Other Side

14 | Keeping Warm

"I don't think keeping you safe and warm breaks any moral codes," he said, shrugging. "But if it conflicts with your own, I'll just go back to sleep now. Ma'a salama." With a goodbye, he turned to his right side and threw his head down onto a pile of pillows, releasing an exaggerated sigh.

You little—

No more than ten seconds later, the mattress dipped, and Talia settled into the empty half of his bed. He rolled onto his back and looked her stiff body up and down. Feeling even more bashful, she pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her head on them, refusing to crawl under his sheets.

"I'm only here because I legitimately believe my room is being haunted," she said, looking away, "or else I would've left."

"Oh, for sure," he taunted, resting one arm on the pillow space above his head. "Because of your strong ethics, that is, right?"

She grabbed a stray pillow from the end of his bed and whacked his arm. "Ikhras," she hissed. "You're pushing it now."

"Was that the first time you willingly spoke Arabic with me?" His voice rose with merriment, and she rolled her eyes. "I mean, I'd have appreciated a more tasteful phrase than 'shut up,' but I suppose I can make do."

"Maybe I would speak more if I knew you wouldn't make fun of my 'cute little American accent.'"

"I wouldn't make fun of you," he said. "I mean, I might laugh, but it would all be in jest, of course."

"Of course." She mimicked him in a deep baritone and hit him with the pillow again. He grabbed it from her hand mid-air and threw it to the ground on the other side of the bed, making her jaw fall slack. "Okay, rude. That pillow was keeping me warm, Zaid."

"I could keep you warm." A moment passed between those suggestive words and the surprise on his face, leaving them basking in amused silence. He tore his face away. "Never mind—forget I said that."

Fighting a smile, she held his face and turned it back to her. "Really, Zaid?"

"Really," he murmured and pulled her hand away from his cheek. He kept it in his and ran his fingers over her icy-cold ones, face contorting as he did so. "You feel like an icicle, Talia. At least cover yourself with the blanket." Watching as she sat frozen, he sighed and added, "For yourself, not me."

She nodded, knowing her fleece pullover was no longer cutting it at this point. She gripped the edge of the comforter and tucked herself underneath, now feeling the warmth of his body emanating under the bedsheets. Almost two feet still separated them, the two feet that encompassed the last of her wavering moral code.

She hugged the pillow under her head and eyed him in the dark. "Can I ask you a question, Zaid?"

"What?"

"Do you want to sleep...or talk?" She could make out his white-toothed smile in the dark, already knowing his answer.

"We can talk now," he said, adjusting his position on the mattress. "Only because you won't let me sleep the way I want to."

"Okay." She tried to make out every one of his beautiful features in the dark, but it simply wasn't possible. Eventually, she figured if she couldn't see them, she could at least feel them; so, she reached out a hand and cupped his face again, running her thumb down his cheekbone. When he stilled, she almost pulled her hand away, halted only by the small, complacent sigh escaping his lips. "I remember that night in the kitchen a few weeks ago, you asked me a simple question. Why are you here? I now realize a question of a different sort applies to you. Why weren't you here from before?"

"Here where?" he asked, leaning more into her touch. "In this bed with you...or in this country?"

"In this country," she said, running her thumb over the edge of his mouth, where it just grazed his soft bottom lip. Thoughts of how nice it would be to kiss him infiltrated her mind, of how much more carnal it would feel with their faces obscured but bodies so close. "Why didn't you get your dream?"

"Because it was beyond me," he sighed, looking away. He paused for a few moments, losing himself in his thoughts. "I mean, it once wasn't. I once had every detail of my stupid, cookie-cutter life planned. The hard classes, the hours of SAT practice, sucking up to college counselors from abroad, all while practicing for hours every after school to have a chance at a spot on an Ivy League soccer team. Everything I ever did revolved around this mythical college experience in America—one that probably existed more in my head than anything."

Her hand fell to the mattress. "Does it feel pointless now?"

He nodded and looked over her head, into another oblivion. "It felt pointless the moment I realized I only had seventeen years with my father, and I spent half of them dreaming about a piece of paper. After watching him die before my eyes... I don't know how I passed eleventh grade, let alone gave a shit about the future." A shuddering breath racked his chest, lodging itself somewhere in his throat and enveloping his voice in bitterness. "But hey, life still goes on, right? Even when you have no clue how the hell to catch up anymore."

She slid her hand down his chest, thuds of his heart reminding her life had gone on, but at least so had he. "What do you regret the most?"

"Hope," he said, voice thick from unshed tears. He dragged a hand over his forehead, edges of his fingertips just seeming to sweep his undereyes. "I regret being so goddamn hopeful. I spent every waking minute I could with my father; because some naïve part of my brain thought that maybe he wouldn't pass away. That at least if I put my life on hold, maybe I'd have him for the future. But now..." He swallowed a gulp and stared at the fuzzy ceiling. "Now I don't have a dad, and I didn't get my stupid dream. So what was the point? Maybe my brother Saif did it the right way. He accepted our father was going to die, so he started planning, for working at the firm, managing our assets, filling in at family gatherings. All while he got his life together, mine fucking fell apart, because I was stuck in my baseless fantasies."

"But it's because you feel, Zaid," she whispered, connecting their hands. "You might put on this pompous front, but you have such a good heart for people, the same one I'm sure you had for your father." After a quiet moment, she remembered the reverence for the dead. "Allah yerhamo."

The silence continued. Maybe she had overstepped her boundaries asking him those questions. She had no right to know so much about his life—if this even was so much.

Maybe it was just enough.

"No one has ever told me that before."

Then I'm so glad to be the first.

She couldn't ponder the thought when two arms tugged her backwards and trapped her against a warm chest, planting an even warmer feeling in the pit of her stomach. Layers of blankets had nothing on being trapped in the hold of a stronger male, one who knew exactly what he was doing when tucked his head into the bend of her neck and fanned his breath across her ear.

"Zaid, wait."

"Shh," he coaxed, holding her tighter. "Let me keep you warm."

So she let him.