Junaid was staring but wouldn't say anything. Aisha hated his eyes on her but she refuses to do anything about it. It has been a hell of a day and just the mere thought of having a roof over her head was already a win, she wasn't about to push her luck by worrying why Junaid was here. Yet she couldn't help but wonder what kind of sick joke was this as she tries not to mind his unwavering gaze.
"I'm sorry, my J for keeping you waiting," Farida wraps her arms around his neck, giving him a loud kiss on his lips.
Aisha looks away trying to fend off her slamming heart. What were the odds that the girls would come looking for her after their release and actually find her? Or that Junaid was Farida's beau and it was his place she was bringing her?
"I have a friend who needs a caregiver for his grandfather." The grandfather suffers from Alzheimer and lives with a reclusive relative.
"Just until we get settled." Nene had promised after explaining they couldn't go back to their house for reasons she hadn't thought to share. Just that they would be out of the country and that she would be safe. Tolu had promised or said nothing. But she had side hugged her before both had been let out to waiting cars by the Mando roundabout.
Aisha hadn't mind. She was merely grateful of having people in her corner. Now, she wasn't entirely sure. How was she to know safe was staying with Junaid? He might not be entirely a stranger but he is a stranger nonetheless. Why would the girls entrust her to him? And what was he doing here in her old neighborhood? It's a long way from his home in Malali
"Aisha," Farida beckons in joyful bliss with her fingers smiling and awkwardly, she covered the distance between them in five unhurried steps trying not to notice Junaid's eyes or his hand on the small of Farida's back.
"Meet my J, or rather Junaid," she introduces in excitement, "and J, meet Aisha."
Aisha was hesitant as she stared at this not stranger in knee length Khaki jeans and a white hoodie and her unlikely friend in a white tank top and jean bum short. They looked great together she finds herself acknowledging despite the awkwardness rife in this bizarre happening and wondered;
Should she tell her they know each other? Does he want to be associated with her? But what would she think?
"I hope we get along," his voice, neutral and cool, hits her ears forcing her to look into his eyes. Humor lay naked in those gorgeous eyes of his and something awfully resembling a dare.
Aisha smiles brightly. She was never the kind to back away from a challenge and since he was obviously offering her the chance to define their relationship, she refuse to disappoint.
"Me too,"
There was no reason to tell Farida she went to school with Junaid. It is nothing. He is nothing to her. They were practically strangers as far as she was concerned. However, hours later, she would still wonder if she did the right thing. Junaid might mean nothing to her and the knowledge that they knew each other might not be a big deal but deliberately concealing information has never led to anything good no matter how trivial. And no matter how much she wants to justify her reasons for deception, none could clear her conscience.
She will tell her the next time they meet or talk; she did promise to check in as soon as everything settles, she decides as she takes in the room which has become hers for the duration of her stay—however long that may be.
The wall paintings were scratchy, odd, yet colorful like a huge canvas covered in all shades and the furnitures are vintage in a Victorian aesthetic like fusion between a forgotten civilization and a civilization yet to come. The room was clearly someone's idea of a canvas or the tantrum of a rebellious artist. However, she'd never felt more at home than in this misplaced clash between art, culture and nature which smells of kajiji with an undercurrent of paint, musk, sandalwood.
A knock and a subsequent Salaam has her abandoning her quest to decipher the endless circles on the ceiling which now strangely holds her attention. It reminds her of the painting Melancholia by Van Gogh with the lights from the chandelier giving it an almost surreal look.
Who could possibly be at the door? She snaps out of bed dragging her wayward veil as she focuses on the creaking of the door as it pulls open robbing her of any chance of dismissal as her intruder had invited himself taking his knock and salaam as enough notice of intrusion. It wasn't. She says nothing despite every cell in her body protesting in outcry.
It is Junaid. He doesn't come inside but he wasn't entirely outside either with a hand on the doorknob and his head sneaking into the room while the rest of him stays hidden. He must have taken a bath; he has a towel around his neck and water on his face.
