C H A P T E R
34
- H a m s a -
"You know my name, not my story. You've heard what I've done, but not what I've been through."
- Jonathan Anthony Burkett
Running water always managed to sooth my nerves, but tonight as I listen to the symphony of water flowing over dishes in a game to chase away soap lather, the sound does nothing to calm me down.
Auntie Samiya's voice reciting the Quran in the living room is a distant hum, almost dissolved by Fatima's chatter.
"--I found this fabric with pictures of ladybugs on it, right, and thought she'd love it. I didn't show it to her yet though, told her it should be a surprise for Eid Insha'Allah. But you know Zeina and how excited she gets about new dresses and insects. I caught her this morning, pretending to look for her grasshopper in my drawer."
She rolls her eye and chuckles, cocking her head in my direction. I smile faintly, and pray she doesn't notice that my mind is somewhere else, that I'm not really paying much attention to what she's saying or to the lathered cup she just passed me to rinse and set on the dish rack.
A few more dishes, I tell myself, and I can go home, lay my head down on a pillow and try to forget the bad parts of today. Yahiya should be back from taraweeh prayers in a bit.
"-Hani has outgrown almost all of his cloths, I want to make him something too. And you of course! You must wear something new and not green this Eid. I just don't understand your obsession with this colour."
"I don't have-" I start, but she shuts me up with a pointed look at my very green dress.
"Maybe, I do," I mumble and she grins victoriously.
"Anyway, I was also thinking I could ask Madame Rawiya - you know that really sweet lady from the course I'm taking at the masjid - to make jilbabs for dad, Yahiya, Zayn and Fayyad. I just have to get her the materials. Can you imagine how cool that would be? They've had the same Eid Prayer jilbabs for ages now."
"That would be really nice," I say blankly, instead of blurting out that it's too early to be going on about Eid clothes when it's just the first day in Ramadan.
I don't want to be the wormwood that ruins her jolly mood. I really want to join in on her plans, be supportive and even offer my help but I'm too... depressed I guess?
What's wrong with me? So what if Zayn and Sebastian can't get along with each other? It's not something I should get this worked up about. I've already come to terms with Yahiya's differences with Sebastian.
I guess I just wanted them to like each other; for my best friend and newly found friend to click. Sure would have made a lot of things easier.
The sensation of the bowl Fatima just handed me slipping out of my fingers jolts me alert. I watch as it bounces off the edge of the sink and then shatters on the floor. A searing pain shoots up the side of my foot and I bite back a gasp.
Fatima voices my shock. "Oh my Allah!"
She quickly lowers to her knees to pick up the shards.
I groan into my lathered hand and then kneel down to help her, forgetting to investigate the source of the pain.
"Are you on a mission to break all of mother's dishes tonight?" Fatima whisper shouts, but she is not mad. She is amused, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.
"I zoned out and it slipped," I admit.
"Are you okay?" the amusement is gone, she looks worried.
I notice the hum of Auntie's reciting going quite a second before her voice sounds low and dangerous. "That better not be my favourite salad bowl."
I don't even wonder how Auntie knew which dish exactly broke without seeing it, she's just scarily amazing like that when it came to anything in this household.
Fatima's wide eyes mirror mine as both our hands fly to our mouths and we hold our breaths. A moment passes before I open my mouth to blurt that it was my doing and that I'm sorry, but Fatima beats me to it just as Auntie Samiya slips into the kitchen, hands propped on her hips.
"Unfortunately I'm guilty as charged," Fatima says, holding the broken pieces in her open palms like a dead body. She's trying to look anguished, but it's obvious even to Auntie that she's holding back laughter.
"I promise I'll make it up to you."
Auntie presses her lips and lifts up her eyebrows in a comical way, "Mhm, you better."
She turns to leave, but not before saying, "give that bowl proper burial."
That actually makes Fatima crack and when she drops the last of the big pieces in the trash bin, so do I.
"There you go bowl, meet dish number one. You have so much in common, like you both got murdered by Hamsa."
I get up, wash my hands and turn off the water. "You didn't have to take the blame for me," I say, leaning against the counter, beside the last pile of dirty dishes.
She shrugs one shoulder, "you already broke one dish today, and mom wasn't going to let you off the hook easy. She may have even gone as far as taking you to pottery class with her, grr!" She shudders with the thought and I laugh again.
