Well hello and salam! This is the 1M reads celebration piece that I wrote for you guys. Consider it an Eid present as well?
Time: Three years from present-day
• Adam Ali •
Boston, Massachusetts
“Screw it,” I announce, slamming my psychology book shut harder than I probably should have. Stupid freaking exams. Third year in this college routine and I still don’t have the patience to endure the weeks of pre-final exam stress.
“We’re nearly done, dude. Just Freud and then that’s about it. Come on. Dream interpretation is last.” Holland taps a page in her opened textbook, right on a picture of good old Freud.
Grant, my roommate and closest friend here, backs her up. “Let’s just get this done and then go to Subway or something.” That’s the only thing getting me through this, this stupid group study session in the library three days before my psych exam. My fried brain really just wants to go home and sleep. My eyes are burning from reading fine print for the past three hours.
“Fine. We’re finishing up with Freud and then we’re done. I can’t take this anymore.”
“No pain, no gain, babe.” Holland shoots me a grim smile before skimming over Freud’s theory of dream interpretation. We read in silence for a bit, and then Grant dutifully summarizes the significance and interpretation of recurring dreams and all that stuff while I shut my eyes and try to concentrate on where I’ll be in exactly one month, inshallah.
Rome. Think Rome, Adam, I command myself. Nearly two months in Rome, studying humanities and the sciences. When I open my eyes again, Holland and Grant are engrossed into their own little conversation.
From what it sounds like, they’re swapping stories about their weirdest dreams. “Two nights ago I had this really weird dream where I was in the middle of the courtyard and every time I snapped my fingers a different building would just powder up and collapse. Then, I somehow got transported to a rink with three sumo wrestlers and—”
Holland interrupts Grant from his narrative. “Nah, I can beat that.” She goes on to say something that I don’t really listen to, because I’m wondering what will happen in a week when I go home for the first time in a few months.
Noha should be back too, I think. Mom’s going to want to celebrate, because other than the major breaks Noha and I are never home at the same time. It’s like our respective universities are conspiring against us, set on never letting us have more than a few minutes on the phone before one of us has classes or studying to do.
I miss my sister like hell.
Holland asks me something. I realize she’s talking to me because she says my name but I miss half the question. “Wait, what?” I have to ask so that she can repeat what she’s saying.
“Any weird dreams lately?” She asks, staring at me intently. Grant raises his eyebrows too, and I suddenly feel put on the spot.
“Nah,” I respond. They talk for a bit more but soon enough, we’re officially done studying. I pack up my stuff, so thankful that I’m finally done. Allhamdulillah, because I was about to lose it in the library.
When we exit, Grant’s saying something to Holland and I’m glad I’m not stuck walking in between the two. While we head to the Student Union on campus where the Subway and the Starbucks are, I get lost in my own thoughts, wondering, again, what it’s going to be like when I head home.
I haven’t seen her in five months. I don’t even know if winter break counts—we didn’t even get to be in the same room for more than three seconds. I caught a glance at her, but she and I were never at the same place at the same time. That was beyond frustrating, but just like with Noha, there’s some invisible force preventing me from ever seeing Maysa, especially this past year.
It sucks because I miss her like hell. Just being able to hang out—with other people around, it doesn’t matter—and have a conversation, just that simple stuff. I miss that. I never appreciated how much I saw of her in high school or even my first year of college because I was always coming back home every chance I got. Now with her seven hours away, running on PennState’s school schedule, we never see each other anymore. I think the last time I talked to her was last August—it’s May now.
Allah, if it’s best for me to see her, may I see her when I get home, inshallah. The prayer kind of calms me down a bit, kind of makes it easier. It doesn’t meas—“Yo, Adam, your turn to order.” Somehow, we’ve reached Subway and both Holland and Grant have ordered. The guy working behind the counter—he’s in my bio class—waits for me to tell him what bread I want. “Italian,” I mumble before distractedly rattling off my usual order.
After we pay and sit down at a table by the window, Holland’s doing most of the talking. I think Grant has a thing for her, which is why he’s content talking about whatever she wants to talk about.
“Any summer plans, guys?” Holland asks before biting into her BLT. A piece of bacon falls out and I can’t help but wonder why that looks appetizing on any level.
Grant answers first. “Just heading home to Alabama. Going to help my dad out at the shop, that’s about it.” Grant’s dad, a mechanic, owns a garage in Grant’s hometown in Alabama. Grant spends summers helping him out. “What about you, Miss New York?” He gives her that kind of intense look guys give when they’re flirting, but I don’t know if she catches it. Holland’s kind of like a slippery ice cube. She’s there, all available and engaging, but she can be kind of evasive too, and cold enough to burn if you trifle with her for too long.
“Visiting some old friends. Maybe we’ll go to Cali for a few weeks. Don’t really know yet. What about you, Adam?”
“Studying abroad. The program in Italy that I was telling you about.”
“Oh yeah!” Grant knows what I’m talking about. He was there when I found out I got in. “Rome, right? Late May to July or something.”
“Yeah. A month and a half program, just studying at a university there.”
“Italian girls are hot,” Holland comments. “Don’t get too distracted.” She tops it off with lifting her eyebrows.
“Trust me, I won’t.” The comment comes out kind of flat.
“Yup, Adam doesn’t date, remember?” Grant, being my roommate, knows I don’t date and all the other things associated with being Muslim. I think he thinks I’m crazy but he’s chill enough not to say anything.
