I'm at the brink of a breakdown, which is SO not good because I'm usually such a stress-free person (allhumdulillah). Next upload probably won't be until Saturday morning on November 12. Read on. Wait! Ok, so i just want to say THANK YOU to SSrockon for the beautiful cover. I love it so much - she did a really great job mashallah! (:
"God, I am such a girl. I need to get a grip." -- Maysa Malik, Confessions of a Muslim Girl
Chapter 14
Mysterious Mr. Cute Private School Guy
☼ Maysa Malik ☼
I tap the end of my pencil on the table to the rhythm of my racing heart. Thick silence wraps around me as I sit alone at a table in the library. I look down at my watch. He’s three minutes late. I look up when I see a flurry of motion out of the corner of my eye. Farah is trying to get my attention without making a sound.
She looks ridiculous as she flails her arms around. When she sees me looking at her, she points to her phone. I take my own out of my pocket and sure enough, there is an indication that I have a new text message.
Text the mysterious Arman Rehmani and see where he is, stupid! >:o
I roll my eyes and don’t even bother sending a text in response. Instead I look up at Farah and grumble underneath my breath. “I’ll give him five more minutes!” I whisper. She rolls her eyes and reluctantly nods, turning her attention back to the fashion design books she has been looking at.
I glance at my watch for what seems like the twentieth time since I got here ten minutes ago. Eight minutes, he’s eight minutes late. I feel suspicion set into me as I wonder whether or not Arman will show up at all.
The library is for the most part empty. Tall bookshelves surround me on both sides, filled with pages and pages bound together that allow discovery and knowledge to be at the fingertips of the curious.
Farah comes and sits next to me with five books in her hands. They are mostly about fashion design. I smile. Farah has always loved to make her own clothes, and she finds joy in modifying popular styles into Islamically-acceptable clothing.
“Find anything good?” I ask.
Farah answers, “You know that one pure white tank dress that I was telling you about? It was mid-thigh, pure white, and the straps were about an inch thick. I was thinking, instead of wearing just a plain-old, solid color tee-shirt underneath it, why not make a print bolero jacket?” She looks excited about it.
I look at her, not quite understanding what she means. “Ok, ‘print bolero’? What’s that?”
Farah sighs good-naturedly. “It’s a jacket that only covers till my ribs. I could make a floral-print one and I can make it three-quarters sleeved. What do you think? And I could put oversized golden buttons on it. If only I made it a pale pink…”
I laugh. “It sounds really cute, Far. Are you making this for some special event?”
Farah shakes her head. “I just need a project to keep me busy.”
I nod in understanding. I sit there, lost in thought, until Farah smacks my arm hard. “What?!” I ask, bewildered as to why I just got hit.
Farah urgently directs my attention towards a teenage boy who has just entered the library through the entrance. He’s undeniably handsome in a tall, dark, and handsome kind of way. He’s wearing a school uniform which consists of slim-fitting khakis, shiny Oxfords, a light blue button-down shirt, and a navy-blue plaid tie. The boy has an aura about him, and I decide I like how he’s different.
His handsome features hold a hint of nervousness in them, and I’m intrigued as I see him reach for his phone and text someone. I’m so caught up in creeping on him that I don’t notice my phone buzzing until Farah nudges me.
Where are you? I’m here. I’m wearing my school uniform btw.
I gulp. Is Mr. Cute Private School Guy the mysterious Arman? Oh God…I feel the sudden urge to look at myself in the mirror. Farah doesn’t even wait for permission to look at the text. She goes ahead and reads it and silently screams in happiness, looking up at the handsome boy in the school uniform. She does a weird little happy dance in her seat that consists of wriggling around and bouncing up and down in the seat. In an almost daze, I manage to text back.
I’m at the third table between the two biography bookshelves.
Mr. Cute Private School Guy walks over to where I am sitting. Mr. Cute Private School Guy is my peer tutor. OH MY GOD. I feel another urge to look in the mirror. I’m hardly ever conscious about my appearance, but wouldn’t you be self-conscious if a guy like that was your peer tutor? They don’t make ’em like that anymore.
