SOOO sorry for the late upload!!! Italicized = Flashback.
"In the Quran, it says that disobeying and disrespecting one's parents is equivalent to committing a murder. How many murders did I commit that night alone?" -- Noha Ali
Chapter 15
That One Crazy Night
☻ Noha Ali ☻
“If it was anyone else, I would be worried. But you’re Noha Ali, the good girl.”
Those words echo in my ears as I speed home after going to the library. I feel like they’re mocking me, hiding in the leaves of the trees and in the flowers blooming brilliant colors, waiting for me to walk by so that they can remind me over and over again of what a stupid person I am.
When I get home, I race upstairs to my room after dropping a kiss on Dawud and Rubina’s cheeks, who greet me when I arrive.
I know she didn’t mean it like that, because she has no idea of what happened all those years ago. The weight of the secrets and half-truths make my heart heavy.
I want to break free, I really do. I want to soar with weightless wings in the sky of truth, but the pull of secrets is keeping me from lifting my feet off the ground.
Maysa’s words hit me so hard when she said them, because the truth is, she should have been worried. She trusted me, and I broke that trust, trampled all over it as if it was insignificant, all those years ago. To this day she has no idea of what I did, and her obliviousness stabs me with every trusting word she utters.
They say that beauty is truth. If that is so, I must be the ugliest person to ever walk this earth. You know why? Because I lost everything that night, and the worst part is that I have never admitted it to anyone I love and trust. Only one person knows, but I feel as if I don’t even know him anymore.
As the memories flood through my mind like they have just been released by a broken dam, I settle back and allow myself to take a journey into the past to escape the reality of today.
“Hi, Noha! How’s middle school?” Maysa asks excitedly over the phone, the sound of her bubbly voice filling my ear as I clutch the phone close to me.
“It’s cool.” I say, in a bored tone.
“How are Farah and Naomi and Annabelle?” She asks again, trying to prod information out of me.
“They’re fine too.” I respond, irritation mounting as I tensely look at the clock for the fifth time since Maysa called. I’m going to be late if I don’t hang up now.
“Look, I have to go.” I all but snap.
There is silence on Maysa’s end of the line and finally, she responds in a quiet voice, “Ok.” The familiar sound of a click can be heard through the phone when she hangs up. I glance at the clock and grin; perfect, I have enough time to get ready now that Maysa hung up.
I cringe at this part of the memory. God, how could I have been so selfish? Was I really that stupid, not to notice the hurt in her voice? I laugh humorlessly. I did notice the hurt, but I was too self-centered to care, too egocentric to consider the feelings of others.
“Hey, Mom, I can wear this, right?” I ask when my mother comes into the room.
She surveys the article of clothing in my hand. “Noha, that is much too revealing. I cannot let you wear that without a cardigan or jacket of some sort on top.”
Irritation flows into my blood as I sense the attitude beginning to appear in my tone. “Mom! You told me I could wear it! I can’t believe you’re changing your mind about it now. That is so unfair!” I shout.
My mother’s eyes flash with anger. “Noha Ali, I by no means told you that you could wear that without something on top. I assumed that it was understood that the sleeves on the dress are much too short.”
Tense seconds tick by and finally, with gritted teeth, I say, “Fine.” My mother leaves and as she steps out, anger bubbles in me, unable to be contained for long. I raise my middle finger and flick off the door that my mother has just exited from.
Shame consumes me as I think back at this part of the story. I can’t believe I did that. I can’t believe that I had the audacity to do that to my mother. In the Quran, it says that disobeying and disrespecting one’s parents is the equivalent of committing a murder. How many murders did I commit that one night alone?
As I stand there looking at the dress that is practically sleeveless, I formulate a plan. I grab a random jacket to cover up over the dress. For the next half an hour, I fake my way through looking like I’m fine. It’s not until my dad drops me off at my middle school that I drop the façade. I hurry over to the bathroom. It’s mostly empty, and I am glad.