“Wait, is that a real thing?” Holland snorts as she takes a sip of her drink. “I thought it was part of the good-guy act.”
“Yes. It is, indeed, a real thing.” I keep the sarcasm at bay. I don’t want to come across as a jerk, even though she can piss me off sometimes.
“Why? Are you taken or…”
“Religious reasons. Personal preference. Both.”
“Huh. So I’m curious, do you have a girl back home?” The question is random. I don’t really know why she asks it, but this isn’t the first time she’s broached the topic. She’s always trying to get me to talk about stuff like this but frankly, it’s hella awkward.
The problem is that I took a second too long to say anything, so she snaps on that. “Holy shit, man, Adam Ali’s got a girl back home. How cute!”
Grant shoots me a sympathetic look. “She’s not a girl back home. She goes to PennState, she’s only a year younger than me, and there’s no official commitment.”
Holland’s intrigued, I can tell. I brace myself for the rapid fire of questions. “What’s her name?”
It’s starting to feel weird, like I’m baring everything out there. I’ve known Holland for a year now, but only Grant knows about Maysa, and only a little bit. “Maysa.”
“What’s she like?”
I stop and think for a minute. I mean, who the hell just knows what to say off the top of their heads when they have to describe a person? There are so many details and quirks, it’s kind of hard to think of some on the spot. “Um, she’s gorgeous…she has these wide brown eyes that—”
Holland flicks her blonde hair and the tips graze my shoulder gently. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She’s impatient. “Get on with it. What’s she like?”
I don’t know why she’s acting so weird, but I continue without commenting. “Calm. She doesn’t get into fights. She’s always relaxed, comfortable in her own skin. Quiet, doesn’t say much to people she doesn’t know well, but she’s a beast on the soccer field. Her team nickname in high school was the Malik Massacre—Malik’s her last name. Uhh, she’s really easy to get along with, she’s down for conversations about anything and everything…” I trail off trying to think of more. Grant’s face is interested as well—this is the first time he’s hearing all of these details about Mays. “I’ve known her since I was ten. Her brother is my best friend. We grew up together for the most part. Her family moved around a bit but they moved back eventually. Mays and I went to the same high school until I graduated and moved to Boston. She was deciding between UConn and a few other schools but she didn’t want to move out her first year. It was a lot of reasons, I think, but she decided to stay at our home university, UConn, and then she decided to try for a transfer and PennState accepted her and she wanted to go because they have a good program for her major so she’s there now. She’s studious…probably a better student than I was in high school or even now.”
Holland’s smirking when I finish my monologue. “Wow, Romeo. So what’s the plan? Marry her the day you graduate?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t formally asked for her hand.”
“Oh my God, don’t tell me you’re succumbing into the sexist mentality that you have to ask for her hand from her father instead of just asking her,” Holland’s expression is filled with disbelief.
“What’s sexist about it if I do it out of respect? She respects and loves her parents enough to want them involved in the process, and I know she wouldn’t say yes unless we had both our parents’ blessings. So I’m going to ask her father and her mother for their permission to pursue her and if she’ll have me, then yes, I’ll marry her.” I don’t really like where this conversation is going. Like I said about Holland—she’s slippery. Hard to pin down. And while she’s a good friend and everything, she’s not the type of person I’d trust with this kind of stuff.
“I think Adam’s doing it out of respect, not because he views her as property, Holland,” Grant jumps in when Holland starts protesting. “If that’s how they want it, so be it.”
That subdues her. ‘Is she the love of your life, Romeo?”
“Hell yeah.” I just hope I’m the love of hers.
“Well then, be careful in Rome. It’d be a shame if you didn’t get to live out your small town fantasy.” I don’t know why, but the way she says it puts me at unease and mildly pisses me off at the same time. When we finish eating, I head back to my dorm. I need some time away from them.
It’s not until the fourth vibration that I realize—in my deep sleep—that my ringtone is not background music in my dream. It’s my ringtone. In real life. I spring away, fumbling around for my cell phone before I find it and frantically hit the green button. “Zoya, salam,” I mumble before dropping back on my bed.
“Salam, Adam! Rise and shine. Start studying for finals!” The musical way she says that pains me. Literally. But that’s why I ask her to call and wake me up the early mornings I need to study for an exam or a test.
“Okay,” I mumble, already slipping back into sleep.
“No. I can tell you’re about to fall asleep. Get up, Adam. Or else I’m getting the kids. Kids?” She yells that last part, but she doesn’t need to do anything else because I’m startled wide awake.
“Not the kids! I’m awake. I swear I am.” I manage to plop down on my desk chair while rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My cousin Bilal and his wife Zoya’s kids are great, but they’re also extremely loud. Grant wouldn’t be too happy if I woke him up too.
Zoya and I hang up. It’s midnight. I have an exam in a couple of hours. I need to study.
For the first hour or two, I’m good. It’s like I got this. But then, the sleepiness sets in and along with that, fragmented dreams. We’re supposed to be keeping a dream journal for psych class—that’s why Grant and Holland were talking about dreams—something we have to turn in a day or two from now before our final, but even my own entries have been making me uneasy.
Not that they’re bad. But the weird thing is that every time I nod off—because, face it, the amount of sleep I’ve been getting is close to zero—I don’t have a normal dream with pictures and voices and colors.
They’re more…feelings? Thoughts? Sort of. I asked my professor and she said it could just be a culmination of feelings I’m having in my day-to-day life. Missing home or people I don’t see often, fears of the future, stuff like that.
