The Essence of Noah (Muslim story)

Letter

Since Noah finished his story and despite our 'deal' to continuing sharing stories, I haven't properly spoken to him. I think it's been just over a week, and other than subtle hellos here and there and neighbourly nods in passing, there hasn't been much interaction. I get that he's probably got a lot of work to get through for Uni, and being a third year student must make things more intense. I get it because I'm only in my second year and I'm barely keeping up with anything. I have my midterms coming up in a few weeks and I haven't even started going through my notes from week one. I don't even remember if I took notes in week one.

Sighing I stand from my scattered mess of lecture print outs, text books, pad paper and Gib, that I have accumulated since this morning and head to the kitchen. For the first time since moving into my apartment, the floorboards seem too cold for even my liking. Now that summer has officially surrendered itself to autumn, the breeze outside is much cooler and less humid; I've even brought my cardies to the front of my wardrobe and pushed my lighter shirts to the back. All due to procrastination of course - instead of studying I decided it fit to reorganise my clothes in seasonal order.

I fill the kettle with tap water and let it boil on the stand as I turn to my slowly wilting sun flower. I'm convinced Evan has jinxed me; before he commented on my plant keeping abilities it was doing just fine, but the moment he opened his mouth the flower has been dying. I take it out of its makeshift vase and throw it in the bin. Mum would probably disapprove of my actions and suggest I start a compost bin on the balcony to be more environmentally friendly.

The kettle whistles and I make myself a warm cuppa, bopping my Lipton tea bag in my mug to create a dark red solution. This is probably my third mug this morning, but my mind seems to decide that it's better to waste time making shai than actually study. I brush my frizzled curls over my head as I pad softly bag to my living area mess. As I place my mug on the wobbly table, I notice movement on the balconies outside and gaze towards it.

Noah's out. His back is to me and he seems to be on the phone, but nonetheless, I feel somewhat excited about seeing him out on the balcony after so long. I've had hardly anyone to talk to in person since Evan left, and my last chat with Noah. In a way, I think the cause of my procrastination, is the lack of company. Right now, I wouldn't even mind having Albi around.

I stare at Noah's back as he leans his forearms on the banister and looks down, his body tilting forward as he does. I hold my breath is I shift my gaze to the frail banister he's leaning his weight on, and internally pray I don't witness his death. Noah pushes off it, and steps back, turning around and staring into is apartment. From where he stands, I'm not sure whether he can see into my apartment, and I contemplate whether I should get up again and find myself a scarf. My decision however, is confirmed when Noah angles his body towards my balcony.

I stand, my pyjama pant clad legs knock against the side of the rickety table and some of my shai splashes and spills onto the surface. I purse my lips tightly to stop from huffing and head silently to my room. I find a scarf and wrap it around my head pinlessly, though when I return to the living area and look out at the balcony, Noah is gone. Sighing, I sit on a cushion and lean against Gib, and despite not knowing why, I can't help but feel disappointed that I didn't speak to Noah.

~*~

More days pass and the only company I have is my own and Gibs. I take back what I said about Evan being a terrible souvenir giver. His gift has honestly done me well and even though he's lost a bit of weight and started to deflate I genuinely appreciate his silent company.

I get ready for my morning lecture and head out, though as I do, I secretly hope Noah has an early class to get to and we can walk together. I take the stairs at a sluggish pace, and when I reach the landing my hopes are once again punctured by a deserted landing. The mailboxes where by Noah usually stands in the mornings is vacant, and I sigh dejectedly as I readjust my backpack and head over to my mailbox.