I look at myself in the mirror. I reach into my bag and take out some eyeliner and mascara. In a matter of minutes my fresh-faced innocence that I detested so much is transformed into sultry sexiness. Next, I take a deep breath, and then remove the jacket that I have worn on top. My tan arms look nice as my skin’s glossiness shines in the dim lights of the poorly-lit bathroom. I take off my shoes and then reach underneath my dress and take off my leggings. I bite my lip and look down at the clutch I have brought. Folding my leggings gently, I stuff them into my bag. I look into the mirror with satisfaction.
I look hot. The ruffle on the sleeveless dress barely covers my arms. The neckline cuts above my bust. The knee-length dress shows off my well-defined calf muscles obtained from hours of running track.
I hear the pounding music begin to sound from the dance hall. After looking at myself one last time, I walk out of the bathroom feeling like someone I am not, someone who I could only dream of being.
Thinking back, I walk over to my window seat, shivering slightly at the cold being radiated from the glass. As I sink into the seat, I wrap my arms around my knees. Just four years ago, I exposed my body for the world to see. I still had my limits, thank God, but what would have happened if I had not stopped there with that one night? I don’t know.
Once I’m on the dance floor, I look around with excitement. Farah isn’t here, she had to go to her cousin’s graduation in Maine. Maysa goes to another middle school, and we aren’t allowed to bring people from other schools to our dance. I am glad, because I’m sick and tired of Maysa and Farah being all good and religious and not taking a chance to just shut up and LIVE. Live like how I want to live, on the edge.
I feel a tap on my shoulder; I already know who it is. I smile and straighten my posture. On the count of three, I turn around, and within a millisecond, I am face-to-face with the cutest boy in the world.
My heart protests as my thoughts trail to Alexander (Xan for short) but my mind firmly tells it to shut up, that I need to think about this and alleviate myself from this pain. I need to think about him in depth, think about everything that happened between us, before I can allow myself closure.
I’m so sick and tired of feeling guilty, and in the back of my head, I know that Arman is part of the reason that today is the day I need to resurface those memories. I shake my head violently at the thought of Arman. This isn’t about him right now, it’s about me and Xan.
“Hi Xan.” I try my best to sound just the right amount of interested. He looks good, really good. He is wearing an ocean-blue shirt with a silky white tie that tames the fire in his sapphire blue eyes. He is looking at me with intensity, his eyes raking over my body. For a split second, my Muslim reflex makes me feel uncomfortable, but I mentally fight that thought and smile at Xan again, looking at him up and down.
“Hey, cutie. You wanna dance?” He asks. I nod, trying to play it cool, but inside I am giddily celebrating. After months of flirting through text and online, Alexander Hawkings finally made a move. A move on a girl like me, who’s not allowed to wear the cute skirts and dresses that all the other girls chasing Xan wear.
“Yeah. I’d like to dance.” Smiling, Xan takes me by the hand and leads me to the middle of the dance floor. We begin to move to the rhythm of the music. The colored lights illuminate Xan’s handsome face in the darkness. He grins at me and I can’t help but smile back, dancing away from my pesky conscience and all of my other problems.
The music changes and suddenly a slow song starts playing through the loud speakers. Looking at me for confirmation, Xan slips his arms around me. Again, I hesitate for a second but gradually melt into his arms. So this is what it feels like to like a guy and be able to do something about it. It’s a foreign feeling, but one I can get used to if it feels like this.
Xan sways me and I look up at him and smile. “I feel like Sam in A Cinderella Story.” I whisper. Xan’s content smile widens and he tightens his arms around me.
“I’ll be your Austin.” He whispers, and then dips me low on the dance floor. My stomach drops and I smile up at him, my arms around his neck.
As he swings me back up, I catch sight of a girl looking at us in shock. Her brown eyes look appalled at the sight before her and my stomach drops again, this time in a way that is definitely not good.
“Shazia!” I yell as she turns on her heel and makes her way through the crowd of slow-dancing couples.
