It is Monday morning, and the birds are chirping. The sun is beaming upon my and Afifa's hijabs as we both happily inhale a breath of beautiful, fresh air.
Do you think that?
You think wrong.
Reality is that British weather is gloomy. It's dark and depressing. Afifa and I coincidentally crossed paths outside school, and we now stand in the long queue going into the building in this very dreary weather. But seriously, what is up with the student traffic in the morning? Our school needs to invest in wider doors.
I cringed as I looked down to see the bottom of my abaya touching a puddle of water. I slightly hiked up my abaya with my hands. I peered to look at Afifa and saw she was doing the exact same as me, a grimace on her beautiful face.
"So, how was your weekend?" Since we're stuck stranded for a few minutes, I thought I'd start a conversation. I am surprised to see a weirdly large grin marry her features at my question.
"Spectacular—" Which means it wasn't...
"My brother and his lovely cousins were at the house, and they were oh so lovely—" I think she already said the word lovely.
"A wonderful set of boys they are, I tell you—"Hang on, it's coming...
"So respectful, kind, gentle and caring—" Uh oh.
"I was the only female in the house, and they respected my boundaries—" Is it only me, but is there more bite to her words now?
"When I said, 'Don't come into my room; I'm studying,' they stayed away—" OK, she's going to combust any second now.
"And when I labelled my beautiful peri-peri chicken burger with fries and placed it in the fridge, they definitely didn't eat it—" Ahh, I see the problem now. If you ever come between Afifa and her one true love (which is food, if you didn't realise), I'm afraid it's goodbye for you.
"And not only that!" My eyes rose to hers as this seemed like the peak of her anger. Her voice lowered to a harsh whisper: "They. Definitely. Didn't. Steal. Layla."
"WHAT?" I am the one to shriek. We are near the back of the queue, so only a couple of people give us weird glances. I give a sheepish smile before turning back to face Afifa wildly. "What do you mean they stole Layla?!" I whisper-shout.
"Exactly what I said," she wails. "They...those criminals...those thieves...bloody. Cat. Thieves." her voice becomes progressively evil towards the end.
I shake my head in confusion but still manage to pat her arm in what I hope is a comforting manner. "How could your brother let that happen?" My brows furrow. From what I know about him, despite how much Afifa cusses him out, her brother seems like a really good guy. So why will he let this happen? Why would he let his cousins steal my best friend's cat?
"Because he's an idiot! And he was a part of the whole thievery, I know it!"
....
"Also, you do know that when you said your brother and his cousins were 'lovely'...they are your cousins as well, right?" I remind her.
"Not now, they aren't!"
***
It is lunchtime, and despite not sharing any of the same classes all morning, my and Afifa's conversation continues where we left it off back at the school entrance.
We are currently sitting on the floor in the designated prayer room for females in our sixth form, indulging in some yummy food. The room is free to use during lunchtime, but not many people seem to use it.
Judging by the quietness, it is a perfect place to eat our food and discuss seriously confidential information.
"So, how did they steal your cat?" I take a large bite from my sweet potato and falafel sandwich. Yum. Alhamdulillah (Praise be to Allah)
Afifa's face scrunches up at the mention of her stolen cat, giving off the impression that the thought of her cat has not entered her mind at all. But I know better, and I know her, and she's been secretly plotting her revenge on those 'cat thieves' as she calls it.
"Well, downstairs was quiet when I came to the kitchen to get my burger. And when I realised someone had already eaten it...I may or may not have had a breakdown and was moping in there for about 15 minutes—" she says quickly as if to avoid the embarrassment of her antics. " When I finally returned to my room after, my cat was missing from her bed, and the boys had disappeared." She shrugged her shoulders in a troubled manner.
I can't help but feel sorry for her. Although the cat, on paper, belongs to everyone in her family, everyone knows Afifa desires Layla and makes an active effort to care for her. No one has put in as much effort as Afifa has in bringing up that cat. With time comes a particular emotional attachment that you no doubt end up having, and the cat has slowly become her friend, her comfort, and a part of her family.
I ask tentatively, "Did you ask your brother if he actually did take the cat?"