She’s more right than I’d like to admit.
Come on, Adam, focus. Three more chapters left. That’s enough to get me going—so close to the end. The rest can wait.
The sound of tape sticking against the cardboard box has never sounded better. Grant and I tape together the last two boxes and write our names on our respective ones before we high five. “We’re done, dude. Junior year of college down.” Thank God it’s all over and I don’t feel like I failed all my exams. Double win.
“Finally,” I say in relief, sitting on the now-bare mattress. “Ready to ship your boxes out?” Grant has to ship the stuff that won’t fit in his suitcase in cardboard boxes back to Alabama. I’m lucky I only have to drive a little over two hours to get home and all my stuff fits in the trunk or the backseat.
“Yeah. I’ll do that. This is it, dude.” Grant gives me a hug and a clap on the back. “Have fun in Rome. And good luck with your girl.”
“Thanks, man. A few more years to go.” I know he doesn’t really get why I don’t just date her, but I appreciate that he tries his best to understand. Grant helps me with my boxes and when I’m all packed, I say my final goodbyes to our suitemates and a few other guys before heading out.
Three hours later, I’m home. Instead of just using my keys, I ring the doorbell and give Dawud and my mom an opportunity to excitedly answer the door. I shift restlessly from foot to foot as I wait for them to open the door. There’s commotion inside the house before the door finally swings open.
“Adam!” Dawud yells, jumping on me.
I stumble a bit as he wraps his arms and legs around me, reverse koala style. “Hey, salam, D-Man!” I laugh a little at how excited he is to see me. He’s a good kid. An even better brother.
“Adam, Adam, Adam, you’re home!” His eight-year-old frame holds against me in a death grip.
“I’m home,” I speak into his curls as he rests his cheek against mine. Rubina and my mom race to the door when they hear Dawud and I step inside the house carefully before I’m attacked by hugs and kisses.
“Adam!” My mother’s face is filled with so much happiness that I set Dawud down to hug her properly. Even though she’s several inches shorter, she hugs me fiercely. I rest my chin on her head.
“Salam, Mama,” I whisper as I let her revel in the fact that I’m home. When she releases me, I can see the lines around her eyes become more pronounced. I know she misses me and Noha terribly, Noha more than me, I think, because Noha is across the country and I’m only two hours away.
Rubina hugs me next, and I’m surprised at how fierce her embrace is. Rubs and I have never gotten along for some reason. It was just how it was and with her being a fifteen-year-old teenage girl, she’s even lower on my list of people I get along with. I’ve seen her a total of four times since August, though, with this year being so busy, so I guess it calls for some sort of kindness.
I let Mom lead me into the family room where we all sit around and talk for a bit. I still have to unpack, but I figure it can wait. My dad’s not home yet and it’s only six. Rubina’s kind enough to make us homemade ice cream sundaes and it’s nice to be home, not having to worry about anything for the first time in nearly a year. The older I get and the less I’m in Rubina and Dawud’s lives, the more I come to realize how few these types of moments are. I’m okay with just being here for a bit.
The sun sets as we talk. The ice cream melts because we take too long eating it, too consumed in our conversations about what’s going on with our lives. It’s perfect, though, in its flawed details.
I’m the first one to come home. Zakariya arrives tomorrow (he’s flying in from New York). Noha will be home three days from now; her flight is in the morning, I think. Maysa’s catching a ride from someone who lives an hour from us, so she’ll be home last, the same day that Noha arrives, but at night.
We postpone a coming-home party until Maysa arrives so that it’s the four of us and our two families can get together for dinner. Until then, I busy myself doing some early packing for Rome, which I leave for in two weeks. A couple of the guys and I catch up because everyone’s either home from school or they’re just getting out.
It’s nice to just kick back, I guess. See people I haven’t seen in a while. Dawud and I hang out, too. I take him to the mall because he needs new sneakers and I offered to take him so my mom could prepare for Noha’s homecoming.
Dawud loves his new Converse so much—the kid’s always wearing down his shoes quicker than he even finishes breaking them in—that he wears them to the airport where we go to wait for Noha. California’s a long ways away; I’m even surprised my parents let her go across the country, but I guess they suspected that Noha’s a wild spirit. Things like distances and miles don’t mean much to her.
After an hour of waiting—and a trip to the airport Starbucks—Noha finally arrives. She looks different than when I saw her a couple of months ago. Older, I guess. “Noha!” We all shout simultaneously, making anyone within a twenty-person radius turn. Clearly no one but me notices because they’re too busy attacking her with hugs. And of course, ceremoniously, my mom laments that Noha’s gotten too thin. College food doesn’t really sustain someone whose mom can cook kickass food.
We do the whole shebang, talk nonstop from the moment we get into the car to when we get home and into the living room. Finally, Noha decides that she’s going to shower and get some sleep—the three hour time difference can be hell when you’re already exhausted from traveling.
We’re having dinner at Zak’s house tonight, inshallah. I think it’s so that Maysa can settle in and stuff without having to get ready and come over and all that. When we’re all getting ready, Noha comes into my room with one eye done with that winged eyeliner crap that girls are always doing.
“You look creepy with only one eye done,” I inform her, trying to find a clean shirt (I’m bad at keeping up with laundry, like any college kid is).
She rolls her eyes. “I’m trying to let the liquid eyeliner dry to see if this is the shape I want before I do it on the other eye. Don’t judge me.”