"Is there something you need?" He asks as soon as their eyes meet. No preamble. No nothing. He doesn't even wait for her reply on his earlier Salaam.
For you to leave. She shakes her head betraying nothing of her tumultuous state of mind, "No," and on second thought she added, "thank you."
He was doing that thing he'd done all night; staring while betraying no emotion and not say anything. How he can do that perfectly Aisha wasn't keen to find out. She is a master in masking her thoughts but even she know she couldn't beat Junaid. He was in a league of his own.
"Is there something else?" She didn't want to but her voice has traces of impatience and mounting anger but she didn't care either. She wasn't particularly ecstatic on being unabashedly ogled by a man whose thoughts she couldn't read.
"Why?" He asks, nonchalant, almost flippant even as if annoyed which only goes further in fueling her temper. Why?
"You're blocking the door," she manages between gnashed teeth while forcing out a tight smile.
One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. Four. . .
His eyes suddenly lighten up with an emotion she found even more annoying because of its unexpected familiarity.
"Does that mean you're inviting me in?"
Taunt. Typical. What was she expecting from him anyway? Because, surely, she must have some expectations even if little for his stupid words to bite her.
She glares at him. How was that an invitation? What was he doing peeking into her room a few minutes after midnight anyway after pretending he doesn't know her? What could he possibly want? From all she'd gathered, he doesn't even live here. For a minute, she had feared he might be the reclusive relative.
"What do you want, Junaid?"she ignores him suddenly swamped by an irrepressible exhaustion.
"Why would I want anything?" He fired back, amused, perhaps by the acrimony he caught in her voice yet all she heard was a resounding whine not quite hidden well.
"Then why are you here?" She held his gaze trying desperately to know, to understand. Why did you leave me that night? Why did you pretend you didn't know me tonight?
"You left!"
It was almost inaudible and if she wasn't looking at him, she might have not known. But she did and taken aback by the sudden weight of accusation sinking his eyes, she couldn't help but ask,
"What?"
"I told you to wait for me. You left!"
She looks closely at him. The accusing tint was still there but she couldn't understand why. He had left. Why does it feel like he was making it her fault?
"I came back." He went on oblivious to the building turmoil dragging her system to waste at this absurdity. "But you were gone. Why?"
She bit hard on her lips forcing herself to remain calm. She couldn't get angry. She couldn't lost her temper. He can think whatever. She owe him nothing.
"Did I do anything wrong?" He insisted. "If it's because of—
"You don't owe me an explanation." She cut him off. She didn't want to hear whatever he wanted to say. Not yet. She wasn't ready to hear about his promiscuity. Or his regrets. Especially his regrets.
"Why did you leave then?"
Aisha sighs. It was clear he wasn't about to let it go.
"I am grateful for your help, Junaid," she begins softly, carefully, sucking in all the bad energy like a black hole," really, I am, but I don't have time for whatever this is," she made a gesture to encompass them both, mimicking their awkward situation ,"You may not know this but I buried my father mere hours ago and I am on my last beat of strength. So, please, leave me alone. I beg you."
Silence. More silence. And even more silence.
"I know," he begins in a soft voice, "and I am sorry for your loss. Allaahum-maghfir lahu Allaahumma thabbithu. O Allah, forgive him. O Allah, strengthen him."
Her throat suddenly caught fire. He was sorry for her loss? She didn't know how much she wanted to hear from a person who wasn't a stranger until this very instant. He was sorry for her loss. She had lost her father. She had buried him a few hours ago. She was alone in the entire universe.
Was it the prayer? Or was it the sincerity she felt in his offer of condolence? Aisha would never know. However, something happened to her in that moment which opened wide the gates of pain she has been trying her best to keep at bay and just like that, she succumbed to its whims.
That day, she cried and cried, and cried for a very long time.
Junaid had watched but didn't say anything. Aisha hated his eyes on her but she didn't do anything about it. He was sorry for her loss. He wasn't a stranger and he was sorry. And tonight, it feels enough.