Ok, I’m being delusional. And annoying. God, I am such a girl. I need to get a grip. I close my eyes and take a deep breath and when I open them again, I almost choke on my own spit because now Mr. Cute Private School Guy is standing by the table me and Farah are sitting at.
“Maysa?” He says, unsure. His voice is warm and flowing.
I clear my throat and at least try to look like I’m not swooning, even if it’s in a semi-Islamically-acceptable way. “Hi. Arman, right?” He nods and looks visibly relieved. I relax a little at that.
Farah purposefully clears her throat. “I need to check these out and go pick up my siblings from elementary school. I’ll call you, ok, Maysa?” I half want to scream at her to not leave me alone but the other half is screaming get a grip.
Farah leaves and Arman takes a seat and sets his backpack on the table. I work up the courage to look directly at him, and the minute I do, his curious golden brown eyes look at me in observation. Awkwardness is at the brink of setting in. I clear my throat before that can happen and say, “So you’re in Calc too?” Ok, yes, stupid. Of course he’s in Calculus! Why else would you two be each other’s tutors?!
I guess for my sake he nods and smiles slightly, and two deep dimples spring up on his cheeks, embedded into his golden skin. I semi-swoon again. “Yeah. So is there anything you need help with?”
I actually don’t need much help, except for one question I have about limits. I decide to ask him anyway so that we’re not awkwardly sitting together with absolutely nothing to do. “Just a question about limits. For a sine graph, what is the limit as x approaches infinity?”
He proceeds to explain it to me, and though the light turns on halfway through his explanation, I can’t help but notice how clearly he explains everything.
I sigh in relief. “Thanks! Man, I hate graphing trig functions though.”
He nods in understanding. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” We sit there in silence for a couple of seconds. Awkwardness settles in dense and thick into the air and my cheeks start burning up as they do in every situation like this.
“What…what movie makes you cry?” I blurt out, and as the last words escape my mouth, I’m already beating myself up mentally. That has got to be the weirdest question ever, and you sure as hell don’t ask it ten minutes into meeting someone, especially if that someone happens to be a very, very cute boy.
Arman looks utterly startled and taken aback. That just makes everything worse because I continue to talk. “I mean, I totally understand if you don’t want to say what movie it is. Actually, you don’t even look like the kind of guy who cries over movies…wait, are you?”
Arman still hasn’t said anything, probably because I’m not letting him say much. I tend to babble when I’m nervous, but I have a habit of bursting out with a sentence or two, and then I’m quiet again, whereas with Noha, once she gets started, she just can’t stop.
Silence grows louder and louder until the quiet whispers coming from everyone else in the library seem like a muted hum in the background. My cheeks grow hotter and hotter, but I can’t look away from Arman’s face, because his features are set in an unreadable expression. I’m not even sure if I want to know what he’s thinking. He’s probably thinking that I’m a freak.
He clears his throat. “My Sister’s Keeper.” He says.
I look at him in shock. “What?” I say in a hoarse whisper. That’s my favorite movie as well.
He blushes and looks down, and his slight scowl only shows off the dimple in his left cheek. It’s ad-or-able. It truly is.
“My Sister’s Keeper. That’s my favorite movie.” He whispers the last confession as if it is some secret not to be heard by the wrong ears. The confession floats in the air, able to be easily missed, but it holds so much weight in determining the kind of person he is.
“Me too.” I blurt out, yet again.
He looks up at me. “Wait a minute, you like that movie too?” I nod. “Why?” He asks simply. I stop. I don’t think anyone has asked me why except for Noha.
“Because it’s not a cliché movie. It doesn’t focus on Kate, the one who is sick. I like how it goes above and beyond and focuses on Anna and Jesse, and how it tears them apart.”
He nods. “I can understand that.”
I clear my throat. “Why do you like it?”