“Yeah, yeah. What do you want?” Good God, why can’t I find a clean shirt that isn’t a T-shirt? I shift through my suitcase, but it’s nearly empty.
“You excited?”
“For?” I already know the answer.
She smacks me on the arm. Good old Noha. “You know what. Maysa! How long has it been?”
“Unless you count the three seconds that I saw her during winter break, it’s been like ten months. August, I think.”
“Wow.”
“I know. I haven’t seen Zak in a while, either. Or you. What, you move to California and suddenly the East Coast isn’t that great?”
“What can I say? School keeps me busy. Besides, California’s great. I love it there, even though I wouldn’t live there.”
“Oh, yeah? Why not?”
“I love the whole free sort of atmosphere and all that but I don’t think it’s something that I’d want to be around my whole life or even a good portion of my life. I like it here, you know? I think I’d prefer a job here, too.” She sits on my bed, dabbing some skin-colored stuff under her eyes.
I finally find a black button down that I didn’t take to college with me. “Listen, Michelle Phan, this isn’t a makeup studio. Get out of my room so I can change.”
She snaps the case shut. “How do you know who Michelle Phan is?”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t ask me. College teaches you weird stuff. Now will you get out?”
“Let me think about it,” she smirks. I try pushing her out but she resists.
“Noha, leave!”
She cracks up as she resists my pushing. “At least iron my shirt while you’re at it,” I toss her the damn thing and she catches it with one hand.
“Fine,” she grumbles. She leaves and brings it back a bit later. When we’re all dressed and I’m in my car about to start driving, I glance over at Noha. I know she’s excited to see her best friend after so long. I am too. It’s been too long. But I’m also nervous, for a bunch of reasons.
I think about it as I drive down the same roads I’ve done a thousand times. The dreams I’ve been having, I don’t know. Yes, it’s been because I’m missing home. My parents, Rubs and Dawud, Noha who’s three thousand miles away, Zak, my friends here, but also, Maysa. And just how it was between us, when we used to see each other a lot. It makes me nervous too, because we’re so far apart and we never see or talk anymore but I still think she’s The One but I don’t know if I’m just holding on to past feelings or if this is the real deal—for both of us.
I thought if I was away from home, I could grow more, separate myself from what I thought I knew to be true to make sure that it was. Rome’s like that too, in part. Just an outward experience. But my feelings for Maysa haven’t faded but that doesn’t mean it’s the same for her. That’s the hardest part. Not knowing if it is or isn’t.
When we get to their house, my heart is beating fast. We ring the doorbell, go in, head to the outside patio where the table is. It’s me, the dads, Zak, and Dawud. Nazia and Rubina are sitting here too, and it’s surreal because Rubina’s about to be a junior and Nazia is entering her senior year in a few months, applying to colleges, doing everything I was doing what seemed like yesterday. It’s a weird feeling, watching kids I know grow up like that.
I think Noha and Maysa are both in the kitchen, because Noha seems preoccupied in there with my mom and Maysa’s mom. Zak and I talk about Rome, about the program I’m doing there, and the architecture (he wants to be an architect and Rome is high on his list of places to go for the architectural experience).
“It kind of sucks that we can’t do much this summer,” Zak comments. It’s true. When I get back, we’ll have a month of summer left, I think. Most of the summer is going to be spent in Rome for me. Zak is going to Texas to visit family, I think, but he’ll be back way sooner than I will.
“I know. It’s like there’s no time anymore, man.”
“We’ve got two weeks now and a month starting in mid-July. We’ll figure something out.” The women are coming out with the dishes of food now. My chests fills with anticipation as I’m about to see her for the first time in months.
My mom and her mom set down large platters and take their seats. Noha’s carrying a dish too but as soon as she steps onto the patio and sets down the dish on the table, Maysa appears at the patio door.
She’s exactly how I remember her, but different. More grown up. We both are, I think. She’s wearing a white dress that sways as she walks over and takes her seat across from me and one down. “Salam, Adam,” she greets.
Maysa’s smiling at me and I can’t help but smile back. I’m finally home. Weird as it sounds, something about Maysa means home.
• Maysa Malik •
State College, Pennsylvania
I know what she’s going to ask before she even asks it. “Maysa, listen, I know you’re not a fan of me having boys over but please can I—”
I have to admit I’m kind of on the last nerve when it comes to Addison. “Addison, no. Please, it’s one of the only two things I ask of you: don’t bring over any boys and don’t come back drunk.” My roommate is a self-confessed promiscuous party girl, probably the worst match for a conservative Muslim girl like me. Penn really screwed up on that one, I swear.
She rolls her eyes. She’s past the point of pretending she likes me or my requests. I’ve been successful in keeping boys out of this dorm for the past five months and I’m not about to ruin the record. “When are you leaving, then?” Addison asks impatiently.
“I’ll be out of here in four days. Then you can bring whoever you want here,” I respond as patiently as possible, looking up from the textbook that I’m reading.
“Fine,” she sounds pissed as hell but my guilt is subdued by the fact that I follow her request to keep the room clean, always. Four more days won’t kill her. Thankfully, Addison leaves it at that and we study in silence for an hour. It’s not a comfortable silence though, because I know she’s still fuming at the unfairness (note the sarcasm) of not being able to bring a boy back to our dorm.
“I’m going to the library. Don’t bring over a guy, please.” The first and last time she did that behind my back, I came home to find a sweaty shirt on my bed. I was so grossed out and disgusted that I made her pick it up and take it back to his dorm immediately (it was some loser’s, a random guy in one of my lectures). Besides, the thought of her fooling around and possibly even doing it with a guy in our room grosses me out to no end.