Shazia. I deceived her, left her, lied to her, all the above. We’re not friends anymore, and I think that we never will be quite as close as we were back then; too much stuff has happened between then and now. She has changed way too much, and so have I.
We carry on as if everything is fine. No one knows about the pact we made at the beginning of high school to act civil towards each other for the sake of taming the rampant rumors and gossip flying around.
The energy of the dance floor that once seemed like heaven now feels like chaos. I feel myself getting irritated as I bump into couples left and right. I weave in and out of the crowd quickly and look around with hysteria seeping into my blood. I have to find Shazia.
The desperation mounts in my heart and finally, after three agonizing minutes, I see her in the corner. “Shazia!” I yell.
She looks at me and a storm of emotion fills her eyes. “What?” She asks coolly.
“Please. Let me explain!” I shout, not caring about the dozens of eyes staring at us in curiosity.
Shazia looks down at her watch with a dead calm look on her face. “You have three minutes.” She says.
“It…I…me and Xan weren’t doing anything.” I stammer out. The argument sounds pathetic, even in my ears.
Shazia simply raises her eyebrows. “Since when was slow dancing not anything?”
I’m at a loss of words. “Shazia…please. I…”
I trail off and look at her helplessly. “We made a promise.” She says in a quiet yet clear voice. “That even though we like a boy, we would not do anything that wasn’t Islamically ok. Way to lie to me about it, Noha. And then way to go out and try to justify what you did.”
I look down, the tears starting to trace hot trails of salt water down my rose stained cheeks. “Shaz…” I whisper.
“If tomorrow, your mom found out what you were doing, what do you think she would do? You would have disappointed her, crushed her. And what if she died knowing that her daughter did that to her? Death claims you like that,” Shazia snaps her fingers. “And you’re willing to take that chance and eff it up?” She’s yelling by now. “But wait, the death thing is a little melodramatic, is it not? Think about it like this: bottom line is, you lied to me. That wouldn’t be so bad but you know what you did? You just tried to justify it. And that makes you the worst of them all, Noha.”
I hang my head in shame and humiliation because every single word coming out of her mouth is the truth.
Thinking back, I realize for the first time that Shazia’s mom having cancer shaped some of the events that took place that night. At the beginning of the year, Shazia was just like me, but after her mother got diagnosed, she stopped doing all the stuff I did and threw herself into making sure her family was ok. She never told me that everything I was doing was wrong, but she made it clear that she didn’t want to participate in whatever I was doing. I never knew she did it because she thought it was unfair to her mom; I always thought she didn’t have the time to talk to boys and go shopping and sneak around.
“Remember this moment.” Shazia spits out. “Because it is the moment that our friendship ends. Whoa, look at that, moment over. Bye.” And with that, she walks away, leaving me filled with regret and frustration.
The room starts to spin and I search wildly for the nearest exit. I need to get away. I find a door and slam into it to get it open. It slams behind me but I know that it doesn’t matter; the music is too loud anyways.
I sit on a bench, my heart pounding wildly, almost as if it is attempting to break out and right all the wrongs I have committed.
Clutching the edges of the benches, I pray that the physical pain will distract me. I feel something vibrating beside me and when I look, I see that it is my phone. My screen indicates that Adam is calling. I clear my throat and count to three before picking up.
“Hello?” I say sunnily; I’m totally faking this.
I hear muffled sounds so I wait before calling Adam’s name repeatedly. Frustrated at the lack of response, I am about to disconnect the call until I hear my name being faintly said through the line.
“Mom when is Noha going to be home?” Adam whines. There are more muffled noises.
“Aw, Adam do you miss her?” Rubina says in a mocking tone.
“Shut up Rubina! I’m just tired of Mom and Dad worrying about her.” Adam snaps. I blink. They’re worried about me?
I hear footsteps through the line and a whoosh of air. I’m quiet. It’s ironic that after a night of wrongs, I’m still willing to eavesdrop but I’m so tense wondering what they’re talking about that I don’t even have time to debate whether or not what I’m doing is morally incorrect.