"Plus," she says, her face going serious. "It was partly my fault for not noticing earlier that something was off with you. What's up with that?"
I push away from the counter, moving to get the broom. I make a show of sweeping the whole kitchen and not just where the bowl fell, and take my time piling the small shards then Fatima's gasp stops me.
"You're hurt!" Her gaze is fixated on my bare foot which is covered in blood and she wastes no time, opening a cupboard to get out the first-aid kit.
I wave a dismissive hand at Fatima. "It's nothing."
But of course she doesn't listen. "Hop up on the counter, let me clean that. There might be a shard inside."
"Well doctor, there wouldn't be as much blood if a shard was still clogged inside the tiny cut," I say, rolling my eyes, but nonetheless I comply and let her do her work.
She sprays some perfume on the cut to stop the blood, and then uses a damp cotton to clean it up.
When she sees just how small the cut is, she glares up at me. "You'll live."
"See? Told you it was nothing," I say with a chuckle.
Letting go of my foot, she huffs and folds her arms across her chest.
"Well, it's not my fault your body is such a drama queen! Seeing the amount of blood gashing out, one would say your whole toe was severed."
Smiling, I pull her into a semi, one-sided hug and give her a peck on the cheek.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," she grumbles and then drops her hands to her side. "Now tell me, why are you so out of element tonight?"
I let go of her, and stare down at the dried up blood on my toe.
"Are you and Zayn fighting again?" she asks with a grimace of mixed annoyance and worry.
My gaze snaps up to hers. "No! No, it's nothing like that. Alhamdulillah."
She looks relieved to hear this. "Alhamdulillah. So what is it?"
I bite on my lower lips, take in a deep breath and then blurt, "Zayn hates Sebastian's guts."
"Wha-? He doesn't!"
I snort at her defensiveness. "Believe me he does and I think Sebastian doesn't like him either." My shoulders slump, and a defeated sigh escapes my parted lips. "I watched them throw daggers at each other all night. Sebastian though really tried to be the better man-I just wanted them to get along! Because I really care about Sebastian and I care what Zayn thinks."
"Oh." Fatima rests a hand on mine.
"Sebastian is a really good guy," I say, rubbing a finger over her hand that is dried up by too much use of washing detergent.
She bobs her head fervently. "Yes he is," she pauses to blow a breath. "I wouldn't have believed it myself a couple of days ago, even after he saved my boy. But only a genuine person, would do what he did today."
She lets go of my hand and moves to sit up beside me on the crowded countertop. A couple minutes go before she says, "Zayn is so protective of you, Hamsa. English man or not, to Zayn, Sebastian is not trustworthy yet. It'll take more than one meal for him to let his guard down."
"I kno-"
"No you don't," she says, and when I steal a look at her, there's a sad touch to the smile on her face. "You don't really know. Just give him time, he'll come around."
I rest my head on her shoulder. "I hope so."
I think that this talk is over when some more minutes go by in silent and then Fatima speaks up again. "Misa, keep in mind that Sebastian can never be your real friend, he is not just any guy. His religion, values, believes, they're all not like ours. Don't forget that."
"Shouldn't you be in bed kids?" Auntie Samiya's voice booms in the living room, followed by loud cheers from Zeina and the sound of wheels being pushed-Hani's wheelchair.
"Mom didn't read uth our bedtime thtory yet," Zeina says.
"Since when do you have a bedtime story?" Auntie asks with a laugh, and then there's a sound of kissing and Zeina giggling.
"Thinth tonight!"
Fatima and I laugh, shaking our heads.
"Go put them to bed, I'll finish these up," I say, waving a hand at the pile behind us.
"Are you sure you're up to it?"
"Yeah, yeah, go ahead," I shoo her out of the kitchen, waving my hands behind her.
"Don't wash my cup, 'kay. Can't have you breaking it for me."
I poke my tongue out at her. "Go be a mother."
Out in the living room Auntie is sitting on her rocking chair, Zeina held captive in her arms.
"Help mom! Grannie's kithing monthter ith attacking me!"
Fatima makes a show of thinking about whether or not to save Zeina and then in a swift move snatches her up from between Auntie's arm.
Zeina squeals and jumps onto her mother's back and then Fatima guns toward Hani's chair and scoops him up into her arms, singing, "Somebody hasn't changed into their 'jamies yet."
