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If you have skipped the previous chapter, just go back and go through the MANDATORY READ part please! It's very important you do so.
Also, remember that this is a culture-focused story rather than a religion-based one. However, I do not intend to use that as an excuse to misinterpret Islam.
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The story starts here:
The very first time I ran my eyes over you, you were in that hideous blue uniform. I memorized your eyes, nose and smile; the features that would come to give me joy in the future and haunt me at the same time.
Call me crazy, but a little part of me believes I've been in love with you since the very first time I laid my eyes on you.
...
Malika Bashir stared at her reflection on the reflective surface of a window.
Her fair skin was powdered, blushed and bronzed. Her upturned-eyes were exaggerated with deep black kohl. Her pink pout was made rosier with the cherry chap stick shining on her lips.
Malika scrutinized her appearance for a moment. She was fairly impressed by how much she had achieved in the cramped backseat of her mother's car, jerking over uneven roads. There wasn't a stroke that was out of place, or a stray strand of hair, she saw with satisfaction.
She darted her honey-colored eyes towards her never-ending forehead, annoyance flashing in them. There was only so much makeup could do. The forehead never looked right, and no amount of contouring could fix it.
Malika let out a sigh. She reluctantly pulled out the hideous blue blazer from her backpack and wrapped it around her shoulders.
She hated the school uniform more than anything she had ever hated. It reminded her of that blue liquid people used to clean their toilets. The blue was ugly.
It made her look ugly.
Despite that, Malika knew she had to wear it. Their class supervisor's favorite hobby was to single her out for the most miniscule things and question her character in front of the entire student body.
Malika knew she'd given enough ammunition by wearing makeup and stilettos to class, she didn't need to ditch the blazer to attract anymore attention towards her.
Rolling her eyes at the thought of their school's toxic culture, Malika sauntered towards the primary academic building.
The school ground was crowded, students milling in groups, heading for their first class.
Malika received a lot of curious glances from her peers, like always. Both her classmates and juniors alike were gawking at her like she was a celebrity passing by paparazzi.
The sky overhead looked clear. It was still sunny. Chittagong, the port city of Bangladesh, was always sunny, but she could smell the rain in the meek winds that were blowing.
Her mood lifted, Malika's steps became more determined.
It was her final year at high school, and Malika Bashir had a good feeling about it. She didn't know what it was - whether something in the air, water, or the fact that Joe Jonas was finally single - she had a strong gut feeling this year was going to bring changes.
Malika spotted her best friend hanging out in their regular spot - shaded by a years-old mango tree - at the heart of the campus.
Farrah was chipping the nail polish of her left pointed finger with the right one, her thick legs stretched out on the grass in front, her eyes focused on the strips of paint peeling away.
Malika covered the distance between them with quick, long strides, her hips swaying in rhythm.
"What's up," she said, more as a greeting than a question.
Farrah shrugged. "Was just waiting for you." She got up, slipping her arms inside the straps of her backpack, one by one.
Malika's eyes darted to the frown on her friend's forehead. Farrah Hussain had gained a couple of kilos over the summer and the way the girl was sulking, it was apparent she was still struggling to feel comfortable in her new body.
Malika didn't see anything wrong with the way Farrah looked, but she knew better than to comment. The years of experience told her this was one of those situations that she needed to keep her opinion to herself, at least for the moment. Malika and Farrah were each other's oldest friends. They had known each other since they were in frocks and played with Barbies. The frocks were replaced by skirts and their dolls with lipsticks, but their loyalty to each other had remained unchanged.
The primary hallway was still relatively empty by the time the girls entered. The main flood of students usually rushed in five minutes before the bell rang. Before they could reach the rows of notice boards bearing their schedules for the day, Layla Fayyad halted behind them.
"The first class hasn't even begun yet and I'm already done with school," she drawled.
Malika glanced at her. Layla's wispy hair was in a messy bun on top of her head. Her dark brown eyes were rimmed red, indicating she didn't get enough sleep. Her dusky skin was flushed, no doubt, from jogging from the main gate to make it in time.
Despite that, the girl was gorgeous.
Malika felt a bubble of irritation in her chest. She could never pull off the 'just got out of bed' look like Layla did. No one could. And Layla wasn't even trying.
Layla Fayyad was someone that Malika had been friends with for almost as long as she had been with Farrah. The girl was just always there as a consequence of the fact that Malika and Layla's brothers were best friends. After years of hanging out, they had become friends due to circumstances, as there was something irreplaceable about sharing a childhood together.
Malika's eyes glided over the girl's appearance, halting on her hips. "Your uniform's a mess," she said with exasperation, gesturing towards Layla's waist.
The tall girl let out a groan when she realized one end of her shirt was tucked inside the navy blue skirt, the other was hanging out. Layla faced the solid wall for some privacy from the public eye, and started shoving the hem of her shirt inside.
"So," Farrah turned to Malika. "Did you see the new kids yet?" she asked.
"We're supposed to get new kids?" Layla asked over her shoulder.
"Duh," Malika responded. Then she turned to Farrah and shook her head. "I couldn't have, I came in just now."
"Two. A boy and a girl." Farrah repeated exactly as she had learned from the admissions office earlier this morning, an air of importance puffing her chest as it always did when she was bestowing knowledge. "They're siblings or cousins." She added as an afterthought, "or something."
Layla turned to face them again and the girls started walking.
