Hana & Hanaan | ✓

Chapter 08

"Oh hello, mister—" Zimal cries out. "Hana does not use Instagram. Period. Even if she did let's suppose so for a while, she would never talk to boys—"

He smirks now. "Ah, I know that. She's a little windflower isn't she?"

I arch my brow as high as possible. "Excuse me?"

"The starry, fragile windflower—" he speaks soft and slow with a smile "—poised above in airy grace, virgin white, suffused with blushes, shyly droops her lovely face." He raises his cup to me before taking another sip. "You like poetry, don't you? Maya Angelou's Still I Rise and Caged Bird are your favourites. Am I wrong?"

Faria glances between him and me. Zimal's eyes are wide and Nashwa is gagging in my earpiece with a lot of foul cursing.

"I like some poetry myself." His eyes flash again with a mischievous glint. "I was holding onto that piece until we actually met, it holds a sweeter taste to see you flushed like that."

My heart is beating in my ribcage. He is confident. Did I judge too soon?

"—he is smooth! But he wasn't on Instagram. Could it be your angel baby face making him a lover in real time or did he as I fear, come prepared—"

I clear my throat loudly, I need not pretend to be horrified, it is painted all across my face. "You're crossing a line here—"

"Pardon." His eyes are smiling with victory. "I did not mean to offend you at all but I was a bit offended at you refusing to recognise me. I mean, all those elaborate discussions on your favourite TV shows. I'll be a little blunt, your anime does not at all fascinate me but I kept up with it. One must accept the rose along with its thorns and I admire your petals deeply—" his eyes leisurely rake up and down me "—the least you could do to reciprocate that is to value our—"

"—run, Hana. We were wrong about him, run—"

I laugh inwardly. Nashwa can't even see the way he's looking at me, the way he must be looking at me after photoshopping my pictures on nude bodies—

"You didn't mention your background, mister." Faria's eyes have not eased from their perusal. "Are you a literature graduate and if so, what brings you to a more practical crowd like this?" She circles her index finger in the air.

"—this barbie is smart—"

Waheed laughs, already his looks are unnerving me, his deep laughter echoes in my head now. As pointy as he is, he still possesses a grace that was not there in Taha Muhammad. Taha Muhammad was boyish, rebellious, looked like a trouble maker. This man is a wicked daredevil.

"I'm a lawyer, new in the field but not naïve." He winks at me and I can feel the crown on my head slipping fast. "And Hana here, is training to be a doctor, congratulations on your result, I remember you telling me you were desperately hoping to get a top position on the board, did you get it at last?"

The humidity in the August air is replaced by January chills as Nashwa mutters a shit in my ear and I find Faria's scrutinising eyes on me instead. I find myself staring into accusing eyes, she's smart, she's questioning my intentions, my reactions, my absence at her party—

How can this man keep finding more ways to ruin me?

My entire composure, confidence and collusion all melt down my body. What do I say? Do I accept his Instagram story? How do I answer my friends then? How do I evade the question of the file? How do I reach Ahmad Mamu? What if Faria leaves in anger? What if I'm left alone with him? What if he tries actually touching me with his hands and no more with his eyes—?