As I’m walking to the library with my backpack hitched on my shoulder, I can’t help but grin at the thought of never having to live with Addison again. She’s not a bad person, for the most part, because there are fleeting moments when we get along. But we’re just incompatible as roommates because we’re on completely opposite spectrums on so many issues. Unfortunately, my roommate Skylar transferred to another residential hall at the end of the first semester because something in our room kept setting off her allergies so Addison got transferred to my room. Bottom line: I was stuck with her, no transfers possible. No one wants to switch halfway through the year anyway.
I catch up to Sanna on the way to the library. She’s holding a Starbucks iced coffee in her hand and balancing a textbook in the other hand. “Exam studying?” I ask.
“Actually just got done. I’m heading back to my dorm. Want me to walk you?”
“Sure. I’d like the company.” We fall into a comfortable pace and just catch up on life. There’s a Muslim-sponsored feeding the homeless event this Saturday but I’ll be back home in Connecticut by then.
“Spread the word, will you? Asif is promoting it on Facebook and Twitter, but I’m afraid that everyone’s trying not to go on any social media because of exams. So we’re trying to do word of mouth.”
“No problem. Anyone I see at the library I’ll tell.”
“Great. Invite any non-Muslims who’d be interested in this sort of thing.”
“Got it.” We part ways at the entrance to the library and she walks east, to her residential hall, waving the best she can with the iced coffee in her hand. “Salam, Sanna,” I call out.
My friend Ray is working at the front desk and I wave at him on my way in. I prefer working by the windows, and there’s a row of tables near the window on the first floor. Thankfully, they’re all empty so I dump all my stuff down on a table. I don’t know if it’s just me but I like being by myself in a library but I also need to have one other person in sight. Maybe it’s an extension of some childhood fear of being locked in a library because I’d be so quiet that no one would notice I hadn’t left. I don’t know, but I take a seat where a guy is in my peripheral vision.
Studying is odious and quite possibly the bane of my existence. I freaking hate it so much, especially at this point because I’m missing everyone who I’ll be seeing very soon inshallah so I feel inclined to text them. Noha and I haven’t seen each other since winter break and we’re arriving on the same day so we’ve begun to make plans for what we want to do first. It’s exciting and motivating but hugely distracting and the struggle to keep myself in check makes me feel wholly inadequate of living away from home.
Focus, Maysa, focussss! I can do this. I will do this. Maybe I should shut my phone off? No, because then I’d be paranoid that my mom’s trying to reach me and I wouldn’t pick up. Do you know how scary it is to see more than one missed call from your mother? It’s terrifying.
In the end I text Mom the number for the library’s front desk and tell her to call if there’s an emergency. Then, I shut my phone off and actually get to the studying.
About a hundred index cards, a burning hand, and a severe desire for sleep (as well as completion of half the material I needed to study), I decide to take a break. One more chapter and you can go to the bakery, I tell myself. I don’t convince myself until I imagine my mom saying that in her mom voice. It works.
“Hey,” I hear a voice say, breaking me out of my study mode. Oh good God. It’s him.
“Salam, Eiliyas,” I greet tightly. What does he want?
He sits down across from me. I try to keep the awkward smile off my face. “Salam. How are you?”
“I’m good allhamdulillah. Just studying.”
“Any plans afterwards?”
“Uh…going back to my dorm. That’s essentially it. I need some sleep.” He begins toying with the necklace he has on, this silver chain with a pendant that’s a little capsule. It’s supposed to contain the Aytul Kursi, a very important Quranic verse, written on a small piece of paper that fits into the tiny pendant capsule. It was one of the first things I asked him about when we first met.
“You still look nice despite the lack of sleep.” His comment is so matter-of-fact that I don’t even know how to respond or when this conversation even took this sort of turn.
“Eiliyas…”
“Okay, okay, I know you don’t like the compliments. Anyway. How’s the studying going?” He reclines back, his back resting against the back of the chair, his legs spread out under the table until our shoes touch before I move my feet.
“It’s going alright. I should be done soon, inshallah. I’ll study the rest tomorrow after my calc exam.” You know how there’s two types of looks that someone can give you when you’re talking to them? One is just a normal look with eye contact and then there’s…well, there’s the look that Eiliyas is giving me. It’s more of an intense I’m-staring-into-your-soul-as-you-talk type of look. Not creepy, per se, but enough to make me uncomfortable because it changes the mood of the innocent conversation to something it’s not.
“So, did you hear about the feeding the homeless thing that they’re doing? Asif and Sanna are doing the promotion…Sanna asked me to tell anyone Muslim and otherwise who may be interested.”
He leans forward, his elbows now propped on the table. His grey eyes stare straight at me, clear and sharp in their focus. “This Saturday? Are you going?”
Thank God for the open textbook in front of me. I train my eyes on that. “Nope.” I look up and challenge him with my gaze, giving no indication that he’s having any sort of effect on me. “I’m heading back home at the end of the week.”
“Ahh, back to Connecticut?”
“Yup. Inshallah.”
“Inshallah indeed. You’re not taking summer classes here?”
“No. It’s been a tough year transitioning into being away from home. I think I just want to kick back and relax for a bit.”
