From Aliya to Hafiz

Fifteen

Aliya.

The following day was a Friday.

As usual, the sky was a vivid blue, the air rippling with promised sunshine and heat unique to Fridays. Knowing there were men in the house, I dressed modestly in a loose long-sleeved dress and wrapped a veil around my head, before making my way downstairs.

When I opened my door, the door opposite mine also opened. My gaze clashed with orange orbs, his eyes weren't actually orange, they just appeared that way when light fell on them.

I noticed yesterday.

Speaking of yesterday, I could vaguely sense something was wrong with him. There was this air around him and a look in his eyes that seemed to scream 'drained.' That was the only reason I ignored him and let him be.

He looked somewhat pitiful.

But like they say, a pitiful person must have a hateful side. And this man in front of me had many hateful points, a literal walking red flag.

"Morning," he yawned. His hair was all over the place, his pyjamas creased and messy.

He still looked nice though, tsk.

"Sabahul khair," I said in spite, just to stump him.

"Sabahul noor," he mumbled, walking past me.

"You speak Arabic!?" I trailed after him, shocked.

"I have family in Saudi," was his reply.

"Wait, you entered Mecca!?"

"Even went to see the prophet's grave too," he muttered a reply, stopping on the first step to look back at me.

"You...I think your father has to fast for forgiveness."

"Hm?"

I walked past him and continued down the stairs. "Taking a khafir to Mecca, that's not done. It isn't allowed."

"Don't you all ever get fucking tired?" He sneered, sounding annoyed.

"Tired of what?"

"Forget it, I don't want to push you down this damn stairs."

I froze mid-step, creakily turning to stare at him. "I don't think it's nice for me to take the lead, a woman should never walk in front of a man. It's not ethical," I asserted.

His brows furrowed, looking bewildered.

"Really, I'm an advocate of 'men are leaders and women are followers.' So please, after you," I stepped aside, a hairsbreadth away from bowing in the waist.

His confusion cleared and his eyes shined in mirth. He stepped down to the stairs I stood and gazed down at me before smirking. "No, you first. Promise I won't push."

I took a step back, shivering in alarm. "Y-you go first. I insist!"

He laughed out loud, raising his hand, to which I flinched, and settling it on my scarf-covered head. The weight of his hand was light yet firm, feeling more pronounced when he rubbed my head a bit heavily.

"Why are you so cute, Aliya," he smiled a bright genuine smile. He had this small dip by the side of his lower lip that looked like a tiny dimple.

I was mesmerized.

Wide-eyed, I pushed him away and ran down the stairs, willing my conical hollow muscular blood blood-bumping organ to not pick up speed. Increased blood flow was equal to increased flusteredness (if that was even a word.)

The butterflies in the makings though disintegrated without a trace when I reached the bottom of the stairs. Multiple pairs of eyes landed on me, and subsequently, Hafiz, who stood behind me.