carry his book to the small mezzanine between the second and third floors and let his imagination wander without regular interruptions. Today, he was taking notes.

On the floor above him was a busy young lady chatting to a familiar old man. Mr Menikov had made excellent progress in his English and managed to finish Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. As promised long ago, Sidra made time for his review of one of the most famous classics of all time.
"Executive summary. Twenty five words or less. Your opinion on Mr Darcy."

The old Russian raised a sparsely haired eyebrow at the grinning Muslim girl
"I think he is quite normal. A classic hero. Somewhat like a....what's the term....? Ah, a jerk with a heart of gold."

"Wow," Sidra grinned wider, "Not the feedback I'm used to hearing about the dashing young man...but I agree with you."

"I much better like the man Marianne weds in Sense and Sensi-something. What is his name again?"

"Colonel Brandon, if memory serves me right. Darcy is okay-ish. Kinda overrated though."

"Yes," he watched Sidra wave back at a passing blonde. "And I see you've made new friends."

She looked around just to be sure no one was standing within an earshot. "Not exactly friends... acquaintances. Or regulars at most."

"That's a very unkind thing to say."

"No, no. I like them. I've learnt a lot from them in the very least. But you know how I choose friends....they need to knock on a certain door."

Mr Menikov's eyes darted back to the book he was holding and then to his walking stick; lastly to his wrist watch. "It's about time someone came yodelling up the path with a battering ram..."

"I'll get bigger guns," Sidra assured the man while helping him grab his cane.

"I'll miss you," he told her with a strange look in his eyes. Sidra's heart dropped a little but she offered him a smile, "Neither of us are going anywhere. Yet. Let's not forget you promised me tea some time."

"And my niece's almond cake."

"And your niece's almond cake," she echoed.

_______________

He saw the olive skinned beauty as soon as he made it to the third floor. She wasn't aware of his eyes or the weird way his pulse spiked and stilled at the meer sight of the fabric wrapped around her head and shoulders. He wondered what she looked like under that baggy dress. What he wouldn't give to find out.

Tilting his lips upward, he strode to her confidently with a random book in hand.
"Excuse me?"

Those mesmerising honey pools clashed with his slightly crazy blue ones; making him worry for a second that he had been recognised. The danger passed almost immediately when she gave him a courteous smile and asked how she could help him.
"I'm trying to find the volumes on Alexander The Great's warfare. Could you help me?"

"It's down in the second floor, Sir. I'm sure the staff will assist you."
He read her name tag and smiled inwardly, Mahdi.
"Thank you, Miss Mehdi."

"My pleasure, S-."

"Please call me John."

"-John."

He politely went away to the mentioned floor, throwing a casual glance at the handful of individuals in the small circular balcony running just below the third floor. All of them were old folks except one man who made John's face pale for a second. He knew the kid from the Academy. A guy from Brent?? John panicked a little at what it might mean to his wooing.....then hastened his steps with distaste and disappeared into an elevator.

Sharp grey eyes followed him suspiciously; its owner's lips curved in a frown. Earlier, looking up from his book at some point, Ayaan recognised a familiar hulking frame ascending the stairwell. Not making a big deal out if it, he went back to reading. It wasn't until a full page later that his fingers stopped writing and his eyes scanned for a tattooed arm.
Above him, he spotted the tattooed man speaking to a female with a hijab. Ayaan's first thought was Sidra?! But incidentally, he remembered hers being a different colour. So, Hafsa then? Either way, after fully recognising the stranger, Ayaan didn't like the meeting.
He watched John keenly until the latter began to descend the stairs, then pretended not to see him. John's brief gaze was hot on his neck and it took every ounce of self control not to look back.

He waited until John left through the main door, then got up and hurried to the third floor.
Quite unbothered and blissfully oblivious to the ill feeling in Ayaan's gut, Hafsa went about her work as usual.

"Assalamu alaikum."

"Wa alaikum-us-salaam, how's the captain?"

"The sea's a little choppy. Who was that scary man?"

"Some John, I guess. He's scary as heck."

"Yup. I'd stay clear of him if I were you."

Hafsa's eyebrows furrowed, Ayaan panicked inwardly. "Why?" she asked.

"Just saying. He doesn't look like good news," he wondered what he was thinking, coming and spouting nonsense.

Hafsa couldn't pin what was wrong with his words, so she shrugged it off in her usual way, "Will do."

The awkward silence would have been prolonged if Ayaan hadn't made up an excuse to leave then. Back in his old seat, he wondered why speaking to Hafsa wasn't as easy as speaking to Sidra. Sure, he'd spoken more to the former than the latter, but there was this thing which made speaking to Sidra a relief. Like, he knew, she'd always understand a hint and not burst out like Hafsa had on a couple occasions.

___________________

She was ascending the stairs as though she was going to throw hands with the balustrade on the upper floor. But that was her usual walk; like a launched cannon.
No matter how many times her friends made fun of her for it, all she had to say was
Meh, if people scramble out of my way, so be it.

Her cream hijab and similar abaya almost made her invisible against the same hued walls; allowing a solid image of the girl to form only when she walked against darker backgrounds.

Sidra was far from conventional. She was a wonderful concoction of wit and humour, intelligence and sharpness. Her intellect often surfaced when he caught snippets of her conversation with Hafsa, sparking in him an unknown desire to stay and listen. The way she walked, stood, carried herself...all far detached from the usual parameters of established ladylike-ness, yet, coming from her seemed perfect and regal. Had it been anyone else doing everything she did, Ayaan Ibrahim would have put it down as clumsy, awkward, weird and funny.

But not Sidra. Going home after meeting Hamza, Ayaan had mulled over and over and over again what that sudden flutter of his heart meant. Why did it feel right to follow her without an invitation? Why did it elate him that she mentioned him at home? Strange.

Unable to draw a sound conclusion, he had told it all to his Rabb and left it in His Hands to keep his heart and mind pure for the right person and stop it from wandering.
He promised himself that, if his trips to the library were costing him peace of mind and was becoming a potential doorway to sin- even by eyes- he would quit it for Allah. Because nothing was ever worth angering Him in the slightest for.