Farrah flickered her eyes between the girls. "What do you think they're like?" she asked with the same enthusiasm.
"Can't be worse than what we're forced to deal with already," Layla added with an eye roll.
"True that."
The girls collected their class routines for the rest of the semesters and mapped out their day before heading towards their first lesson of the day. Malika strode forward, as both Layla and Farrah padded behind, getting wrapped up in a conversation regarding their faculties.
Malika's eyes were skimming the crowd. Most of the bodies were blending into one another. A sea of blue blazers and white dress shirts. Her eyes caught a new face.
"Oh no, I got the Siren," Layla announced solemnly as she traced her eyes over the name of her Economics teacher. "Bide my ears goodbye, ladies. We'll have to learn how to communicate solely through texts. It was nice knowing your voices."
Malika's gaze focused on the new kid. He was tall, easily crossing the average height of their current male student population. She narrowed her eyes and trailed over his features. He had dark small eyes and a nose that was a little short for his face. His forehead stretched on for a while, and atop his head sat thick curls. He bore a good-natured smile on his face.
Farrah paused. "Look," she urged her friends.
Malika already had her gaze on the new kids, Layla ceased in her path as well and turned her eyes towards the end of the hallway.
"Must be the new boy!" Farrah deduced.
"Look at those broad shoulders," Layla mused, the appreciation on her tone wasn't missed.
Farrah shot her a look of distaste.
"What?" The tall girl shrugged. "I'm just stating what I see."
Malika's eyes fixed on the girl next. She was petite. The girl was plain as she was skinny. Her clothes were oversized for her frame, a little frumpy.
Layla clicked her tongue. "Geez, that has to be the longest skirt in the school." Malika looked over her shoulder to see her friend was checking out the new girls as well.
"There are other hijabis in the school too," Farrah added. "She'll blend in."
"At least she has a nice style," Layla said. "I mean, she paired it with the nicest pair of boots I have seen in a while."
"She seems nice too," Farrah said. "And the brother is... tall."
"Wow, that's profound, Furryboo."
Malika's attention was on the duo ahead. He was tall, and that was about it. On a regular day, in a sea of people, Malika would have never paid him a second glance. Her eyes would have just glided over him.
She tore her gaze away from him and looked at her friends. "He's just average," she stated, concluding her assessment of the new boy.
Curiosity satiated and interest snubbed, the girls headed for their first class of the day.
Ibrahim Ahmad often wondered how easier his life would have been if he weren't the only brother of five sisters.
He loved them, no doubt, and would give his life for them; and vice versa. But having to deal with twelve different personalities on a daily basis wasn't for the faint of heart, and to think he only had five sisters.
Along with his elder sister Poppy, Ibrahim had four cousins - Zinnia, Rose, Lily and Dahlia. They were his paternal uncle's daughters
When he was born, his mother had fallen sick. His aunt, also a new mother with little Dahlia, had taken him in and breastfed him, making him the girl's foster brother. And making him the only brother of five sisters.
Zinnia Ahmad was the oldest. She was the level-headed one in the family and the one who could best control the reins of her own emotions and nurture others'. She was always rational. If there was a problem, Zinnia always had the answer.
Next was Rose, followed by his own sister, Poppy. These two were the least involved in the family affairs - often engrossed in their own worlds.
Lily Ahmad wasn't one to mess with. With a temper that ran hot, and a sharp tongue to match, she kept everyone in the family on their toes.
The youngest of the clan were Ibrahim and Dahlia. With birthdays only a day apart, the two were aways joint at the hip. She was the baby of the family and the apple of his eyes. Though they were the same in age, she was treated as a child and he was entrusted with the responsibility of being the only son.
Ibrahim darted his eyes ahead, landing his gaze on his sister ahead. Dahlia Ahmad was taking it one stair at a time, stomping out her frustrations on the ground. Her arms were coiled tightly in front of her body as a shield and her face was twisted in a manner as if she had just eaten something spoiled.
The move to a new school was something neither Dahlia nor Ibrahim was aware of until the last moment. It was an unprecedented curve the parents threw their way. The Ahmads changed neighborhoods, and just a couple weeks before the new academic session they were told they were being transferred to York Academy, having to leave behind years of friendships and acquaintances.
Ibrahim sprinted to cover the last few steps to catch up with her. Ibrahim extended his right arm to wrap it around her shoulder.
"Cheer up," he said, pulling her closer.
Dahlia looked up to meet his eyes, relaxing her hands. Exasperation flashed across her face.
"It's just a new school, Dels."
"But did we have to transfer?" she cried. "We could have completed the year in Easton High. The commute might have taken longer-"
"-you mean an extra hour in the morning," Ibrahim intervened.
"But it would have been doable! It's just for a year, anyway."
"This is just for a year, too," Ibrahim tried to reason.
Dahlia shot him a look filled with annoyance.
He let out a sigh. "Hey, are you still worried about fitting in?" Ibrahim asked, his voice turning soft as he took in his sister's face. "You didn't have any friends in Easton High, and you most likely won't have any here. So you've nothing to worry about."
Dahlia snapped her head towards him. "Ibi!"
He burst out laughing. She let out a groan and walked past him.
"Wait, I was just kidding," Ibrahim said in between chuckles.
As his sister stomped forward with contempt, Ibrahim followed her with the mirth still present in his eyes.
Then again, without his sisters, Ibrahim's life wouldn't be nearly as interesting.