He picks up my pen and spins it, lacing it in between and through his deft fingers. Even though he’s moving quickly, I notice the calluses he has from playing guitar. “You know, I think I should go.” I start packing up my stuff, thankful that I have a backpack and books to focus on. I resist the urge to just toss everything in there and go; when I zip it all up, I toss my backpack over one shoulder while turning my phone on with the other hand.
“I should head out too.” He shoulders his tan backpack and we walk out silently. I’m about to part ways with him, thankful for the opportunity to be alone, when my stomach betrays me by making a sound so loud that I know he’s heard it.
He immediately cracks up and I end up joining in a second later. “I’m going to the deli to get an early dinner. Wanna come along?”
“Okay.” I’m out of meals in my meal plan for the week anyway, although these conditions aren’t really ideal because Eiliyas is…well, he’s hard to figure out and explain.
Thankfully, he doesn’t talk to me much on our way there so I’m left alone with my thoughts. Out of my peripheral vision, I can see his tall frame walking next to mine. He’s far enough away for me to catch the details about him.
The thing is, it’s obvious that Eiliyas is an artist, one of those guys who lives his life running on a different beat than the rest of us. Like one of the first things I noticed about him when we had a philosophy class together was that he started tapping his pen against the paper absentmindedly and pretty soon, he was totally focused on the beat he was producing, forgetting about the class we were in or the rest of the world, for that matter.
It’s like that from time to time with him. A group of Muslim students went to the homeless shelter a few months ago, right? And so I was in charge of serving soup and he was two people down from me, serving bread. He’d ask nearly every person who took bread from him about their life, where they started, how they ended up here. When the rest of us cleaned, he’d sit down with the homeless people and just talk to them about anything and everything. He’s really an interesting guy.
“After you,” he opens the door for me and I thank him as I walk in. I order a tuna sandwich and get a fruit juice energy drink thing in case I need it later. He offers to pay for me but I refuse. I know he’s just being nice, but having a guy pay for me seems weirdly like a date and I am not down for that.
I’m thankful that the deli is crowded today. No one has time to sit down and eat a meal. It’s unavoidable that Eiliyas and I walk back to the dorms together; we live in the same hall, but I live two floors above him.
With our deli bags in hand, we head closer and closer to the dorms. I’m tired of walking, oh my God. It’s hot and I’m tired and stressed. And hungry. Not a good combination.
I sneak furtive glances from time to time. He’s in dark jeans and a white V-neck and red canvas shoes. His button-down is partially buttoned up and of course, he has the necklace with the scroll capsule pendant. Bottom line: he looks like a cute hipster. His style kind of reminds me of Adam’s. The comparison makes me smile.
As we head inside the hall and greet the security guards on duty at the front desk, I can’t help but keep thinking about Adam. He’s the opposite of Eiliyas in a lot of ways, which makes me miss him even more. In the elevator on the ride up, Eiliyas finally breaks his silence.
“It was nice hanging out with you, Maysa. Listen, I’m recording a song on Friday. You could come by the studio if you want? I’d love to hear your opinion on the song.”
“I don’t think I can. That’s the day I head back.” My tone is apologetic but I’m relieved that I have a legitimate excuse.
He nods before giving me that intense look again. I stare straight ahead, avoiding his grey eyes. “Okay, I get it. But if you decide to stop avoiding being friends with me at some point, you know where I’ll be.” The thing is if anyone else said that they’d sound snarky but Eiliyas manages to make it sound so matter-of-fact and casual that there’s no malice or ill intent behind his words.
“Well, maybe it’s because I feel like Islamically this relationship teeters on the edge of something more than innocent friendship,” I shoot back. Oh my God, Maysa, way to not think things through before you say them. Add that to the list of stupidest things you’ve done this year.
“Maybe I want this to be more than friendship,” he retorts, taking no pause as he strides out of the elevator when we reach his floor. He doesn’t turn back. I don’t know what delays my reaction, my denial or my lack of immediate comprehension.
When it does hit, though, it hits with a vengeance. Shit, I curse mentally, too screwed to reprimand myself for mentally cursing. I’m mentally paralyzed at the awkwardness of what I’ve just uncovered.
As I robotically head back to my dorm, all I can think is “You should have known.” Because it’s true. Eiliyas has made many comments that made me wonder about his intentions but you know, nothing was as open as this. I should have known, though, because half the time I can’t figure this guy out.
I collapse on my bed the second I get inside. Facedown. Just as I’m about to unleash a frustrated scream into my pillow, I hear the tap in our bathroom shut and the unmistakable sound of sniffling. Addison? I’m silent for a few seconds, face still buried in the sheets, until I hear the bathroom lock click open and Addison steps out.
“You’re back.” She observes flatly.
“Yeah, I am. You okay?”
“I’m fine. There’s no need for you to ask.”
“Maybe. I just want to make sure you’re not upset.”
“And you care why?” She flops onto her bed and positions her Mac on her lap, her expression hostile.
“I just don’t want to see anyone unhappy.”
“Well, deal with it,” she snaps, putting her headphones and immersing herself with whatever is on the screen. Shrugging at typical Addison behavior, I head to the bathroom before sitting down to eat and study some more.
Thirty minutes later, there’s a knock on my door. I glance at Addison, wondering if she’s invited someone over. “Addison,” I call when I see her headphones haven’t permitted her to hear the knock. “There’s someone at the door.” Immediately her eyes flash with recognition and a scowl marks her face.
“Tell the asshole to leave.”
“Uh…” I head to open the door when I see she’s adamant about not answering it herself, thankful that I didn’t change out of my clothes yet when I see that it’s a boy at the door.
