Updated for PasantEbrahimSoliman because she asked me to, and because she's been my fan for years now :D Plus being my best friend's sister, she's also my little friend. Thank you for giving me positive energy dear :* <3
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Eight
[Adam]
It’s strange to worry about someone you don’t know, but it happens. I was waiting in cold sweat for her to wake up, and make sure she’s better now. And when she did, I left. I couldn’t just be there, I was relieved she woke up and there was no reason for me to stay.
I waited for Mariam in the car impatiently; I was dying to know what she talked to her about. And when she finally came out, she sat in the passenger’s seat and began telling me the whole conversation.
“Are you sure she’s not the one?” she winked.
“What do you mean?”
“Didn’t you see how you looked there?” she asked. “I swear if it’s been me, you’d be wearing the same expression. You almost couldn’t stand still.”
“I’m hungry let’s go eat somewhere,” I said changing the subject.
“I wanna eat sushi!” she yells cheerfully.
“Okay.”
***
I’m sitting now at home, remembering what happened yesterday, watching a soccer game and waiting for Mariam to come from school. I wouldn’t admit the reason to myself, but there’s no way out. I want to know if she saw Leen.
I finally hear the door being shut and I find myself jumping off the couch, I walk out of the living room and find Mariam, “Is Malek okay?” I ask.
“He is,” she says taking her hijab off. “And she is too.”
“Stop it, Mariam!” I frown. “I didn’t ask how she was.”
“Then why did you know who I’m talking about when I didn’t mention her name?”
“Because I know what you’re thinking.”
“I have good news for you anyways,” she says. “But first bring me a glass of cold water; it’s really boiling hot outside.”
I go to the kitchen and pour her a glass of water and return, “What’s the good news?”
“I’ve got her number!”
“What?” my jaw drops. “You’re not serious!”
“Then what would you say when you hear the rest . . .” she laughs.
“Which is . . .?” I ask impatiently.
“She’s got your number now,” she says looking at me closely to watch my expression.
I don’t know what I feel but maybe saying that it’s like the ceiling has collapsed on me would be an understatement. “Whose what?”
She laughs so hard she almost chokes, “Did you become deaf? I said: She. Has. Your. Number.”
“How’s that?” I ask plainly.
“She said her father wanted to thank you for what you’ve done and so she asked me if I could give her you number,” she says, “then I asked her to take hers.”
“Did she really ask you for it?”
“Yeah, but poor her, she looked as if she’d pass out from shyness.”
Suddenly realization strikes me, “Oh my God! Her father’s gonna call me?”
“Yeaaahh,” she says in a singsong voice. “Expect a call from an unknown number at any time today, bro,” she says darkly. I feel nervous and there’s an uprising in my gut.
This afternoon, my phone rings and suddenly my heart falls to my feet. I pick it up and star at the screen, it’s an unknown number . . .
“Asslamu’alikom,” I say as steadily as I can.
“W’alikom Asslam,” an old man’s deep voice replies. “Is this Mr. Adam Mostafa?”
“Yes, it’s me,” my legs start to shake.
“I’m Aly Al-Khateeb,” he says. “Teacher Leen’s father. The girl you’ve driven to the hospital yesterday.”
“Oh, yes, sir,” there’s an earthquake underneath me. I don’t know what else to say but he saves me by going on.
“I wanted to thank you for what you’ve done,” he says. “It’s very generous of you and I don’t know how can I pay you back.”
“It’s nothing really, sir,” I reply. “Alhamdulillah she’s better now.”
“Alhamdulillah. Anyway, I knew you paid the hospital expenses, and I’m thankful, but I have to return you the money.”
“No, no, sir, I can’t accept it.”
“I can tell you’re a real gentleman, Adam,” my heart pounds in my chest, and I find myself smiling. Not because he’s complimenting me, but because for some reason–which I don’t want to admit, again–I’m glad he likes me. “But there’s no way I won’t pay you back.”
“I’m extremely sorry, Mr Aly, but I can’t take the money back; it’s against the way I’ve been raised.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Adam,” he sighs in defeat, “but I really respect you, although I don’t even know you.”
“Thank you, sir. Your words mean a lot to me.”
“Then at least let me invite you and your sister over for dinner tomorrow if you’re free.” Oh. My. God. Was I really just invited to her house?
“Err,” I’m so confused and surprised and taken aback I can’t find the words.
“I insist,” he says. “And this is the only way to make it up for me for not letting me return you the money.”
“Okay, sir,” I finally say. “Inshallah, we’re coming.”
“Inshallah,” he repeats. “And I’m taking that as a promise, and a good Muslim never breaks his promise. I’ll be waiting for you at seven in the evening.”
“Okay, sir. Thank you.”
“No, thank you. Asslamu’alikom.”
“Wa’likom Asslam.” And we hang up.
This is the craziest thing ever.
I go upstairs and knock on Mariam’s bedroom door and she lets me in. “Guess what,” I say in disbelief.
“What?” she says as she’s typing on her phone screen.
“We’re invited over for dinner tomorrow.”
“Really?” she closes her phone and pays me attention, now. Food does miracles. “Who are we, and where are we invited?”
“You and me are invited over Leen’s parents’ house.”
“Oh, God!” she screams. “You’re kidding!”
“Wallahy I’m not,” I say looking like I’ve been showered with a cold bucket of water.
“This is the craziest thing ever!” she says standing on her bed.
“I was just thinking the same.”
“Full story . . .?” And I start telling her about the phone call.
Time passes by and I’m not completely conscious or reactive to the outside world. And all I’m know is it’s 5:30 p.m. the next day and I’m getting ready to go out.
When I’m done, I walk out of my bedroom and find Mariam waiting outside with the hugest beam on her face. “Ready?” she asks, and I briefly nod.
We go downstairs and mom looks at us then smiles, “Well, the whole situation is crazy, but I’m happy seeing you right now. Both of you look gorgeous, and I feel something good coming in the way.”
“Pray for us, mom!” Mariam calls as we walk to the door. “Actually for him,” she whispers to me as we get out.
“Shut up,” I say.
“Zipped.” She moves her thumb and index finger as if she’s zipping her mouth.
“Good.”
~~~
Another early update!
I want to know what you guys think, and I wanna thank those who vote for every single chapter since the very begininng, you make my days. I would love to see your comments too, it might even improve the story.
I hope I never let you down :)
Nouran.