Under the Olive Tree

1. Wahid

She placed the book on her pillow and sat up in bed. "Auntie."

"I have news."

"Baba's taking me back?"

She raised her finger. "No, but this could be better, depending on your answer. You have a marriage proposal."

Amani's eyes widened.

"Farouq, the son of that family at the end of our street, he's seen you around town and is interested in you. He's a very smart boy. I think he's going for some sort of engineering degree right now and he's nearly finished. Do you know him?"

The boy she'd seen more than once at the hookah café on the main road. The boy who, though he wasn't ugly, always stared at her a little too hard in passing. She definitely knew him.

"Good, so I don't need to show you his picture," her Aunt tucked the phone back into her lap. "What do you think?"

Amani blinked. "Auntie," she shook her head.

"No?"

"No."

"OK, that's OK," her Aunt nodded, but Amani could see the disappointment in the dimple between her eyebrows. "There are other boys and you're a lovely girl. I'll tell them it's a no then."

Amani dropped back onto her pillow and sighed. She'd only been here for two weeks and the marriage proposals were rolling through. If she wasn't careful, her father might find someone to marry her off to. Amani already had someone to marry. All she needed to do was go back home where he was waiting for her.

She picked up her phone and scrolled through her contacts until she found the name he'd given himself. Just the thought of him holding her phone, her hand, and looking into her eyes warmed her heart no matter how distant and impossible it seemed now.

He was her Romeo and she was Juliet.

They'd have to die to be together.

She sighed and stepped into the balcony to peer out at the empty street below. It was unusual to see a whole town dormant at a certain time at night. Amani was used to life in every part of the day. For the most part, she enjoyed the peace and gentle breeze of the darkness.

In front of her, homes that were one or two levels stretched in the town, all their lights turned off. In the distance, one television could be heard throughout the entire area. The main street a few houses in front of her was surrounded by closed stores and, when she looked closer, Amani saw two dogs chasing each other in the empty road.

Then one light opened and drew her attention to the perpendicular neighborhood at the right end of her street just as the windows opened. It was the bread boy—that was his home. He didn't see her so Amani watched him step back into the room and lean down. When he appeared again, he was carrying a young boy in his arms, adjusting his head onto his shoulder.

She turned her body to watch him whisper something to the boy who had to be six or seven. He ran his hands over his head and down his back, soothing the upset child back to sleep.

Amani watched for ten minutes, twenty, thirty, until she grew restless by his stillness. She closed her balcony door and dressed herself in a long black abaya, going for a walk would be a better pastime than waiting for her uncoordinated sleep schedule to adjust.

Her aunt and uncle were asleep as she slipped out, making her way down the street, and following a trail of footsteps from earlier that morning. The wind was cool against her neck and legs, blowing through the material of the long dress. She walked through the dimly lit street until her feet led her to the grape gardens.