The Flying Dreams

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

"How did it go?"

Shifa grinned, the fine lines around her eyes deepened and she scrunched her nose. Ignoring my question, she just shook her head and went straight to the kitchen, the shadow of her previous smile still playing around her lips and I, with a religious determination to know about her exam as soon as I could, followed closely behind, my stomach coiling into a tight knot in nervousness and my eyes keenly traced the movement of her hand as she opened the fridge's door and took out the leftover bowl of kheer. I had made her some in the morning before she left at 7 AM for her entrance test and did not believe she would be hungry after just 5 hours. She had, after all, eaten three huge bowls and drank two cups of tea and I had to stop her from making another cup right before the clock hit 6:30. A mistake, apparently. She shouldn't be fed anything at all. Especially not kheer, if her overzealous demeanour right before a test that would be deciding her future was any indication.

She wiggled her brows and brought the bowl near her nose, sniffing before facing me. It didn't take me any time to realize what she was doing. The trick of dilly-dallying worked too fine, and I almost clawed my own skin with impatience. But again, that was the first time I had seen her being so light-hearted and a part of me wondered if there happen to be any other reason for this sudden burst of playfulness.

"I thought of this the whole time I spent in the examination hall."

I gave a curt nod and watched her take another sniff. The kheer wasn't even that good, I had forgotten to soak rice beforehand and they felt a little sluggish. I couldn't eat more than three spoons.

"Would you make it on the merit list?"

Somehow, after she confessed to being frightened that she might not be able to study further because of the finance, her getting into the hostel programme felt more important than anything at that moment. Even more than my phone conversation with my mother, which I had cut short as soon as I heard the door open. And yes, there was a selfish motive behind the action, but I refused to feel bad about it. Ummi only told me what I already knew, nothing of interest or new. Wahab had called before her, stating how crowded his home had become and how his mother forced him to sleep on the sofa in the living room. I had to force a laugh and produce a few teasing words, which he, thankfully, found hilarious.

I wouldn't deny the fact: I had kept my eyes glued to the clock and in the afternoon prayer Shifa's name passed through my lips enough times that I lost count. Like a circle, I started from one and kept coming back to her. Her name had so impeccably melted into my prayer, and I didn't dare question it. I knew the fear of living someone else's life but never did I think that someone like Shifa would be burdened with it, too.

Shifa bowed her head and grabbed a spoon from the drawer, "I hope so. The exam was, well-" pausing, she scooped a spoonful of kheer and exaggeratedly shut her eyes as if that freezing dessert with soggy rice was the best thing she had ever tasted, "-easier than I had anticipated."

"So, you'll pass?"

"Absolutely," she said, friskily and with a swift motion, turned back. I watched her smile fade slowly into a small frown, and she shook her head, her voice only a soft whisper, "Adia."

I could not explain in words or in anything, really, why I decided to cry. It was not intentional or even welcomed. She had just spent 3 hours inside an examination hall, come home in transportation where getting a seat was a luxury and there, I stood— weeping. For no certain reason, the tears just flowed out of nowhere, a fact which further shocked me into more sobs. A scold bubbled inside my chest to scream at myself but the only things I mustered out were more tears and a pitiful long thread of sobs. And I tried to stop, pressing the heel of my palm to my mouth, and shut my eyes, hoping that I would stop humiliating myself further in front of her. Instead, the sobs turned more violent and a blurry image of Shifa moved. I heard the sound of her steps but couldn't look up again.

Her index finger touched my cheek first, cool from holding the frosty steel bowl for too long, and hesitant in wiping the wet trail on my skin. She sighed my name again and took a step closer, her hand tugged on my arms and my face settled on the side of her shoulder, the mild fragrance of her floral perfume travelled down my nerves, caressing the tensed walls and I heaved another sob. Shifa's hand moved from my head to the bottom of my spine and every time her touch made contact with the exposed skin on my neck, a shiver went down my whole body and I allowed myself the comfort of her embrace for a short period. Her shoulder rose and fell at a steady pace and with each second passing, I felt her hands on my back pressing me further into her. I knew she could feel my racing heartbeat and for once it didn't scare me into a sudden separation from her. It didn't make sense. How could I be crying and feeling so at ease at the same time?

"All fine?"

I nodded and wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand and took a step back, untangling my left arm from her neck and Shifa, too moved backwards. Surprisingly, no shame or embarrassment crawled up. The only thing I felt was— oddly enough, calmness.

Shifa gave me a long look and finally, after a good minute of inspecting my face, nodded. She didn't ask any questions, and just grabbed her bowl of kheer and glanced at something behind me, "I bought a new t-shirt. There was a flea market near the station."

And just as unexpectedly, a laugh escaped my mouth, "Try it on, then."

"Actually," her grin returned, and I didn't like the mischievous gleam in her eyes, "I was thinking that you do it."

"No."

"Come on, Adia! You would never get a chance."

I sniffled, wiped the remnants of the sudden outburst and shook my head, "No. I've never worn a t-shirt and I am not going to start now. I do not want the chance," I made sure the emphasis on the chance appeared vibrant.

She made a face and walked hurriedly toward the sofa, where she had dropped her bag on the floor. I hooked my elbows in front of my stomach and watched her take out a white polythene. I could not understand why I cried or why I felt so weightless right after like a soaked sack of salt had been dropped off my shoulders. I crossed the distance in a few steps and stood behind the sofa, right across her and she leaned one leg against it, bending her torse in my direction. Shifa made a whole show of flattening the fabric and holding it out to me with a stupid raise of brows.

"See? It's lavender. Not quite," one-shoulder shrug and she added, "but close."

"Lavender is your favourite colour, not mine."

I had meant to match her tone, but I might have done an awful job. Her face stilled for a second before her eyes dropped to my lips so momentarily and yet so certain that my throat ran dry in an instant and on basic human instinct, I ran the tip of my tongue over my lips. My eyes still waiting for Shifa's and when she did ascend her gaze to keep me in place, my breath had been caged somewhere in my chest and my heartbeat rang in my ears. My whole face felt like the scorching sun of late July. I tried to hold her stare but when her eyes roamed all over my face in a slow, almost lazy motion once again, I couldn't take it and bowed my head, finding a new place on the floor to stare at and heard Shifa take in a breath.

"That was the only reason why I asked. It's my favourite colour and," her words got lost and I didn't look up until I sensed her leaning away from the sofa.