For the next twenty seconds, neither Adam nor Rubina talk. Muffled noises and whooshes of air are all I hear. Then, I hear my mother’s voice. “Suleiman, I’m so worried about her.”
My heart seizes and I feel that someone is holding it in their hand and squeezing it painfully. “Aaliya, there’s nothing to worry about. We trust Noha; she’s a good girl. She’ll make the right decisions. I know she won’t do anything bad.”
At the sound of this, I burst out in sobs. The tender love in my father’s voice is enough to destroy my composure, my heart. “Suleiman, am I…good mother?” I don’t catch all the words in her question but my mother’s voice breaks; I know that it’s not because of the phone. “She was upset today…” I can’t hear what she says after that because Adam, who I presume accidentally called me, probably left the room.
I wait with impatience and dread at what I’m about to hear next. “Ma?” Adam says tentatively. I hear footsteps; they are in the kitchen. “I know you and Noha may not always get along…but she’s good, mom. She won’t…disappoint you. She’s too good for that.”
My nose is rocketing out mucus because I can’t breathe; that’s how hard I am crying. The sobs overtake me and shake my body violently. Hot rivers gush out of my eyes, wetting my eyelashes and leading trails of salt down my chin, onto my tongue.
I shake my head violently as I come back to the present. I feel disorientated as I look around the room, no doubt with a wild look of confusion in my eyes. I feel my heartbeat decelerate as I soak in the site of my white bedspread and the various colored walls plastered with pictures, mementos, all symbolic representations of the life Allah has blessed me with.
I look over to a scrapbook filled with memories of last year, two years after Maysa and I rebuilt and established our friendship. I clutch the cool leather-bound book in my hand as I think back to the last major incident of that night.
I hang up the phone, unable to hear the praises that I have done nothing to deserve. I sit there for a few minutes. The world goes by without a care, completely unaware of the girl having a mental breakdown on a bench at the front of her school.
I am left unbothered for a few minutes. Then, I hear feet hit the concrete pavement as they get louder and louder. I look at the ground and see a pair of legs approach me. I slowly lift my eyes to see Aiden Becks staring down at me, a mischievous smile on his face.
I break off my thoughts right then and there. No! I scream to myself. I can’t – won’t – go back to that conversation. I exhale.
Suddenly, I’m tired, the kind of tired that causes me to think twice before moving any muscles. I close the scrapbook from ninth grade with a sense of finality and make my way over to my bed. I sink down onto my bed and pray for sleep to take me for a few hours.
☮ ☮ ☮
The next morning I am not in the mood at all to go to school. I drag my body out of bed, my stupid mind screaming protests with every step I take to the bathroom. I look at myself in the mirror, at my wide glassy eyes and disheveled hair. Taking a deep breath I begin to make wadhu.
As I walk out silently from the bathroom and plod to my room, I realize that I missed Isha namaz yesterday. I slap my palm against my forehead as guilt seeps into me. God, I am such a bad Muslim. I can’t believe I fell asleep without a thought as to whether or not I had prayed.
After I pray Fajr namaz, I glance at my closet and make a face. I have no idea what to wear. After staring at my wardrobe for about five minutes, I grab a pair of slim-fitting skinny jeans and a random t-shirt. I belt a belt through the loops of the jeans and grab a pullover hoddie. I look at myself in the mirror; I look totally unfabulous but I’m past the point of caring; I just want to get through the day.
After breakfast, Adam and I hurry into the car in an attempt to get to school on time. I stare out the window and take off the black flats that I have worn so that I can tuck my feet underneath my legs. When I don’t hear the sound of an engine starting, I look over to see Adam texting someone with a smile on his face.
“Who is it?” I ask, assuming it’s Maysa. Why else would he smile because of a text?
“Shazia.” He responds casually, causing me to choke on my own spit.
I cough awkwardly and scrutinize my brother’s face. “Oh.” I manage to muster.
Adam continues to smile and texts something to her. Since when have they been all chummy? “Yeah. Ok, let’s go.” He says, putting away his phone.