A grin breaks across Hani's face and he squeezes his eyes shut, pretending to be asleep.
I laugh, watching Fatima disappear up the stairs carrying both of her seven-year-olds as Zeina shouts, "Wooo, thuper mommy!"
"I swear to Allah, sometimes I forget that girl is their mother," Auntie Samiya says, shaking her head.
I return to washing the dishes with a fresher mood and before I know it, the dishes are done, the counters, sink and table are wiped and the pile of dirt and shards is swept up.
I open the fridge to get some water when I see it-the untouched bowl of porridge.
Everyone's loss is my gain.
I look over my back into the living room; Yahiya isn't back yet, so it's safe to sit and enjoy my porridge.
Grabbing a spoon, I slip out the back door into the cold silent night. The wind picks up, singing through the dead trees as I take a seat on the small stairs and hug my shawl tighter around my shoulders.
After my second spoonful, my mind wanders away and I'm only vaguely aware of fiddling with a loose thread hanging from the hem of my shawl when I hear the door behind me open and close and someone lowers beside me.
"Mind if I sit down?" Zayn says, his breath escaping him in white clouds.
"Strongly," I mumble around a mouthful, with as much contempt as my porridge-dazed self can muster. "But you already did."
I point my spoon at him as if to cast a spell and then dig it into the bowl again.
"Thanks," he says with a goofy grin, ignoring my hating vibes. "Hey Is that-?"
"Yes." I snap, swatting away the finger he was about to dip into the porridge. "Don't even think about it, I'm not sharing." I sneer at him, hugging the bowl and giving him my back.
"Sheesh. You're like a cat protecting her babies. Whatever, I'll get tomorrow's bowl."
"Yahiya's back too right? We're leaving."
He stretches his legs out on the lower steps and reclines.
"Yes and no."
I look at him for elaboration and he clasps his hands behind his head casually.
"You're not going anywhere, Yahiya is passed out on the couch. He said he was too tired to go back home this late past curfew, dodging the guards, so I told him to take a nap and I'll wake him up for night prayers. So you'll be sleeping over tonight."
I move the spoon under my tongue. "Huh, so you two are on speaking terms now." My voice drips with resentment. I'm just so mad at both of them that I can't bring myself to be happy about this development.
Zayn seems to sense this too, but he decides against acknowledging it. "Yes we kinda worked things out yesterday. This whole feud was because we both cared about you and then we realized it was hurting you the most." He shrugs like what I've been unsuccessfully trying to deliver to them for the past weeks is common sense.
"Having a common foe helped too I guess," he says with a snicker, which earns him one of my infamous death glares.
"Calling him a foe is a bit of a stretch don't you think?" I rub my eyebrow, trying to tame it.
"I guess you are right, he's not even worthy of being an enemy," he says with a sneer.
I stare at him incredulously. "You're unbelievable," I snap.
Standing up so fast my spoon clatters onto the stair, I bend to pick it up and then starts for the door. Of course he stands up too and moves to stop me.
"What is wrong, Hamsa?" he asks, so innocently like he didn't just cross the line to jerk town.
It's you, my brother, my feelings ...
"Never mind," I mutter.
He blocks my escape to the door with his body. "No. There is something obviously bothering you, so let's talk about it." He folds his arms across his chest.
"You want to talk about it?" I mimic his posture and glare up at him. "Fine let's talk about it. Let's talk about how rude you were to Sebastian, you practically attacked the guy inside and outside this house-I'm not blind, I saw how you talked to him out there 'when you gave him his jacket'. What were you thinking? Is this how you show him what we Muslims stand for?" I throw my hands up, frustrated. "Allah knows I expected it from Yahiya, him being a hot head and all," I purse my lips, portraying my disappointment. "But I expected better from you, Zayn."
His eyes flick up, he lets his hands fall to his sides and doesn't say anything. He's speechless, that's a good sign.
And then he scoffs.
"It's not about him being a non-Muslim," he says blankly.
"What is it about then?" I prompt.
He sips slow breath between his teeth, rubbing a hand along his jaw. "He's a. Freakin'. English. Man."
"So," I challenge, "if he were a Muslim English man you'd still hate him, right?"
He snorts, like I just made a joke. "These don't exist."
"Say in some other world they did, would you still hate them?"