“Is Addison there?” There’s a blonde guy at the door, his clear blue eyes focused directly on me even though he has a nervous undertone to his posture.
“Um, I think that may depend on who you are and what you want.” I hear Addison mutter “Damn right” under her breath and I stifle a laugh. One of the things that makes Addison bearable is that she’s sassy.
“Look, I have all of her stuff here. Can you please tell her that I just want to talk to her once?” He holds out a cardboard box which I take.
“I’ll be sure to do that.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. Just keep in mind that I have no convincing power over her.”
He sighs. “It’s cool. Just tell her.” He leaves and I shut the door with my shoulder, holding out the box for Addison to take.
“Is that my stuff?” She asks dully. She’s trying hard to look uninterested but I can see how flat her eyes are. Breakup, perhaps?
“Yeah, delivered by a guy with blonde hair and blue eyes.”
She curses low under her breath, shifting through the box as she pulls out a night shirt, a pair of flip flops, a bra, and a thermos among other things. “He also asked me to tell you to talk to him just once so he can explain it all to you.”
“Well, he can go screw himself” is her cross reply. I bite back a rueful smile and inform her that I’d be happy to listen to her if she needs anything. I go back to studying and finally, thank the Lord, I finish for the night. I have a calculus exam tomorrow and after pouring over my notes and the professor’s PowerPoint slides, I’m feeling confident, allhamdulillah.
After I pray Isha and read a bit of Quran, I decide to kick back for the rest of the night. After changing into pajama bottoms and a sleeveless muscle top, I snuggle under the covers. Addison decides to sleep early as well so we turn the lights off and wait for sleep to come to us in the darkness.
My usual night routine when I’m waiting to sleep is going on my phone and just checking messages and stuff like that, anything I missed during the day that I forgot. This time, I get somewhat sidetracked, resorting to viewing all the pictures I have on my phone. God, I’ve been too busy to even think about how much I miss my family. I called my mom right before I got ready for bed, confirming that a friend and I were going to come home on a Friday afternoon or early evening. Zak is going home tomorrow. I haven’t really spoken to Noha in weeks because we’ve both been so busy but I know she and I are coming home the same day; she’s flying home from Cali so she’s coming home earlier than I am because I have to drive six hours to go home. It beats having to ship all my stuff, though.
My mind wanders off to memories of home. God, I miss the feeling of home. Suddenly I wonder about Adam, when he’s coming home. Noha said he was coming home on a Tuesday…well, that’s today. He came home today. My stomach flips a little at the thought of home, especially when I scroll through my camera roll and find pictures of his and Zakariya’s high school graduation. There are pictures of me and Zak, then Noha and Adam, and then a few of all four of us together.
I scroll quickly but my mind travels back to that day. God, that was a good day. I remember dressing up; I had thought of my outfit a few weeks in advance, which is kind of uncharacteristic of me. I wore an off-white blouse with gold and silver thread embroidered on the high collar and the sleeves. I freaking love that blouse so much but I save it for special occasions. I wore it with these slim-fitting black pants and black heels. My mom actually let me wear red lipstick for once and black liquid winged eyeliner.
The graduates had to arrive at graduation two hours earlier than they let the families in into the hall so I hadn’t seen Adam until his name was called and he walked across the stage. I don’t know what it was about that moment, but when I saw him walk across that stage he took my breath away.
It was a million little details I think. The way he walked with confidence across that stage, the look of pure happiness on his face. The broadness of his shoulders, the way they looked in his royal blue graduation robe. And then, afterwards, when we all walked out to meet the graduates, the feeling I got when he saw me for the first time when I said congratulations.
My finger pauses over the touchscreen of my phone and I’m glad that the lights are off because of how widely I’m smiling right now. God, I can’t explain how much I miss Adam sometimes. It’s the sort of torture you get when you can’t talk to your best friend for a while. Because in actuality, Adam is my best friend, but he’s also more than that.
“He didn’t tell me he had a girlfriend.” Addison’s sudden confession totally throws me off as I snap out of my thoughts.
“What?” I ask, confused.
“The asshole that came by. He didn’t tell me he had a girlfriend. I was in his dorm and we were fooling around. His laptop was on but it went into screensaver mode. It was pictures of them.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Oh my God, what an idiot,” I can’t help but comment.
She joins me in my laughter, thank God. “I know. How stupid do you have to be to do something like that and not get caught?”
“Were you dating him?” I ask, curious. I don’t know much about Addison’s personal life, which is funny because I live with her. But hey, roommates almost never become your best friends, which is fine. Nothing works out perfectly.
“No, we were more like friends with benefits.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah. I guess I got what I deserved, fooling around with a guy who was in a relationship,” she mumbles.
I ponder what she’s said for a minute. “I don’t think so,” I start slowly. “I think we get what we think we deserve.”
She’s silent but I can hear her swallow. I hope she’s not about to cry. “Maybe,” she whispers. We don’t say anything after that. It’s silent when we both fall asleep.
There’s a bunch of people to say bye to and very little time. Ella and I want to leave by ten so that I can be home by four and she can be home by five. She lives an hour further than me, but I’m fortunate enough to know someone from my home state who I can ride home with.
To save time and meet our ten o’clock goal, we head to the student lounge in our hall so that we can see as many people as possible and say bye to them in a short amount of time. Transferring a year later than the rest of the people here makes it harder to make friends and have a constant circle because everyone else has bonded over freshman year so there aren’t as many people I say bye to as Ella does.
