BECOMING MRS BUGAJE (COMPLETED, 2019)

CHAPTER 8: THE NOTEBOOK (PART ONE)

"Mama, I was just asking for a friend, you've already chosen Accounting for me, so relax." 

That night she overheard her mother telling her father about "the irrational direction" his daughter was pursuing. Her father had snorted and that was all. That was how the conversation had ended. With it, her potential of living out her dream of becoming a writer flushed down the drain.

But the passion was ingrained in her. So, Maryam only wrote when they turned in at night or when her parents were not at home. On some nights, she would read the stories out to Zubaida for corrections.  Surayya liked to listen in too so she could get more ideas for when the right time came according to her. Nafeesah was her biggest critic.

Maryam was so engrossed in words and letters, feelings so raw and deep, she had lost the sense of time and sense of bearings. She missed seeing someone come over to her when she heard a gasp, her head tilted to work a knot in her stiff neck, dismissing the sound. 

The second time she heard the movement, she jolted out of her chair, hugging her laptop with her, her notebook fell to the floor. Now it lay at the feet of 'the King' himself. 

"Ya Allah! What are you doing out at this hour?!"

Maryam looked around as if in search of whom Mubarak was speaking to. Then her eyes returned to him.   

"I was writing."

"Can't you write in your room, or in the balcony? There are eight living rooms and lounge areas, six corridors and more rooms inside the house, yet  you couldn't find a spot to write something on a laptop until you step out at 12 a.m?"

Maryam rolled her eyes upwards, shaking her head. She got it, he lived in a house five times the size of a  football field, he needed not to remind her of that. 

"Ever needed air so baaad?"

Mubarak stood stoic, he had his eyes fixed on her. He knew that feeling but he wasn't going to talk weather or feelings with her for that matter. 

"You know that hair-lifting-cool-on-the-skin breeze? That was what I needed. And words were itching to come out of my head, so I got a chance to join the two and I did."

He scrutinized her from head to heel, with the black jilbab and the grey scarf she was wearing he didn't see anywhere some breeze would breeze through her. "You are covered in hijaab, I see no hair lifting going on here."

She turned her eyes up, and they caught the light of the gazebo, making them sparkle brightly. They almost looked grey. A jolt of shock hit him, it felt like this was the first time he was seeing her eyes. 

Mubarak was used to the hazel of his brother's eyes, but Maryam's eyes weren't hazel, they weren't brown or even black. They were... different, unique. A touch of calmness that belied her feisty personality. 

He would have to see them in the morning to find out what colour they were. 

"You are such a buzz kill. What are you doing out at 12 a.m. outside the comfort of your mansion?" Her question took Mubarak out of his scrutiny. 

Good question. Yeah, what was he doing out at 12 am and not in his bed, like every normal human? 

He had no idea. He just knew he couldn't sleep and he had to get some air. He needed some air. His eyes went back to her Laptop, she was hugging it to herself as if holding on to dear life, whatever was in there was really important to her. 

And he would like to see what was so important to a crazy girl like her. Now that his curiosity was piqued, he had to find out. It may even be therapeutic to his mind, while listening to her rambling her crazy story, he may even get exhausted and would fall asleep right when his head hit his pillow. That was not a bad idea.