He seems taken back. "N-No, I wouldn't of course, they'd be my brothers in Islam."
"Then it's because he's a non-Muslim? And in this case scenario it is partly your fault that he is not. Because you just gave him a 'freakin' scary image of Islam." I say, taking pleasure in seeing him clench and unclench his hands, mouth hanging open. "Today both you and Yahiya were jerks and the only grown up showing the real values of a Muslim was, ironically, Sebastian."
Zayn seems to finally regain his voice, "Look at you defending an English man, Hamsa what happened to you?"
I drop my voice, make it as patient as possible "I was just like you Zayn. I thought they were all the same. Evil, vindictive, monsters." I smile faintly. "But Sebastian showed me how wrong we were. There is no black and white, when it comes to people. No us good and them evil. I trust Sebastian and I hope you learn to as well."
This time he lets out a full-fledged laugh. "You've known him what? Six whole minutes?"
I grit my teeth, because I can't tell him how well I know Sebastian, the real him. The man that despite his father being the reason for all our mischief, didn't show me anything but goodwill. That he saved my life more times than I can count.
I'm tired of fighting, my knees are seconds from giving out, so I slump back down on the stairs and rest my head in my hands. "Can you just try? Try to give him a fair chance regardless to where he's coming from. Just judge him based on who he is."
When Zayn's whisper reaches me from behind, I can tell he is tired of arguing too,
"I wish I could. But the thing is, it is not about who he is or where he's coming from-it's about him, getting close to you... I don't trust him around you. I don't trust anyone when it comes to you Hamsa. Heaven, I don't even trust myself."
He lets out a shaky laugh that is so heavy that I feel its weight on my shoulders. At this moment I thank Allah that Zayn can't see my face.
I furrow my brows and squeeze my eyes shut, willing my breath to return to my lungs.
Zayn shuffles and settles down beside me on the small stairs again. The bowl of porridge lies between us, long forgotten.
Casting a glance over my shoulder, I see Yahiya strewn on the couch in the living room, one leg slung over the back of the couch and the other dangling over the armrest. Fasting and working has taken a toll on him. I focus on his low snores to steady my heartbeat.
Beside me, Zayn runs his fingers through his hair and keeps his gaze straight ahead.
I clear my throat, making sure it will not clog once I try to speak.
"You trust me, don't you?" I ask him.
He doesn't look at me when he answers. "That goes without question."
"Then can you trust me to know what's best for me?"
Now he does cock his head in my direction.
He counters my question with another one. "Why didn't u tell me about him?"
I laugh, but the sick sound just hurts my throat so I stop short.
"Because we don't even talk anymore. I don't know what happened to us. Sure we said we weren't going to let Yahiya ruin what we had, but we ruined it ourselves," I whisper and it's all I can do to stop from crying, because I just realised how much I miss my best friend.
"You haven't been yourself at all," he says. But he is not accusing me of anything. He's just stating the facts. "There is something you are holding back from me and whenever I try to get closer you shut me out."
The pain in his eyes forces me to look away. Of course he is right. A lot happened, a lot that I can't share with him.
Yasmeen, the Camp, Uncle Yusuf's betrayal...his death, and Sebastian's truth.
"There is nothing going on," I say, but even as I blurt out the lie, I know he won't buy it. And it does nothing to tamp down the irritation spreading across my skin like a rash.
"Look at me Hamsa."
I don't because if I do, I'll lose it.
"Look at me!"
"I'm fine-" and of course my tears choose this exact moment to come tumbling down my face.
"No you are not, I'm an expert on unhappy Hamsa and right now she is not here because she is mad at me or Yahiya, this goes beyond. There is something bothering you, deeply."
"I told you I trust you. Now I'm asking you, do you trust me?"
I should trust him. I will trust him. I do trust him. Of course I trust him.
He's Zayn, my best friend. My fiancé.
"Yes," I choke out, tasting salt on my lips.
"Then look at me."
If I want to mend the broken bridge between us, I should start by being honest with him. And I want to.
So I look at him and I cry.
Zayn says nothing, but I know he's there beside me and when I'm done crying, I am ready to tell him what I have been holding back.
I tell him what really happened in that forest the day I went missing, I tell him Sebastian was there, that he was helpless, that Muslims did that to us. I tell him how he helped me escape and I tell him about the brave girl called Yasmeen. I tell him that she is Madame Moneera's lost granddaughter.
