Mahnoor: At this point, make him say his shahadah
Samira:
Mahnoor: No
Mahnoor: I would like to see a picture of him
Samira: no
Mahnoor: please
Samira: no
Mahnoor: bitch if you don't send me a picture
With a sigh, Samira scrolled through her phone, cropping a group picture and sending it to Mahnoor.
Mahnoor: whoa
Mahnoor: he has dimples too
Samira: so do i he aint special
Samira: leave me alone now
Samira giggled as she put her phone away. Dark circles were painted around her eyes, tired from the exam she stayed up for the night before. Periodic rain showers left behind humidity in the air and puddles on the sidewalk. Samira's steps felt like heavyweights as she dragged herself home, ready to lie down on her couch and binge-watch New Girl.
As she walked through the drizzling rain, she felt a faint tap on her left shoulder. She turned her head, looking for who it was, but there was nothing. Then, when she stepped her foot forward, it felt as though someone kicked it from behind, making it nearly swing through the air.
Her heart pounded when she immediately turned around, finding Harry holding a devilish smile on his lips and a soccer ball—football—in his hands. His eyes held a certain vitality, and the black hood of his sweater sat on his ruffled hair.
"Dude, what the actual fuck? You scared the shit out of me!" Samira exclaimed. "Ya rabbi."
Harry laughed wholeheartedly as he began strolling next to her. She realized how much he'd loosened up since they'd met.
"What are you doing here?" She asked.
"I was actually going to the park to play football," he replied, pointing eastward. "Then I saw you down the street and thought I'd say hello."
"Oh, are you meeting a friend there?"
"No."
Samira tilted her head, raising her eyebrows at him. "You're going to play alone?"
Harry shrugged, then averted his eyes shyly, watching his steps. "I can. It's fun to play when it's raining."
"I can't argue with that."
"You play?"
"I did in high school."
Harry slowed down, turning to her. "Would you like to join me?"
Samira made a face, scrunching her nose and looking up to the sky. Her plans to lounge had seemed too good to give up, but Harry was eager for her company. And she couldn't let him play unaccompanied.
He inched closer to her. "You don't have to, Sam."
Samira clicked her tongue. "Harry, if I know you're going to play alone, and you ask me to join you, do you think I'm going to say no?"
Harry chuckled as he looked away. His dimples did a little thing to her heart and she found it a bit strange.
As they walked to the park together, she asked him how the fuck he managed to kick her foot in the air before he surprised her, to which he replied that a friend taught him how when he was younger. For the most part, he was the one who did the talking, which was another one of his many surprises today.
When they arrived in the football field, Samira set her backpack down beneath a bench, hoping to protect it from any rain that was to come. They giggled a little as they settled into the game, then began to kick the ball back and forth through the wet grass; Samira would sometimes punt the ball a bit too hard, causing Harry to miss it.
"You haven't played in a while, have you?" He asked, chuckling.
Samira rolled her eyes. "Are you making fun of me?"
He pursed his lips, hiding a smile. "No."
"I could beat you if I wanted to."
"Oh yeah?" Harry lifted his eyebrows, smirking. "Do you even watch football?"
His question was patronizing. "Excuse me?"
"Tell me your favorite team and I will tell you whether you can beat me or not."
"God, you're an asshole." Samira snickered. "I like LFC."
He rolled his eyes. "That makes sense."
"Why, do you like Everton?" She cringed.
"God, no," Harry replied, mirroring her actions. "Manchester United."
"Oh, that makes sense," she retorted. "I don't hate them, but Liverpool is definitely better."
"Without Salah, they're shit."
"Hello, there's also Becker and Mane."
"But they don't have Pogba. And remember Liverpool's game against Barcelona? It was a nightmare."
She could see competitiveness. Would he take her opinions too far?
"I don't feel like having this argument."
"Because you know I'll beat you," Harry responded nonchalantly, kicking the ball to her feet.
"That's not true," Samira retorted, resting her foot on the ball. His competitive edge irritated her; even though she could tell he was joking, she knew that deep down, he wasn't entirely.
She pushed it away. "I can get 3 goals in before you," Samira challenged.
"I doubt that," he responded, leaning forward, pulling the ball toward him with his foot.
For the next hour, they played a game to see who would score three goals first. It was serious for Harry once Samira stole the ball from him, getting the first goal before he could. Then after he slipped and fell down on the wet grass, getting a mud stain on his arm along with a stupid smile on his face, he became more playful, less competitive.
His laughter and liveliness—Samira was endeared by it, and yet again, surprised. There was a time where she had the ball, but he'd stolen it by holding her from behind by wrapping his arms around her, reaching between her feet to kick it away. Samira watched him run to the ball after he did that, and she was surprised at herself for not scolding him for the way he held her. She was fine with it and she found it strange.
It started to rain again, hard, so they ended their game, rushing to a bench under a protective shelter.
"So . . . a tie?" Harry simpered as the rain poured, pounding on the shelter above them.
