Hibaaq had awoken from an uncomfortable sleep, sweaty and umber skin striped with sleep lines. Her bones shook and cracked noisily as she stretched out the length of her body against her mattress, her ears simultaneously picking up the thrumming of muffled and yet loud voices through the walls. She perked up on her bed, resting her hands on the spot she had been warming all night long. "Aabo?" She croaked, hoarsely, knowing if she had called out to him loud enough he'd be able to hear her from his study directly below her bedroom. Although, her voice came out crackly like tires on gravel stone, she had not the energy nor urgency to raise her voice above it's current level.
When she finally got out of bed to see what the fuss was all about, a warning breeze caressed her neck, only then did she remember her hijab. Hibaaq kissed her teeth at her carelessness. She looked for anything to cover head before settling for a towel, neglected in a corner.
Her father rarely ever raised his voice, whether it was at her or anyone else. Hibaaq was certain it was his booming voice that she could hear and it worried her deeply. Warsame was not an angry man, ironically for he was also a businessman who dealt with men of that nature almost everyday. She treaded down a couple of steps as she strained her ears before soon realising she didn't have to. Their voices were as clear as it could get, as if they were sitting right beside her on the staircase. Hibaaq then registered how thin the walls really were in their home. Surely, it wasn't as if she were eavesdropping if she could hear the presumed argument anywhere she stood in the house. She wondered about the businessman who had the gall to cause her father to react this way, what he could have possibly said or done to make Warsame Cali raise his tone above his warm inviting one.
"Ercole!"
The name drop caused her to release a small gasp. Why on earth was he the receiving end of her father's wrath. Hibaaq listened on.
...
"That man can't be trusted Ercole, he could be playing a sick joke for all we know. Trust me, I've seen the way he plots." Said Warsame, grasping at his greying coils. He paced around the small area behind his work desk, worried and yet vexed. Worried for he didn't want to see Ercole hurt, and vexed for he couldn't stand Marco Rossi's treacherous stunts. He was the type of man to betray his own flesh and blood if it meant upholding his beloved empire. Whether he was planning to ship Ercole off to a desolate land or force him to marry an old mob leader's middle aged daughter, the man could not be trusted. "Why after all these years" —- Warsame paused, shaking his head, not wanting to speak too ill mannered about Ercole's father, it wasn't right no matter the prejudices he had.
"I'm not a child he can blindly trick, Warsame. I can handle it," Ercole remarked calmly, easing his worn out voice. "You fret too much, it'll be alright," He then reassured, exhausted. If he could sleep the day away he would, but there was no time for such leisure. As they had their doubts, his father remained bed ridden. "Besides, he sounded really bad the last time he rang, I've waited long enough," Ercole rose from his seat on the leather armchair with his mind made up. Though, his father was a force not to be reckoned with, in the end, he was still his father. As opposed to a drop of blood in the vast ocean, blood was seldom thicker than water.
Warsame breathed out tiredly, this battle he knew, he lost. "I understand, just know you are always welcome back here, son," His voice was devoid of the vexation he felt prior, although defeated, it slowly returned to its warm smoothness. "I'm sorry for the way I acted," He said lowly, rubbing at the heavy fatigue in his eyelids. He had been awake with not so much as a wink of sleep since the past morning, taking care of his sickly mother all the hours of the night before her quick discharge since she refused to stay any longer. Suddenly, Warsame felt even more distraught to be opposing Ercole to go see how his father was faring, wrongfully, as he out of all people should've known the wretchedness of having a frail parent. So unlike their usual selves, barely standing on their two feet. Marco was a callous and unrelenting man, sure, but he was still a parent. Warsame mentally scolded himself for overreacting the way he did.
"It's fine, I can't express how much I appreciate your concern, sir," Replied Ercole, his stalwart back supported by the door frame. Warsame smiled, making his way over to embrace him, catching the young man off guard as Ercole wrapped his arms around his shoulders.
"It's been a year, son, you can drop the formalities," Warsame laughed as he pulled away, leaving a firm slap on Ercole's arm. He gazed earnestly upon him, feeling his chest swell up from absolute adoration. Having never had such a look in a eye from his own father, Ercole swallowed down his emotions, letting the warmth spread through within his chest.
"Just stay safe and... come back whenever," Warsame added, trailing his way back to his desk.
"In Sha Allah, Ercole uttered, giving Warsame a curt nod and a small grin before walking out of the study. That was it. He was officially leaving the place he had come to adore in more ways than he'd imagined.
The golden country and it's golden beauty.
...
Hibaaq couldn't feel the tears streaking her face before she heard the door to her father's study creak open. That signalled her swift cue as she sped crawled her way up the marble steps and rolled into her open room like something she'd see in one of those infamous James Bond movies, only it was poorly directed and resulted in some nasty knee bruising.
"Oww," Hibaaq whined, rubbing her knees and elbows in pain, her legs sprawled out in front of her, awkwardly. She mentally noted to never evasdropp on anyone ever again as she crawled the remainder of the way to her bed and pulled herself up on it, allowing herself a few minutes to digest what she had just heard and why there were tears dried on her cheeks and fresh ones still slipping out of her eye ducts.
