The Essence of Noah (Muslim story)

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Noah stares at me and angles his mouth to the side as we sit in silence. It's already quite dark out, with the last pink stripes fading into the darkest shade of violet that blends into the night.

As we sit, I can feel Noah focusing on me but I can't bring myself to look at him without feeling embarrassed. If it was Evan sitting opposite me and staring, I would have told him to 'quit it' and would have stared back equally if not with a more menacing gaze that would have him shaking his head and turning away. However, Noah isn't Evan, nor is the way he stares. His gaze seems more intriguing, one of inquisition that lingers more so on the crown of my head where my scarf covers my hair. The sensation of being stared at isn't one that I like, leaving me to uncomfortably fidget inwardly as a blush traitorously appears on my face.

"So you're fluent in Arabic." Noah reclines back on his palms, his hair dangling over his forehead as he continues to peer at me.

"There's room for improvement." He chuckles as I shrug.

"Say something," I begin to shake my head, "C'mon, anything." I bite the inside of my cheek as he persists. It's not that I don't know how to speak Arabic, but being put on the spot to say something stupid like 'salam' or 'ana ismi Hana' – which he probably already knows – just seems embarrassing.

Noah raises his eyebrows as he waits expectantly. "What should I say?"

"Say something about you." He pushes his hair from his forehead and shifts slightly.

"What's the point? You won't know what I'm saying." Noah shrugs as I mimic his reclining position and swing my dangling legs slowly.

"I just want to hear it."

"I could insult you." He laughs lightly and I smile.

"I'm pretty sure I can take it. What do they say? Ignorance is bliss?" I smile wider as he speaks. "Go on, say something."

"Al mowdou hatha moumil owy."

"What does it mean?" I laugh this time as he smiles and refrain from saying 'I told you so'.

"This is pointless." Noah joins me in chuckling briefly before he speaks again.

"Do you speak Arabic a lot at home?"

"Here and there with Baba." Noah nods. "Do you speak anything other than English?"

"Nah. I'm pretty sure my ancestors are German somewhere down the line, but I don't speak it."

"Fair enough."

For a while longer neither of us speak. It's gotten significantly darker out now, with only the outdoor lamps and moon providing vague lighting. It's cold as well, with occasional gusts of wind blowing around us and squeezing through the space between our balconies. My hanging toes have gone numb and my lips are dry and chaffing.

"We should call it a night." Noah suggests as he sits up and brings his hands in his lap.

"Yeah." I nod and slide back to pull my legs out from between the banisters.

"I'll see you around." I nod again as I stand and slowly make my way into my apartment. Through my peripheral vision I see Noah do the same before I hear the sound of his door locking.

~*~

The weekend passed in a blur or lethargy, study and preparation for mum's visit. I spent Saturday sprawled on the living area floor in my pyjamas, note taking and graffiting my textbooks with fluorescent highlighters and annotations. Sunday, still in my pyjamas, I managed to organise my books on the living room shelves and clear the living area floor to make it somewhat presentable. I perched Gibbo up too. He's a bit skinnier still and barely sits up right but I know mum will like him, so he stays.