I tell him how lost I feel, that I do not know what to do. And wait for him to tell me everything is going to be okay.
But I don't tell him about Uncle Yusuf-I decide halfway through to spare him the pain of his betrayal and death. And of course I don't tell him about Sebastian's real deal.
I guess old habits die hard.
*
"It's just a doughnut, Hamsa, it won't kill you believe me," Sebastian says as I glare at the small circular dough, covered in powdered sugar. "Actually, I think there was once a report on these doughnuts which were so yummy that people choked on their goodness and died of joy overload."
"Ha, ha," I say sarcastically, wrinkling my nose. "I can't eat it anyway, I'm fasting."
"Oh yeah right, twenty-nine more days of Ramadan. I still can't wrap my head around that."
"Bash! Bash! Can we have more doughyeth?" Zeina skips to where Sebastian and I are sitting in the playground, each on a rock, facing each other. Hani wheels close behind her, glasses smeared with chocolate.
Hani chuckles, scribbling down on his board and lifting it up for Zeina to see, it reads 'Doughnot'. Zeina giggles along with him and they turn to look at us expectantly.
Both their faces are covered with wide grins and chocolate frosting and I fight to hold back my laugh.
"Of course, Ranger," Sebastian says, snatching the doughnut in my hand without asking and splitting it in half, "here, have Misa's, she wasn't going to eat it anyway."
"Cool! Thith one ith white," Zeina exclaims, handing Hani one half and chomping down on the other.
They quickly rush back into the hallway to join the other kids, watching the TV that Sebastian set up for them.
When he arrived this morning, towing a big television screen, something he called a DVD player and half a dozen boxes of colourful pastries, I wanted to murder him on the spot.
But then I saw the excited grin of a child on his face and how much the kids loved the treat, I was disheartened and I let it slip this once.
The DVD player streams a number of cartoons I've never heard of, and after spending half of the morning child-proofing the shows, we decided to take the rest of the day off. Lamees excused herself for an hour to go run some errands and Sebastian volunteered to wait with me for the kids' parents to come pick them up.
"Here," Sebastian hands me another doughnut, this one sprinkled with black chocolate and wrapped in a tissue. "Eat this after you break your fast."
With a smile, I take it from him and slip it carefully into my pocket bag. "Thank you, I'll give it a try."
"Just watch out for symptoms of poisoning after you eat it, you know, fever, nausea, vomiting..."
I toe some gravel in his direction and he chuckles, lifting his hands up in surrender.
"You wouldn't!" I say.
"Yeah," he admits. "Just 'cause your brother would hunt me down and kill me slowly."
My laugh echoes throughout the playground. "Only if he finds out it was you. But I doubt you wouldn't cover your tracks."
"True, true. Anyway it's not in my best interest to kill you, so don't worry." He extends his legs, almost touching the rock I'm sitting on.
"Is that so?" I ask, cocking a brow.
An impish grin peaks through his face. "You're the source of my adrenaline fix."
I blink at him and then burst with laughter. "I do imagine reading books and attending primary school classes are so exciting."
"Actually anything is fun when it is with you," he says with an amount of seriousness that makes me uncomfortable. He bends his head and a mess of waves falls forward, nearly obscuring his eyes.
I clear my throat, shifting away from his extended legs. "Thanks, I guess."
Totally oblivious to my discomfort, Sebastian rockets to his feet, excitement burning in his eyes.
"Speaking of adrenaline and fun," he says. "How about going out on a field trip?"
"What? Now?" My eyebrows fly up.
He quickly shakes his head. "Of course not! Someday." He waves his hand. "Soon though. It would be fun!"
I stare at him standing tall above me, all but hopping from foot to another. "I don't know..."
"Come on! Everyone needs a change of routine and a breath of fresh air. I know a place we could go; a lake just a little west of the mansion. I saw it from the plane on my way down here. It should be frozen now and perfect for skating."
I grimace, slightly shaking my head. "We'd have to take parents' consent and go through a lot of trouble to keep the kids safe. I don't even think Yahiya would let me go!"
Sebastian eagerly slips onto the rock beside me and I have to shift away again to avoid touching him.