And just like that, he closes up. His face loses all emotion and he stiffens. “I have to go.” He whispers. I’m utterly confused.
“What?” I say dumbly. I can’t even comprehend his abruptness; I’m just confused as to what I said that upset him. Arman clutches the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles are white. I’m about to say something else but the smell of French vanilla fills my nostrils as a sudden motion carries a whiff of perfume towards me.
“Hi!” Noha says sunnily. A huge smile is on her face and her skin is glowing as she happily looks between me and Arman, who has his head bent.
Arman looks up and when Noha gets a good look at his face, she has a sharp intake of breath. “Oh, hi. I’m Noha. Are you Maysa’s peer tutor?” I admire her smooth recovery despite my confused state. It makes me feel almost jealous that she can transition through emotions so quickly.
Arman is staring at Noha’s beaming face. “Hi.” He says, and then clears his throat. “I’m Arman.” I raise my eyebrows. Whatever was on Arman’s mind before he seems to have temporarily forgotten.
Noha smiles and nods. She says to me, “So we’re still on for girl’s movie night in, right? You could sleep over if you want, but Adam would have to make plans to stay somewhere else.”
The mention of movies seems to make Arman snap out of whatever trance he is. He quickly packs up his things. “Well, this has been nice, but I have to go. Nice to meet you, Noha. Maysa.” He nods at me.
He books out of there so fast that the only indication that he was even here is the faint smell of Armani cologne.
Noha sinks down into the seat that was previously occupied by Arman. “Wow, so the mysterious guy really is your peer tutor. Why can’t I have your luck?”
I laugh. “If it was anyone else, I would be worried. But you’re Noha Ali, the good girl.” I wink at her and she smiles back slightly, looking down at the buttons on her jacket and toying with them.
I look over in the general direction that Arman went and wonder what happened that made him leave so fast. I shake my head. Nothing seems to make any sense these days.
☮ ☮ ☮
That night, I’m sitting at my desk doing homework. My head starts to seriously hurt so I take a break and walk over to my window. The sun is about to set, indicating that Maghrib will be here soon. I press my forehead against the cold window and focus my energy towards making dua. Soon the only sounds I can hear are my beating heart and the Quran echoing in my ear.
Someone urgently knocks on my door and I sigh, the peaceful moment ruined. Nazia walks in. “Mom’s calling you to dinner.” She says, and then without a word, leaves.
I hurry to the kitchen to help my mom with setting the table. When I walk in, she smiles at my gratefully and nods her head towards a stack of plates sitting on the counter. Only when my feet stop making noises against the tile floor do I realize that she is also silently making dua.
After setting the table, I walk into my dad’s home office and find my dad looking stressed while rubbing his forehead. “Dad, it’s time for dinner. Hurry, so that we’re not late for Maghrib.” I say.
He turns. “Maysa! Haven’t seen much of you this week. How are you?”
I sigh and take a seat in the extra office chair. “Tired, Daddy.”
He shoots me a sympathetic look. “Anything you want to talk about?”
I bite my look and debate on whether or not to say anything. “What if there’s someone who was nice to you last year because they wanted something from you but now they’re not interested in that anymore, so they’ve stopped being nice?”
Dad takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “What did they want?”
I cough awkwardly. No way am I going to say anything about Shazia and Zak. “Um, my approval? Well, more like something else that I was associated with, but they knew that winning my approval was the best way to get it.”
Dad nods. “Well then, you know that they’re not really a true friend no matter how nice they were to you. It’s not really a loss, is it? People can be nice, Mays. We all have the ability to be. People who chose to be nice because they want to be are truly the people with the purest intentions. You’ll just have to choose your friends wisely.”
I think for a minute. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”
He grins. “I know I’m right. Come on, let’s go eat dinner.”
So we do.
☮ ☮ ☮
Dinner in my family is always an eventful affair. Today, Nazia steals the spotlight. She clears her throat halfway through dinner and asks, “Can I go to a school dance?”