But knowing Afifa, she jumps to conclusions without communicating with them. So, to me, Layla jumping out of an open window seems a more realistic reason for her absence than her brother plotting a grand cat heist with their cousins.
She glares at me as if she's aware of my thoughts. "My cat's a home cat, Zahra. Just the idea of the outside makes her curl into herself. She'd never willingly go outside herself."
I bite the inside of my cheek, "And your brother?"
"He was trying to act all smart with me as if he didn't know anything," she huffs. "I know he's taken her, and he thinks just because my parents aren't home, he can get away with it. But he thought wrong." Her smile after saying that looks quite scary.
A thought crosses my mind at that very moment, which I voice to Afifa, "Hey, I thought your cousins lived far away from here, and that's why they never visited. What's the occasion for them coming now?"
A long time ago, and I'm talking about ancient times, when I and Afifa were at the early age of 9, she told me about her family tree. And how she felt having one big brother who quote 'makes her smell his smelly armpits' is the worst thing ever. She much prefers her cousins, who are all boys, by the way, and who treat her like a princess. The sad part of the story is that her favourite cousins moved away around the same time we met coincidentally, and because of the distance, they rarely get to see each other except for special occasions like weddings or funerals.
And I, Zahra Hussain, still remember that fact from ancient times. Have a mental pat on the back, Zahra. You deserve it.
"Oh yeah. I remember when I told you that." A genuine smile curls on her lips, probably due to her reminiscing the good memories we've shared since we were kids. "Actually, I forgot to tell you, but they've moved back."
My brows raise in shock.
"Only them and not their parents, so we're all living in one house together. Yep. Not only do I have the teenage company of my brother to look forward to, but now also my teenage cousins." She frowns as if she's realising she is the only female in a massive family of guys, "When their lot get together, I don't want to be around them. The things they do...this weekend is evidence enough of it."
I shudder. I'm so glad to have only sisters. Alhamdulillah (Praise be to Allah).
"So, can you come to my house after school?" Her house?
"Your house?" I question.
As soon as I ask, Afifa pouts at me, making her already full lips even fuller. She bats her eyes dramatically for an added touch to her already cute look. I struggle to look away from her, so I put my hand up in front of my face as a shield.
Damn, this girl knows I can't resist the puppy dog face.
"Why should I come over?" It feels silly to talk with my hand acting as a shield between us, but a girl has gotta do what a girl has gotta do to resist her friend's attempts of 'force by cuteness.'
It's worked too many times on me.
"To act as my bodyguard!" I can't see her, but I can tell her face is scrunching at the thought of her brother and cousins, "Come on, Zahra. My brother and cousins won't bully me if you're there, and then I can finally get some work done as well. My parents are on holiday for a few days, and they and I are only in the house. You wouldn't want to leave your best friend in that sort of danger, would you...?"
I mean, it is quite true. Allegedly, they've already cat-napped Layla; who knows what they can do to my precious friend now as well? Afifa sure knows how to push the right buttons.
"Please, Zahra. I totally did not have a good weekend, and I need to catch up on my schoolwork. I need a deterrent who will stop my stupid family from messing around with me, and who better than you? Pretty please..."
I can feel my resolve breaking as I peek between my two fingers at her state. She still holds that cute little face, but her mouth stretches from a pout into a grin once she realises I am peeking.
"Yayyy!!!" She jumps on me, bringing me into a tight hug.
See? I haven't even said anything, and she assumes I'll say yes. This girl...
What am I going to do with her?
And now, I have to play bodyguard. But first, I should consult Baba.
***
Baba has given me permission!
"I'm surprised your dad let you come over so easily." Afifa's house is within walking distance, around 15 minutes away from our sixth form. Our arms link together as we dodge big and small puddles after school has finished while simultaneously engaging in conversation. "I mean, normally, you have to plead and beg before he lets you come over to my house, and that's on weekends! He would never let you come on a weekday."
"My sisters are at home," I reply absentmindedly as I traipse around yet another awkward puddle. I can faintly make out Afifa's brows, raising in surprise from my peripheral view, "something about their 'timetables aligning', but it being nothing important to stay at university for, so they both have come home for a week."
'Oh.' she mouths with a frown.
For a few minutes, there was silence between us. She didn't say a word and concentrated on avoiding the puddles in our way, like me.