She knew he was going to leave, she had heard it from his own mouth the night before, though denial was a persistent pain in her rear. The talk in her father'a study only strongly confirmed it, it entirely sealed the deal. The sound of their melancholy voices was enough to make her cry the unwanted tears. Her father's above all else. Her hearth lurched out, he sounded so helpless and so torn, having not seen or heard him like this since her mother's passing.
Hibaaq wiped harshly at her cheeks, falling back onto her bed to stare numbingly at her bed's ceiling. The minutes slowly passed, indicated by the insistent tick tocking of the clock sitting on her nightstand. She didn't how long she remained that way or how long before she thought about starting her morning routine until a low "ahem" pulled her out of her ticking miseries. She sat up, startled. Her wide eyes relaxed at the sight of Ercole, leaning causally against her open door, sporting a coy smile. She blushed, unsurprisingly, but he looked so swell in his signature wife beater and the plain beige slacks belted around his hips, and his hair noticeably wet from a morning shower.
"Oh god," She sighed unknowingly.
"Oh god?" Ercole questioned mockingly, his eyes roaming about her bedroom, neat and tidy and harbouring the sweet scent of her. He breathed in deeply, locking in the distinctive scent in his brain forever. He was smirking. Hibaaq was gobsmacked, she swore it was her first time seeing him smirk and she wouldn't be completely honest if she said she didn't like the coy nature about him. "What is it?" He lazily raked his fingers through his lengthy hair, watching her fiddle with a loose thread at the hem of the towel she had wrapped around her head. Ercole guffawed on the inside, it was truly a sight. She was adorable.
"It's nothing," She answered, her checks burning up like a furnace.
Ercole nodded slowly, pivoting to walk away before Hibaaq called out for him. She had done so abruptly, not knowing what she wanted to say, all she knew was that she didn't want him to go away, just yet. "Hmm?" He hummed, grinning at the sound of his name pouring from her lips like pure honey.
"Um," Hibaaq uttered, thoughtfully, trying to come up with anything to mask the embarrassment. "Do you want to go to the beach, the beach is nice?" She proposed, flustered by her sudden impulsiveness.
A laugh bubbled it's way up his throat, one he simply couldn't contain. That heart fluttering laugh at something she said, a joke only he knew of.
"Sure," Agreed Ercole, reaching his arms up to briefly hold the frame of her bedroom door. The action slowed admirably in Hibaaq's mind. She watched the muscles bulge for a second, forgetting where she was and how improper she was being as she marvelled at him. Were there cameras to capture this moment, for he appeared to be something out of a bestselling magazine. The posture, the slight grin on his lips, the dark and barely narrowed eyes, and the few tresses of hair that fell over them. Hibaaq continued to stare naively, though her thoughts contained nothing of that likeness.
"It's a surprise," She found herself telling him. He may have been a walking distraction, but what a beautiful distraction he was.
Ercole laughed again, his grin widening to showcase his perfect teeth. "I wouldn't know any other beaches except Lido. Anywhere you take me is a surprise, Bella."
Hibaaq chuckled at this. There is no way he could've known this beach, she thought. The beach where she seldom went, yet annually to freely reminisce about her mother and their short cherished memories. Why had she suggested to take him there? Her secret not so secret place, her comfort place of mental repose, somewhere she had never taken Layla or Abdihakeem; the man she once stood in awe of. "I don't know the given name for it, but some of the locals call it ciid cas." She told him.
"What does it mean?" He asked.
"Red sand."
Ciid cas in English sounded as boring as the polka dot patterns on the old baati she was wearing. She traced the tiny dots with her fingers.
"Red sand," Ercole repeated, now more intrigued than ever.
Hibaaq nodded, raising her eyebrows for emphasis. "I'll see you in twenty," She remarked, getting up from her bed, she grabbed a hold of her door handle, chuckling softly to herself at the dumbfounded expression on his handsome face as she closed the door.
Precisely twenty minutes later, Hibaaq exited her bedroom and all but skipped down the steps, holding up the length of her yellow summer dress. She hurried to her beetle, hopping into the driver's side. She gently turned the rearview mirror to peer at herself, fixing the beige coloured hijab on her head and adjusting the large sunglasses that sat perched on her button nose. Hibaaq nodded in approval, putting the mirror in its original state, from it she checked at whatever was behind her beetle.
Ercole rolled out not too long after, his strong arms and shoulders now covered with a khaki shirt. Hibaaq frowned before she chastised herself for her impudent thoughts. Never did she think she would ever frown at a fully clothed man. She breathed out, shaking her head. "Let's go, shall we."
...
I have no excuse other than "life happened" Fr and it's still happening! It's been a crazy past month and October is going by so fast, not to mention everything that is happening in Gaza what has been happening actually. May Allah destroy the oppressors and bring justice to the oppressed Ameen. Palestine will be free!
Keep the Muslim Ummah in your duas.