Nabeel's POV
"Heeeyyy," I drawled, in what I thought was the coolest accent I could muster. I skirted across the row of chairs until I was practically on the same chair as her. Then, with much hesitancy, she turned to me and replied.
Her (Her name was Asma) : I'm sorry. I don't speak to guys.
Me: A bit of a weird thing to say at a party like this.
Her: I came along with friends because I had to. Now, please move over. I need my personal space.
Me: Why did you even come here if you didn't wanna mingle. We can all see you're single.
Her: As a Pringle and not ready to mingle.
Me: Come on! Stop being such a party pooper.
Her: Goddamit, you're as much of a.... You know what as all the other guys here. If you're so interested in mingling, why sit here with me? Go find a girl.
Me: Sorry. You're right. This isn't my kind of thing though. I was dragged into this by my friends, just like you.
Her: Okayyy
Me: So do you want a Cherry Vanilla Coke? It's my favourite.
Her: I'm good. I have a Creme Soda in my hand right now.
Me: Sorry. I'm not very good at this talking to girls thing.
It was at this point that her 'friend' decided to pull her onto the dance floor. For a fleeting moment she looked at me with a pleading, desperate glint in her eye. I knew she didn't want to dance. She seemed like a good Muslim girl, or a better Muslim girl than those present, and I felt like it was my responsibility to save her from the jaws of Shaytaan.
I stepped in front of her and looked her friend straight in the eye and told her, "I don't think it's possible. We're in the middle of a conversation that I don't think she wants to stop." I added a wink to make it seem like we actually we in the midst of an intriguing conversation. Her friend, who was wearing an embarrassingly short black leather skater skirt and a white net crop top, jumped up and squealed, revealing her underwear. I wondered how a Muslim girl could leave her house with something so disgustingly inticing. The friend hugged Asma and told her, "Gurrrrl I'm glad you've finally hooked up with someone. Make me proud." She giggled like Regina George did in Mean Girls, making me want to punch that sickening Barbie Doll in her face.
I grabbed Asma by the arm and pulled her outside, onto the balcony, so that we could escape the noise and filth inside.
Asma: Thanks for saving me over there. Never expected that from you
Me: Nah. It was nothing
We sat in silence for a few minutes, and then we started talking about school, home and ourselves. She opened up to me a little, and told me about how her friends were not really friends, just popular girls who found her to be easy bait. I told her about this being an attempt to look cool in front of my boys and how I hated every second of it. We spoke for a while, about our families, Islam, morals and the future we were destroying. I felt as if I could actually live through the party, when her friend and my friend, arms linked, called us inside.