A week flew past and our new tenant's destined arrival was not mentioned by name, other than my mother forcing me to do bizarre chores like cleaning the house, even after I reminded her that 'these hands don't do manual labour'.
She however was not convinced.
Even after I reminded her that if she wished to influence anyone (Zain) with our lifestyle, it would be beneficial..for him ofcourse.. to witness us in our natural habitat. Dirty laundry and all. Hell, if he can't accept us without vaccumed carpets, than maybe he doesn't deserve to live here anyways. Also, if one wishes to discipline, maybe having the delinquent (Zain) clean our house would help build his character! Hard work benefits everyone right? We get a clean house, he gets a clean conscience and I'm spared from aberrantly clean room.
We all win!
Astonishingly she still was not convinced ( I was then reminded of my future wifey obligations and sent to clean the kitchen)
As resentful as I was of the comfort I'd have to reliquish for guy who probably boasted about having 'swag'. His arrival incited an oblique cloud of apprehension within me, I struggled to confront the idea that I had no idea what you even attempt to expect.
* * * *
I sat in class, resting my chin on the palm of my hand as I leaned forwards on my elbow attempting to convince my brain that calculus was easier than memorising surah Kausar.As detrimental as it was to my education, I programmed my brain to interpret the consistent droning of my maths teacher as a lullaby.
Maths was now an alternative to the extra 60 minutes of bonding time I should have had with my bed. And oh was it blissful!
As usual, I reached the peak of exhustion and my brain was just about to finish the process of switching off when..
Abruptly, the buzz of conversation halted, the rhythm of equations the teacher was sprouting was now replaced with
''...a new student joining us''
Every trace of fatigue disappated as I whipped my head up and consequently locked eyes with a pair of noticeably brooding,darker ones. Eyes are the windows to your soul', I was never truly able to appreciate that aptness of the sentiment until those eyes managed to deliver such an intensity of troubled confusion suffusing across to me. That it was disorienting.
YOU ARE READING
'That unorthodox kind of love' - A muslim love story
Teen FictionWhen a figure from Arin's childhood walks through her front door, she has no idea that her sanity is about to unravel before her eyes. Forced to live with him, personalities clash and history looms but as they get closer they realize how deceptive...