"We can take only the older students. Yusra, Lana and Lamees would help of course, and between the five of us we can take care of thirty kids!" He says, shrugging as if to say 'easy'. "And if Yahiya insists on being a pain in the arse, he can come along." Wrinkling his nose in annoyance. "That bloke, Zayn can be out guest too."
I laugh at his obvious reluctance to invite these two along.
"I wish it were that easy," I say biting my lower lip.
"It is actually pretty simple. The lake isn't even that far away."
"None of us know how to skate," I say, already feeling this discussion coming to an end with him as a winner.
"Well, I don't like showing off-" he starts, tilting his head back.
"You? Show off? Oh never." Every word drips with heavy sarcasm but his grin just grows larger.
"Just like I was saying. So I kinda am a champion skater, and I can teach you the basics."
I lean forward, planting my chin in my palm. "Let me guess, you had a private coach and competed in the Olympics."
"Actually it was my mother who taught me how to skate," he says, all of his cockiness dissolving into a sweet smile.
His mother.
I get a mental image of the photo I saw in Sebastian's room in Residential Province; a young happy Sebastian and a woman with striking resemblance to him.
This is the first time he's ever mentioned her. Not that he does a lot of talking about his family.
"Really? That sounds like fun."
"They were some of my best childhood memories." His expression grows wistful and I'm suddenly afraid to say the wrong thing.
"Does she live with you in the mansion?"
Without lifting my head to see his expression, I know I said the wrong thing when suddenly he goes stiff beside me and his fingers curl into fists over his faded jeans.
"No she doesn't." His reply hits me like an ice wall, his eyes are glassy and the sudden shift in his tone and expression sends shivers up my back.
"Oh, I see." I quickly scramble around my head to change the topic.
I glance up to see a couple students chasing each other around the newly restored playground, giggling and throwing snow each other. Perhaps I can suggest we start a game of football.
"How about we--" I start when his voice - so low and brittle - cuts me short.
"She is dead."
It isn't what he says that make my eyes go wide, but the simplicity with which he says it. I am not even sure whether he really said this or just said "I eat bread".
His words tumble on and I tip my head to look at him just as he looks away, towards the kids who have started a game of hide-and-seek. "It was ten years ago."
"I used to love the woods by the mansion. They were my escape from the world of politics and formalities. Every morning I would go for a run and stop to take a couple photos with my new camera." His voice has gotten super quiet, and he seems almost to have forgotten that I'm there.
I'm not exactly sure where his story is going but I hold my breath, afraid that if I even so much as exhale he'll stop speaking entirely.
"One morning I snuck back home and there were more soldiers in our garden than I had ever seen in my life. I remember getting this ache in my gut, a certainty that something was wrong as I raced into the house."
My nails dig too deep into my palms as I watch a million emotions pass through Sebastian's face.
"My father, face bloodied and tear-stained, was sitting on the dinner table. Mom was nowhere. He told me she was gone. Murdered."
The gasp that flies past my lips is so loud that Sebastian's head snaps in my direction and when I see his eyes I have to keep myself from jumping away.
They aren't sad as I expect them to be, instead anger burns them up.
"That, Muslims killed her," he adds, his eyes boring into mine and in that moment I get the feeling that he resents me for it.
Which is crazy of course.
I lower my gaze and hug myself; it has gotten so cold, even though it didn't snow today.
"I used to wonder what Muslims could have done to inspire such hatred from you," I say and blow out a long breath before looking up at him again. "Now I understand."
"But do you really?"
"Yes actually. Because I used to feel exactly same. My parents..." I pause, surprised by how difficult it is to say it. "They're dead too."
He is quite next to me and I rush on, "They were killed during the invasion." That your father led, I don't add.
He laughs, but it is anything but humorous. "Which makes my father their murderer."
I don't know what to say or what's even appropriate but I don't think there is any, so I clasp my mouth shut.
"So, we both lost people we love because of someone that the other care about. And yet look at us..." He waves his hand between us, "Friends."
I smile, but is brittle and I can't hold it for long. "Look at us."
"For what it is worth, I'm really sorry." He says it so low and quiet, I almost miss it.
He inches closer, placing a hand on my knee, an act so unconscious that he doesn't seem to realize what he's done until I glance down in shock at his palm, warm against my leg. He draws it back abruptly, looking alarmed himself and I jump up as if struck by lightning.
He shakes his head roughly and shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.
"Misa!"
The sound of my name being called jolts me again and I swivel in the direction of the voice.