The dinner table falls silent and even the clinking of forks comes to a standstill. I look around and blink. My parents aren’t that serious, but this is the first time that Nazia has ever showed interest in wanting to go to a dance.
“When is it, Naz?” My mom asks.
“It starts at six and ends at nine.” She replies. My Dad nods but he remains silent.
“The days are getting shorter, Nazia. Maghrib is coming earlier and earlier. It’s not good to be out during that time.”
Nazia sighs quietly and nods. I’m about to open my mouth to agree with my mother, but Nazia shoots me a pleading look, desperation in her eyes. I sigh quietly and nod, moving my head up and down only a fraction of an inch, just enough to let her know that I understand.
I think back to the two dances that Noha and I attended together. When I do, a queasy feeling begins to form in the pit of my stomach.
“Is it a boys and girls dance, Nazzy? What will you have to wear?” Dad asks. Zakariya is quiet.
“Yes, it’s a boys and girls dance. But Rubina will be there! I was supposed to ask you guys a few days ago but I forgot. Please!” Nazia pleads. “We just have to wear casual or semi-formal dresses. Please, Mama. Please Daddy!”
Nazia’s beautiful face has an adorable pleading look on it. Her golden brown eyes have flecks of dark green in them if you look close enough. They’re wide and I can tell that her innocence is already causing my parents to waver in their decision-making.
“Hell, no. You are not going to a dance with boys, Nazia.” Zakariya says firmly.
We all turn to look at him, taken aback expressions on all of our faces except for my parents’. “I know what goes on at those dances. It’s not good.” He continues.
“You’re thinking high school dances, Zakariya. That’s where all the bad stuff happens. Middle school dances would be fine.” I defend.
My mother, the renowned peacemaker of the family, holds her hands up. “We will think about it and let you know.” Seeing mine and Zak’s expressions, she continues. “But! If we do let you go, Nazia, remember that you won’t be allowed to go to any high school dances! Both your siblings will be the first to tell you that nothing good goes on there. I realize that this is the last casual dance before the formal one in the spring. So the probability of us saying yes is favorable, but again, your father and I need time to think this through.”
That ends any further debate on the matter. The rest of the dinner passes rather uneventfully, except for the occasional tension that has become part of our daily routine since Zakariya’s change.
☮ ☮ ☮
After dinner, Nazia and I clear the table and put all the leftovers away. We pile the dishes in the sink for Zakariya to do when he gets done with his homework. Just as Nazia begins to walk off to her room, I motion for her to come into mine.
I point at the bed and she obediently sits down, hands folded in her lab. She has a serious expression on her face and I resist the urge to laugh; she looks as if she’s being interrogated by the authorities. “Chill, Nazzy. I just want to hear more about this dance at your school.”
Nazia’s posture loses its rigidness. “It’s nothing. Just a dance at school that me and Rubina want to go to. It’s like a fall type dance, and it’s from six to nine at night, obviously. It’s semi-formal, so girls just have to wear a fall or summer dress. Boys just have to wear pants and a casual button-down.”
I nod. “Who else is planning to go?”
“Rubina asked her parents. They were supposed to tell her tonight. My other friends will be there too.”
“And what exactly do you plan on wearing, young lady?”
Nazia looks at me with a disbelieving face. “Clothes, Maysa. I was planning on wearing clothes. I don’t know…just jeans with a dress and cardigan on top, I guess.”
“You don’t have to bring a date or anything, right?”
“No.”
“Are your friends the only reason you want to go? No boys or anything in the picture, am I correct?”
“Of course not.” She says quickly. I raise my eyebrows and she repeats her reply, this time slower. We continue to talk for a few more minutes, and when she leaves, I flop down on my bed, wondering when my baby sister grew up and where I was when she did.
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Me duele mi cabeza. I'm off to sleep now. See, I don't even have the energy to blabber. I've hit rock bottom. Ish. :D
-- aSh ♥