The Exchange Student / English Version

2. Arrivals II

Zayn

The pilot informs us of the landing. After seven - hours of flight I'm glad to have solid ground under my feet again. I take my hand luggage and leave the plane. Cold London air hits me. I'm not dressed warmly enough. His hands are cold. I decide to buy warmer clothes in the next few days, to avoid getting sick right away. 

Excited, I go to the arrivals hall, search my luggage and enter the outdoor area. With an expectant look, I'm looking for my host parents, whom I know only from the photo. Unfortunately, I can't spot anyone. A single standing man holding a big sign in the air. My name is written on it. When he sees me he comes up to me.

 "Mr. Malik?" He asks. 

"Yes, sir, that's me," I answer politely. 

"My name is John, I'll pick you up and bring you to the Styles," he replies with a smile. 

I nod to him.

 "Did you have a pleasant flight?" He asks. 

"Oh, yes, I did." I say.

 Who is this John, I think. Then he takes my suitcases and we go to a dark car and drive away.

Through the tinted windows of the car the city rushes past me. London is full of life and hectic people. It is cold and raining. Typical English weather, I think. I've heard stories that it rains often around here. No comparison to the mild weather in Pakistan at this time of the year. 

The car turns left into a side street with nice houses are lined up like a chain. Everything is perfect . Not a speck of dust seems to lie on the paths. There are beautifully laid-out gardens . At some point we reach a wrought iron gate. We drive through it and are in a perfect place.

Harry

John enters the house and carries the heavy suitcases. We gather in the entrance hall and I'm curious. I had to stretch myself to see anybody. 

"Where is he, John?" I ask.

 "Harry, he's right behind me," he informs me. 

When John brings the luggage to the guest room, I spot a young man with raven hair and slightly tanned skin. He is a bit shorter than me and has hazel eyes. His clothes are old-fashioned. He wears a long, wide linen shirt over loose-fitting jeans. The newcomer looks insecure. He can't walk around London in those clothes, I think. 

My parents run up to him, hugging him. 

"Welcome to England, Zayn. Welcome in our family!", They say happily.

 "We are Anne and Robin, these are our children, Harry and Gemma!", 

They introduce us and point in our direction. They try to speak in a clear, intelligible voice that the exchange student understands them well. 

"Good Afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Styles, thank you for the warm welcome.", The young Pakistani speaks in fluent English. 

We are amazed. Then he comes to me and my sister and says:

 "I am glad to meet you, I hope we will get along well." 

We're standing there open-mouthed. None of us expected that. All expectations of having to talk with one's hands  are irrelevant. Maria hurries out of the kitchen and welcomes Zayn very warmly. 

"You must be hungry, young man. I have prepared a small snack." 

Then she takes him by the hand and pulls him into the kitchen. 

"So, my dears," my mother claps her hands, "we'll show Zayn his room later and lead him through the house." 

"You can do this, Harry," my dad adds. 

I roll my eyes. Why me? I hope I don't have to take care of him for the whole school year. I don't like it.