If you aren't familiar with Islamic or South Asian traditions/rules, it might help to read the A/N at the bottom, to help explain things that happen in this chapter. Enjoy!
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I stuck a strawberry in my mouth, biting off half. I cringed. Sour.
There was a slight tug on my hair from behind me. I raised a hand to keep my dupatta from sliding off my head and turned around.
He smiled at me. "Hey."
I frowned. "What do you want?"
"Oh? That's no way to treat a guest."
I chewed my strawberry, thinking. "What about unwanted guests? I thought the common thing was to flat out ignore them to keep yourself from drilling their eyes out."
"Uh..no. That's not common, Iqra."
I shrugged. "Oh, that's right. My bad. You just straight up kill 'em."
He drew back. "Why do you hate me so much?"
I sighed, adjusting my dupatta again. "I don't..." The words stuck in my throat. "Fine. I do hate you."
Yousuf leaned forward and placed his hands on the table behind me, trapping me between his arms. I felt the edge of the table at my back. He pursed his lips, eyes pleading with mine. "Why?"
There was a shuffling around the entrance to the kitchen and I pushed him away, turning back to the strawberries I was supposed to be cutting. He stumbled backwards.
"Shh. Someone's coming."
He made a strangled noise just as Fatima walked in with Adam. Fatima looked at him in surprise.
The two exchanged hellos before Yousuf walked away.
"I didn't know he was here."
I shrugged, watching my fingers work. "Meh. I didn't either."
"What'd he say to you?"
"Just hello."
I breathed in, letting the air fill my chest until I could feel it settle in the bottom of my lungs before exhaling. Just hello.
~~~~~
The day passed fairly quickly. I avoided Yousuf's eyes and stayed in my room whenever he came over. Which was often. He lived next door, and Adam and Aqsa liked playing with him. I busied myself with trying to help with arrangements for my brother's upcoming wedding. Keyword: Trying.
I...didn't actually do much.
I screwed up the order for the cake and mom had to go fix it.
I tripped over nothing, taking a table full of pots and pans down with me.
I fell asleep and didn't answer the phone when the company helping with the wedding arrangements called.
Then I slipped, fell, and sprained my ankle.
That's when mom sat me down and told me to rest, because "I needed time to heal." She was telling me to get out of her hair. I sighed, looking down at my swollen foot. Darn shitzle fire truck.
I was sitting in my backyard on the ground. Screw the dangers of a dirt covered butt. I'm so done with this. I suck at everything and this ain't helping. I wiggled my foot. Heal, darn it. I can't do anything right with this...this...
There was a shuffling noise to my left and I quit wiggling my foot to turn and look at it.
Yousuf swung himself over the wooden fence and landed on his feet with a thump. He looked at me.
"Hey."
I narrowed my eyes. "You can't just walk in here like that."
He shrugged. "Your parents wouldn't mind."
I frowned and looked away. He had a point. My parents loved the twat. They wouldn't kick him out. Even if I would. Sadly, I don't rule the house. I'm lucky if people even remembered I lived here.
I pulled my dupatta over my head to cover my hair again. This was my backyard, darn it.
"I've already seen it, you know."
Yousuf glanced at my dupatta before looking back down at me. I frowned.
"You're still a guy. And you're not supposed to. Just because you have seen it, doesn't make it okay."
He shrugged and reached out his hand. "Need help getting up?"
I looked at his hand before turning around and placing my hands on the dirt and pushing myself up. I tottered, hopping around on one foot before finding my balance.
Yousuf put down his abandoned hand.
I shook my head. "I can't touch you." Then I squinted at him in the sunlight. "You know these rules..."
He stayed silent, and studied the fencing behind me, his face blank.
I hopped over to the cemented area by the backdoor and sat down, the hot cement warming my bottom. My legs hurt. They were sprained. I winced and took my hands off the cement. My palms were covered in gravel and had a pinkish tinge. Hot.
"So." Yousuf kicked the weeds, his hands in his pockets.
I raised an eyebrow. "Hn."
"You're not much of a talker these days."
I stared at him. "I don't wanna."
He blinked and looked up. "Oh."
I busied myself with tracing different designs on the hot concrete beside me. I couldn't go back inside because he'd have to come with me. And there's no way I'm letting him inside.
He sat down beside me and leaned back, propping himself up with his hands. I scooted over. Too close. Didn't like it. Nope.
"No what?"
"Huh?"