While her concentration is stolen, I think back to the events of this morning...
"Morning!"
I raise my eyes from the milk I am pouring into Inaya's cereal bowl, to see Hania step into the kitchen.
"Morning," I reply softly, "How was your sleep?"
"Beautiful!" she chirps, ruffling Inaya's hair. My little sister turns to glare at Hania before returning her attention to whatever kids are watching on YouTube these days."I missed my bed so much."
Hania huffs and falls onto one of the chairs by the kitchen bar. When I place the cereal in front of Inaya, Hania stares at me curiously.
"She should start making her own breakfast now," she says, pointing at Inaya, who is paying no mind to her, "She's old enough to, and you're only giving her bad habits if you continue to do these things for her."
I hum while I get started on making Inaya's packed lunch, "Normally she does. Make her own breakfast, that is. Today, we opened a new milk bottle, which she found too heavy to lift, so I helped her pour the milk in. Otherwise, normally I don't."
"Oh."
I understand where Hania is coming from. With Mum gone, it's only natural for us to wonder whether Inaya is learning to do things at the right time, whether we're spoiling her too much, or whether we should be helping her more. We're essentially bringing up this little girl when we have no idea how to be a parent through the crucial years of development for young children.
Sometimes, I worry I'm not getting it right, that I can't replace Mum's presence, or worse, that I am.
But in those moments, I fall onto the prayer mat and into sujood (prostration) and cry my heart out. I pray that we do a good job with Inaya, that Mum's absence doesn't affect her too much, and that her future will be as bright as ours has been.
Ameen (May it be fulfilled)
It's unfair that she may not get to experience what my sisters and I did—a loving relationship between my mum and dad, a true sense of family.
But she's the strongest person I know. Despite everything, she persevered. We both are.
Baba walks into the kitchen at that moment. He smiles softly at Hania and kisses her on the cheek. "Are you up, Puthar (Child)?"
"Ji," She smiles cheekily, "How are you?"
"Good, alhamdulillah (praise be to Allah)." He kisses Inaya on the cheek. He reaches around me to place some eggs in a pan. As I am close to the tap, I open the tap to fill the pan with water. He turns the knob so a flame fills the hob, and he places the pan on the boil.
Hania and Baba have a conversation that I half-listen to while I finish placing snacks in Inaya's lunch bag.
"So, are you going to work?"
"Hmm, yeah. I'm busy today. I might be home late."
"Oh, what's happening?"
"I've got some meetings with my business friend."
"Oooh, what are you planning?"
He seems to hesitate, "we're planning on making a joint business venture."
"Aww, that sounds nice. Which friend is it? Do we know them?"
I can tell he is getting a bit frustrated with her questioning.
"Stop-"
"Baba, should I pack you some lunch." I intervene before he can blow up.
He raises his brow at me silently. Truthfully, we've not been talking freely since Friday, when the whole Hassan situation occurred. It isn't a negative silence—I don't think so, at least. It feels more awkward. But I am not going to indulge in it. "Are you going to eat out, you think, or should I make you some lunch?" I clarify.
He is silent for a few seconds before he speaks, "No need."
I nod, "I'm going to get ready then."
Hania is an early bird and prefers to get up early so she feels more productive during the day. Saba is still asleep because she ends up going to sleep late most nights.
I sigh as I make my way to my bedroom. Are they company or support? It seems more like they are company.
***
It is unusually quiet as we step into Afifa's house. It seems like her brother is away.
As if sensing my thoughts, Afifa speaks, "My brother is not home yet. He said something about getting my cousins registered at school."
So it's true...her cousins will be really moving back and completing their education at our school.
Afifa's brother, actually her twin brother Armaan, is also in the same year as us in our sixth form. He studies completely different A-level subjects, and I can't really remember what they are exactly, but for that reason, his timetable is the complete opposite of mine and Afifa's. So whenever we have free periods, he's got class, and whenever we're in class, he'll go home for his free periods.
If Afifa wants, she can also go home for her free periods. She lives so close that it would make sense if she did that. But she chooses to stay at school so we can, quote, 'spend more time together'.