Eiliyas is in the student lounge, in deep conversation with a guy and a girl. We make eye contact but we don’t say anything. I give him a parting wave; his eyes focused solely on me, he raises his hand in acknowledgment.
“Let’s go, Maysa,” Ella says after finishing her round around the room. We walk out together to the car with the last of our boxes. Ella, the perpetually prepared one, has the back filled with neatly lined boxes and the front seat filled with snacks for the car ride.
It’s nice that she doesn’t feel the need to talk. We enjoy the quiet of the highway and I turn my head out the window and immerse myself with the scenery that we pass by. From time to time, we have conversations; no one can sit six hours in silence. But from the silence to the conversations, it’s nice. It’s nice to know you’re going home.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come in?” I ask. I’m so glad to be home that I sorta want to kiss the pavement of the driveway.
Ella smiles. “No, I really should be going. It’s getting late. Want me to help you unload?”
“Yes, please.” She shuts off the engine and pops the trunk open. We carry all the boxes to the front door before I ring the bell. My stomach flips in excitement when my mom answers the door. “Maysa!” Never have I heard more joy in her tone as she pulls me in and hugs me tight. “Thank you,” she tells Ella. “Please, would you like to come in?” Leave it to her to never forget her hospitality. It’s like a Muslim mom thing to smother your guest with care, I swear.
Ella smiles. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Malik, but it’s getting late. I’m about an hour away from home so I should go.”
“Can I get you anything? Something to eat or drink?” Ella politely refuses, gives me a small hug, and leaves. We carry my boxes in, setting them by the stairs. They can wait for now.
My dad appears next. He’s quieter than my mom is, but he envelopes me in his arms. Over his shoulder (when I’m on my tippy toes) I can see Nazia on the deck setting the table. She freezes when she sees me, having not heard the doorbell because she’s been outside. I see her race inside and squeeze the life out of me as she throws her arms around me. “Mays!” Her face is jubilant as she swipes wisps of hair away from her face. “You’re back!” She hugs me again and I kiss her cheek. My God, this is going to be Nazia’s last year before college and I already feel like I’m losing her.
“Indeed I am,” I tell her. She hugs me tighter in response.
After Zakariya came home, he and I caught up for a bit with the rest of the family. Noha’s family is coming over tonight for a homecoming dinner. Her flight landed a few hours ago; she texted me when she got off the plane, so everyone else is home.
I’m exempt from helping out with dinner because Mom insists I rest for a bit. After a shower and some comfy pajamas, I slip into bed and enjoy a stress-free sleep. A few hours later, Zak wakes me up and tells me to get ready.
The struggle begins. I want to look cute but I don’t want to put any effort into it. I try to search for something that’s comfortable yet really cute yet really easy to just slip on and be done with it. That’s kind of like asking for a Muslim version of Cristiano Ronaldo; it’s not happening any time soon.
Finally, I find a white gauzy dress that I don’t wear often because it’s a little too dressy for any event in college. I feel like I’m floating when I wear it; it has these puff sleeves that allow unrestricted movement (can we just appreciate that for a second) and it’s elegant in how it’s floor-length yet it’s casual because of the material and the overall carefree summer feel. It makes me want to put on a flower crown and run around in a field of flowers.
Heading downstairs feeling refreshed, I help my mom dishing everything in their respective platters and dishes. The doorbell rings and my heartbeat quickens. He’s here, I mentally shout. I haven’t seen him in so long now that I’m away from home. Noha I’ve spoken to and Skyped with multiple times but Adam, not at all.
My dad answers the door and the boys head back to the deck. Nazia and Rubina go along but Noha and I stay back to help our moms. Yeah, we’re doing big girl things now. Noha gives me a huge bear hug when she sees me. “Noh!” I can’t get over how great it is to see her, see her face for the first time in freaking forever.
“Hi! Salam! Ahh, Mays! You look so good! More mature now.”
“Me?” I exclaim. “Look at you! God, look at how great your tan is, mashallah. California’s been treating you well.”
She grins. “I’d like to think it has. I love it so much but man, I’m so glad to be back.”
I let out a sigh of agreement. “Home is where it’s at.” She agrees and we chat some more before my mom asks me to heat up some pastries. As we work, I catch sight of everyone sitting at the table on the deck. It’s a beautiful night, allhamdulillah. So clear and the moon is full. The air feels crisp even though it’s warm.
Everything inside me just feels good. Like the rush of happiness that you feel deep down inside your bones, you know? Like even when you know nothing is completely 100% perfect…it still sort of is, in the beauty of the moment.
I break my gaze away from the night sky when I hear the toaster oven ding. Our moms have left the kitchen. It’s just me and Noh. We smile at each other as we prepare our plates of food to carry outside.
When I approach the door, Noha in front of me, I’m even more nervous than before. There’s a lot of static energy building in my chest and my stomach.
Something weird happens. The second I step out onto the deck, the second I see Adam, it’s like all of that dissipates. A number of things flash in my head all at once, too fast for me to even fully visualize them. But at the end of that, I just see him, sitting there under the soft glow of the moon and the string of lights hung up. I see him and I see his brown eyes and his crooked smile and his broad shoulders in a black button down that I helped Noha pick out for his nineteenth birthday present and I feel a rush of relief I rarely ever feel.
“Salam, Adam,” I say and when his eyes meet mine and he smiles, I know I’ve finally come home.
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