Lamees saunters towards us, holding up the hem of her abaya in one hand and a market basket in the other.
I rub the palm of my hand over my forehead, trying to ease the tension there and pray that Lamees doesn't notice the blush burning up my neck.
"Sorry I took forever, but the market was unusually crowded and busy today. I had to wait in line to buy a watermelon. It was so worth it though, look at this amazing baby." She tilts the basket so a small watermelon came into view while she gazed at it in admiration.
When I don't contribute anything to match her level of enthusiasm, Lamees looks up at me. She narrows her eyes, head quickly snapping in Sebastian's direction.
"You two didn't move from here since I left. An hour ago," she says, shifting the basket from one arm to the other.
Sebastian pulls a hand out of his pocket and rests it on the back of his neck. "Yeah, we were," he clears his throat. "Talking."
"You were?" Her gaze drifts to me, suspicious.
"Yes," I say too forcefully, then try to defuse the situation, "So are you going to send me a piece of that watermelon for iftar?"
Luckily my attempt works perfectly and a gleeful smile parts Lamees' cheeks. "Of course, half of it goes to the Tahir residence. So when is Yahiya picking you up?"
"Actually, Zayn is dropping me off at home today."
Lamees' eyes widen and she squeals in delight, clapping her gloved hands.
I am well too aware of Sebastian going stiff beside me, then clearing his throat he takes a couple steps away from us, towards Anas who is counting to ten.
So he did get annoyed by Zayn's attitude towards him yesterday. I was hoping he would just ignore it, but I can't blame him.
"Oh my Allah! Does this mean you two are back on good terms again? Are he and Yahiya?"
My smile is bemused. "Yes and yes. Zayn and I promised to mend back our relationship."
"That's awe-some!" Lamees sings, eyes squinting "And it's about time. After all he is your fiancé."
Sebastian pretends to be occupied by the kids, but I know he is listening. He rocks back on his heels and starts to whistle.
"He should be here soon. Are you okay to look over the kids for the remaining hour?" I ask her.
"Of course! You just have fun." She tackles me in a hug with her free arm and then walks inside, swinging the basket.
I turn to Sebastian, who has stopped whistling but still has his back to me.
"You have a fiancé, huh?" He asks.
"So you were listening," I say, taking a seat.
"Yes I was, but this isn't news to me. Zayn already told me yesterday. I guess he felt the need to mark his territory or something."
What? Zayn told him? When did he get the chance? And why did he even bring it up?
I decide against commenting on this and instead take the chance to apologize for yesterday again.
"I'm really sorry about his attitude last night. He's a really good man, just a jerk to people who he doesn't trust."
He snorts and turns around to face me, I don't know what to make of his expression.
"You don't have to apologize for him."
"I kinda do, since he is my cousin and fiancé."
Something flickers in his eyes, but they narrow again, hiding whatever has been there.
"Yeah, about that. Isn't it illegal to marry your cousin?" He asks, wrinkling his nose.
I burst out laughing. "Well, not in this country and not in Islam."
"Of course not," he says, tilting his head to the side and letting out a long breath.
I don't understand his frustration and I'm afraid to ask. So I just glance ahead, watching the entrance.
A while passes, Anas' turn as seeker is over and Dania is up. I am deep in thought about what I'll make for iftar today, when Sebastian speaks up.
"Do you love him?" He asks.
I blink twice, looking up at him. "Huh?"
"Zayn, do you love him?"
A flush spread over my cheeks, down my throat and I almost snap at him for being so blunt.
"What kind of question is that? Don't be absurd."
"It's the simple kind." He shrugs and takes a step closer as if daring me to answer.
Oh but really it isn't, because suddenly I realize I do not have an answer. Because I do not know how I feel.
Of course Zayn is my best friend and I love him, but do I love him the way Sebastian means?
My shoulder blades tingle under Sebastian's heavy stare and I swallow hard.
"This thing between me and him is all I have known my whole life. He's all I have known," I say staring at my fingers. I really should stop biting my nails, they look awful.
"That doesn't answer my question," Sebastian says, taking the final step between him and the rock I'm sitting on.
"I know."
I stand up, smile at him and start walking away, because I hate the feeling growing inside of me and because I just saw Zayn standing at the gate, glaring at Sebastian like he can eat him alive if I gave him the chance.