“No phone usage while driving.” I say sternly.
He rolls his eyes but nods. “Ok, mom.”
☮ ☮ ☮
After making it through four morning classes, I rest my head against the cool wood tables of the school library. I’m not in the mood to socialize with my friends today, and the solace and comfort of the library soothes my disorientated and fried brain.
I hear someone clear his throat but figuring I’m not the one being addressed, I continue to sit with my head on the table with my arms around it to shield my face. “Noha?” I hear a familiar British accent say.
I snap my head up to find Niall Richards looking at me, smiling uneasily. “Yes…?” I say slowly, unsure as to why he’s here. At least Ahmed’s not with him.
“Can…can I talk to you for a minute?” He asks awkwardly.
I shoot him a flat look. “Richards, what do you think you’re doing now?”
Instead of being his usual flirty self, Niall laughs awkwardly. I sigh. He obviously has something big he wants to talk about. I motion for him to take the seat across from me.
He looks around and then complies. I roll my eyes. “It’s ok, being seen with me won’t do anything to your image. You can chill.”
He shakes his head. “That’s not it.”
“Then what is?” I ask.
Instead of directly answering my question, he begins. “So…Maysa’s your best friend, right?” This question immediately captures my attention.
Irony trickles into the situation as I make sense of his question. “Yeah, for about eight years now.”
This is obviously news to him. He has a shocked expression on his face as he nods. “Oh, wow.” He coughs again and drums his fingers on the table. “So…I was kind of wondering…what would I do if I wanted to become friends with her?” He rushes out quickly.
“Wait…what?” I ask, utterly confused as to why he rushed out that last question.
Niall places his head in his hands as if he’s going crazy. “Look, I want to become friends with her, like proper friends. So…what would I do to make her stop looking at me like I’m not worth her time?”
“Uh…well, you could stop hitting on her for one.” I point out.
“I…ok. I mean, I joke about it but…my pickup lines have always worked on other girls.” He mumbles.
I laugh. “Well, dude, they’re not going to work on Maysa. Why do you want to become friends with her?”
Niall looks down at his hands. “Um…I…I fancy her.” He manages to get out before his face stains crimson red.
I look at him in mock shock. “No…really? Never would have guessed.”
He looks at me hesitantly but once he picks up the sarcasm in my voice he looks at me in horror. “Wait a minute…she knows?!”
I shake my head. “She’s dense. But dude, the whole world knows you’ve got a thing for her. But I’m warning you straight up, she doesn’t date. Neither of us do.”
Niall sighs and looks disappointed. “No chance?”
“No chance at dating her or no chance at becoming her friend?”
“Both.” He states glumly.
“No chance at having the kind of relationship you want but definitely a chance of becoming friends with her. Don’t down yourself. Maysa is an amazing person once you get to know her but you have to crack her open before she’ll be herself around you. Got it?”
Niall nods vigorously. “Ok, I got it. Thank you so much, Noha. You’re amazing babe.” He gets up, a new kind of spring in his walk. He smirks at me and begins to say, “Baby if –”
I cut him off right then and there. “What did I say about the pickup lines?” He smacks his forehead and nods.
“Right, right. Ok, look, one last thing. I was actually supposed to come here to find out what you think of Ahmed but he doesn’t know about his conversation. For your sake I didn’t bring him up. So please, this conversation never happened, ok?”
I think and then nod. “Ok.” As Niall saunters away smiling at the nerdy girl working at the front desk, I can’t help but admit that he’s actually not that bad of a guy.
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So, what do you think? Oh! And ok, so the story timeline. Maysa and Noha have been friends since 3rd grade (they're in 11th), though they're brothers have been friends since the girls were in first grade. Their friendship was fine till the end of 6th grade, when Maysa switched schools. For 7th and 8th their friendship was strained, due to Noha's shenanigans. In ninth grade they recultivated their friendship and now they are in 11th. Everything can be deduced by deep reading but I figured you would just appreciate it all condensed for ya! ^_^
-- aSh ♥