Baggage & Boarding

5- the woman at the bar

Image of the setting on top

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Zarah used to think that she had an unmatched bladder made of steel. It was one of the things she had picked up as a former teacher. However, the guy next to her apparently had one made of vibranium or a piece of Captain America's shield or something.

It had been hours since they had taken off (the food trolley had passed by twice now) and she was still pretending to be asleep in order to avoid talking to the guy next to her. Some Gryffindor she was. 

She had acted all brave in talking to him but couldn't tell him to stop with all the staring when he turned his attention to her. She should just give up her red-and-gold robes now.

Her plan had been to wait until he either fell asleep or headed to the bathroom and then she would sneak out to the bar/restaurant area upfront. However, it seemed that she was going to have to woman up and walk out while he was awake. Hopefully, he wouldn't follow.

He couldn't be that creepy. Right?

Stretching, Zarah grabbed her phone, a small pillbox, and an ornately-decorated little pouch. She stood up and glanced at the tall-and-slender man who was smiling at her broadly.

"Excuse me," she muttered with a nervous little smile. Please don't be a total weirdo, she silently pleaded with the man.

"Uh, yeah, sorry." He retracted his long limbs, allowing her to pass.

She shuffled ahead, eyes on her feet, then turned left and disappeared past the curtain. Zarah let out a shaky breath when it flustered closed behind her. She could speak in front of thousands of people easily, but dealing with men that made her throat constrict and her chest tighten seemed impossible. It brought up long-buried memories of a dark alley and an unwelcome, reaching hand.

Opening up the door to the bathroom, Zarah quickly stepped inside. She glanced at the tiny stall in the corner. She only had to use the in-plane shower once, years ago when her younger brother Emir had an upset stomach and her sweatshirt hood was easier to reach than the provided barf bag. Smiling genuinely at the thought of her brother (who never quite lived that one down), she turned to look at herself in the full-length mirror.

She ran her hands over her tired face and her curly hair. Her first stop in Moscow would be the salon. Though she was slowly trying to convince her babushka that curly hair was beautiful, she was only staying in Russia for two weeks this time and she didn't want to waste it arguing. She'd let her hair be free again when she went to visit her nene and gedo in Egypt afterward.

Having a diverse but tight-knit family could be tiring but it was definitely rewarding.

Zarah chuckled as she briefly recalled the 'Family Tree' project that she had done in elementary school. The teacher had handed out the paper at the beginning of the day. By dismissal time, Zarah had the assignment done and placed on the teacher's desk.

"Oh no, Zarah," old Mrs. Murphy had said, "this is a research project, you need to go home and ask your parents about your family tree!"

"But I already know it all, see," she insisted, pointing at the filled out diagram.

Indeed, 5th-grade had Zarah managed to complete every single blank, all the way back to her great-grandparents' names and countries of origin. Her ancestry wasn't just in her long name - Zarah Gamal Yusuf Zakariyah Yusuf Ra'ed Alaa Abraham - which she could recite perfectly by age 6; it was told through stories at dinner time and displayed as pictures in her home. Her heritage was in the four languages she already knew besides English and on the trips she took every year to visit her grandparents. It certainly wasn't something that she had to interview someone to find out.