He tilted his head to look at me. "You said 'no.' No what?"
I shook my head. "No, I didn't."
"Yes you did."
I sighed. "I didn't mean to, okay? I suck at keeping my mouth shut. We both know that."
He chuckled. "Yup."
"You weren't supposed to agree."
He made a face. "I don't lie, Iqra."
"Sure you don't. And I'm a pink turtle in a tutu."
He snorted. "You're really something, you know that?"
I gave a reluctant laugh.
We stayed in silence and I went back to obsessing over my sprained ankle, waving it around. It wasn't a sprained ankle. No. It was a bandaged hand, waving. It's saying hi. Hi Iqra.
I groaned and tipped my head back. I'm going crazy. Someone help me.
Yousuf cleared his throat.
"You know, there's...there's this play being put on in the community center."
"Yeah?"
"Uh, yeah. And..." He turned to me, quirking an eyebrow. I frowned, looking at it. How annoying.
"How good are you with giving out directions?"
My eyes snapped back to his. "Huh?"
He looked away.
"Well, we needed someone who was good with helping the actors get ready. You know, making sure people were in the right place at the right time, picking up props, helping with timings," he said, giving me a lopsided smile. "And I wondered, who do I know who's annoying, bossy, likes to nag people, and hates the spotlight? And, of course, I thought of you."
I frowned. "With the way you're going, you won't have me as a helper. But I'll have your head on a pike outside my front door."
He laughed.
"So will you do it?"
"Will I do what?"
"Help out a friend in need?"
I wrinkled my nose. "Who said we were friends?"
"Who said what now?"
"We're friends."
He grinned. "Really Iqra? Aww, how cute. We're friends!"
I frowned. "That's not what I said."
His eyes widened. "You sure? You didn't say what now?"
"That we're friends."
He laughed. "There! You said it twice now. That's cute, Iqra. If you wanted to be friends, all you had to do was ask, you know."
I glared at him. "We're not friends!"
"You just said we were."
"No, I didn't!"
"Yes you did."
"No!"
"No what?"
"No, I didn't say that!"
"Didn't say what?"
"We're friends!"
Yousuf threw his head back, cracking up. I gritted my teeth in frustration.
"Get out."
He laughed harder. "Where? We're already outside."
I bit my lip to keep my traitor mouth from smiling. He was not funny. "I hate you. Leave."
He stood up and started walking towards the fence, facing me all the while. "No, you don't." He winked. "You know what they say, 'A friend in need's a friend indeed!'"
"You ain't in need of anything but a bigger brain."
He winked. "And you're in need of a bigger heart. Come on, Iqra. Help a guy out here."
I shook my head. "I don't act." Then I pretended to think about it. "But if you need a bigger brain," I continued. "I'll lend you a part of mine. It's huge."
He paused and leaned against the fence. "What is? Your brain, or your head?"
I groaned. "Leave! Go home, Yousuf! No. My answer's no. I'm not helping you."
He stuck his tongue out at me. "Fine."
I sighed and turned away from him. I didn't even wanna look at him right now.
"Oh yeah. Iqra?"
"Yes?"
"If you're ever in need of a bigger heart," He paused. "I'll lend you mine."
"Go home Yousuf!"
"Okay, okay! I'm going!" He grinned and placed his hands on the fence, pulling himself up and disappearing over the side of the fence.
My heart stopped when I heard a thud and a grunt. Did he just fall over the fence?
I bit my lip and watched the fence, trying to figure out what happened to him. Nothing. No sound.
Then a door opened and swung shut. He must've gone inside...
I kicked my feet in frustration. No. I don't care. He can go fall over and I wouldn't care.
I shook my head until it hurt. Argh.
Who needs stupid friends like him anyway?
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A/N: A "dupatta" is a kind of shawl that comes with South Asian dresses, and it's mainly used to cover the head and/or chest area. When Iqra says she uses it to cover her head, she drapes it over her head...kind of like the picture attached at the top.
In Islam, not all males are allowed to see a female's hair/face/body (and vice versa too!) depending on how strictly you follow the rules. They also aren't allowed to touch each other. Which is why Iqra tells Yousuf he should know she can't touch him (and he can't touch her). He's in the "not allowed to" group of males. ;)
It's a bit more complicated than this, so if you have any other questions/comments, I'd love to respond to them! I hope I've made it clear, and if not, feel free to ask! I'm open to questions and clarifications, any time! ^_^
Cheers!
~October