As I step into Afifa's room, I am hit once again with how her room is so reflective of her personality and beauty. On one side is her unique terrace, hidden with long flowy curtains and a cream bookshelf filled to the brim with her Islamic books and school textbooks. She has her desk in one corner that has her homework lying in a messy manner, showcasing her apparent inability to get work done over the weekend. There is an open closet on the other side with many trainers and abayas occupying the shelves and hanger space, and in the middle is the star of the show. Her massive king-sized bed with a herd of fluffy nude-coloured pillows!
My favourite part of the room.
I turn to Afifa, "I love your bedroom."
She giggles and slaps me lightly on the arm, "You always say that when you come, Zahra."
"Because I can't get over it. Whenever I come over, it's like I'm seeing it for the first time. It's so you!"
"Haha, well, you should come over more often so you'll get used to it."
I nod.
After another quick skim of the room (I can't help myself; sue me), my brows raise when I realise I overlooked the subject in question—well, really, the subject in question's bed.
I point at the empty cat bed in the corner of the room, " She's really not here."
Afifa rolls her eyes, "thanks for pointing out the obvious. Did you think I was lying when I told you?"
"Obviously not. I can't believe she's gone. It feels...weird."
She sighs sadly.
I take that as a sign to guide her to her desk to make her do work.
We'll both work hard to distract ourselves from the sorrows in our lives.
Seems simple.
For her, it's her cat, and for me, it's...I don't know anymore.
***
We had been working for 1.5 hours nonstop when my stomach growled. I clutched my stomach embarrassingly and looked up from my position on her bed, hoping I hadn't disturbed Afifa's admirable concentration on circle theorems. Alas, she looked away from her work and at me concernedly.
I put my hand up in protest, already imagining what she would say. Something along the lines of, 'Omg, I'm a terrible host.' Or 'how could I let you starve?' Or 'This is why my cat ran away!'
Kidding! The last one is a joke. I know Afifa; she would never starve her precious Layla. The cat was a little on the chubby side anyway...
"Before you say anything, yes, I am hungry. No, it is not your fault. And don't worry; I will go to the kitchen myself to get something to eat. You focus on your work!"
Her mouth opens up in shock, and I purse my lips. It is silent before we both burst into a fit of giggles, large smiles stretched on our faces.
"H... how d... do you do that?" Afifa struggles to speak between her giggles.
"Because I know you too well." I smile cheekily at her. A few chuckles escaped me as well. She shakes her head in amusement.
It takes her a while to calm down before she says, "You go get something to eat then. I'll be here." She turns back to face her work, her shoulders still silently shaking.
I make my way to the kitchen with a large grin on my face. I love her so much. She's my distraction from my sorrows in life. She's my friend. My sister. Alhamdulillah (Praise be to Allah) for her because I don't know what I'd do without her. I don't know if I can smile without her.
I am busy looking in the lower drawers for snacks when I hear the sound of keys falling and clanging on the floor.
That's weird. Afifa said she'd stay upstairs.
I turn my head to see what has dropped, only to see a male standing in front of me—a good two feet in front of me, with the kitchen bar separating us.
I feel my blood run cold at that moment.
Soft wisps of dark hair frame his tan, chiselled face. His slightly parted lips and harsh swallow are the only indications of surprise on his otherwise stoic face. Golden flecks in his eyes steal my attention.
I probably look more surprised. At this point, I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, and my lips tremble. I struggle to make a sound. I fear that if I do, my heart will stop then and there.
"Zahra." His velvety voice tests my name. It feels foreign to hear him say that, as if he is speaking an entirely different language—a language I can't fathom nor understand.
No matter how much I will myself, I can't speak.
I can't say a word.
Not to him.
Not to Hamza.
And...Hamza has entered the picture. Finally! The wait was long, but now the story can start 🤣 well done, guys, for persevering!!!
We needed the last four chapters to introduce the characters and their story (well, what you know about them 👀), but now that the male lead has entered the picture, things are going to get interesting.
I hope the wait was worth it hehe.
Moving on, how was this chapter? There were a lot of Afifa and Zahra moments in this chapter! There was also a little snippet into Zahra and Afifa's family.
But who Hamza is is the real question. 🤔
And where does the cat come in all of this???
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter :)
Fi Amanillah 👋