"No." Samira shook her head. "I won."
"But you got two and so did I."
"Okay, and?"
Harry narrowed his eyes at her. "You're very stubborn."
"I know," Samira responded. "You sound like my dad."
"Your dad must be cool."
"Hey, that was insulting," Samira rolled her eyes at him, smiling inelegantly, which drew a muffled laugh from Harry. "But, he's cool, yeah."
"What do you call him? Dad?"
"Wapa," she answered. "Everyone who knows him calls him that."
"I really like that," Harry grinned. "I guess I will call him that too."
"His ego is so big sometimes. Once you call him that, he doesn't know how to act," Samira chuckled, looking over in the field.
"How's he doing?" He asked, almost curiously, which caused her to immediately look at him.
Samira blinked softly. "He's good, usually. I call him every other night."
He shot her a knowing glance. "He's overprotective, isn't he?"
"Yeah," she responded quietly. "He worries about me too much."
Samira watched him rest his arm on the base of the bench, settling his chin atop it with his eyes still on her.
"What?" She asked, noticing some emotion in his eyes.
Harry shrugged, a smile coming and fading. "I don't know. I can see you worry about him sometimes too."
"Why is that?"
"His opinions always matter to you, don't they?"
Samira pursed her lips, nodding affably as she sighed. "One hundred percent."
Harry beamed, not responding. He was exhausted, it seemed, his voice soft throughout their small talk.
"Are you tired?" She asked.
"No," he countered, immediately sitting up. It was clear he denied his fatigue. "Do you want to play a game?"
Samira sighed, snorting. "God, you're random."
Harry pulled his phone out of his pocket, swiping his thumbs over the screen. "It's a question game."
"You'll be answering these questions too, right?"
"Yes, I'm not that quiet, Sam," Harry replied.
"Then you have to answer all the questions," Samira teased. "And sincerely."
Samira pulled her legs up, sitting her feet on the bench and wrapping her arms around her knees. It began to get a bit chilly.
Harry turned his body toward her. "What's your favorite Disney movie?"
"Disney movie?" Samira looked away, thinking as she pulled the hood of her jacket over her head. "Tangled. Yours?"
"Bambi."
"That shit was so sad, dude, why would you choose that?"
"Except for that part," Harry quickly retorted, rolling his eyes.
"Let me choose a question." Samira held her hand out for his phone, which he gave without hesitation.
Samira scrolled through the questions—all 350 of them. Some were personal, others were light.
"Ooooh," Samira said, finding another good option for inquiry. "What food combination do you enjoy?"
Harry laughed lightly. "I put pepper on my apple slices."
"That actually doesn't sound bad," Samira chortled. "I spread jam on my eggs."
A grimace on his face. "That sounds a lot worse than mine."
"It's actually really good." Samira gave the phone back, deciding they'd ask questions to each other back and forth.
He shook his head. "At least it wasn't pickles and peanut butter," Harry added, looking through his phone. "What can't you go a day without?"
"Video games," Samira answered, but then took it back. "Well, I could go a week without it. But I need to play it when I can."
"Oh really? I love Super Smash Bros."
Excitement sparked in Samira's chest. "Me too! What's your favorite character?"
His dimples cratered his cheeks, showing a wide smile. "Pikachu," he said softly.
"Mine is Kirby. Or . . . Zelda. But uh, what can't you go without?"
"My dog, Bea," Harry responded, almost fondly. "I've had her since I was 15."
"Wow," Samira responded as Harry handed the phone to her. "She must be a part of many memories."
Harry frowned subtly, but not subtle enough for it to go unnoticed. "Yeah."
Samira didn't ask any further queries. "Alright . . . what's the cheesiest thing you'd do for someone?"
"Oh." A smile came back on his lips. "Just like the movies . . . I really wanted to scream that I love someone. Like, on the rooftops, you know?"
"That is actually so cute," Samira replied, taken aback by the confidence in his answer. "Mine would probably be . . . dang, I'm realizing that I'm not a cheesy person."
"I think everyone is. And the question isn't easy to answer."
"Not for you," Samira laughed. "Well, I think I have told you this before but I want to change someone's life. If that's cheesy enough."
"You did tell me." Harry nodded. "And it is."
"Good, there's that."
"Okay . . . who do you want to get back in contact with?" Harry asked, but he swallowed, almost in regret, as though he didn't want to be the one answering it.
Samira bit the inside of her cheek. "My brother, Ayan."
Harry glanced at her, holding eye contact. "Why?"
Her grip around her knees tightened. A deep breath was taken, bringing comfort. "I don't know. I'm not close with him because of the past. Sometimes I feel like I hate him."
Harry furrowed his eyebrows, listening attentively. "You don't hate him."
The way he studied her felt as though he were looking into something way beyond her irises. So, she looked away.
"I think I do," Samira continued.
"No, Sam," he said. "You can't hate someone. It's impossible."
She glared at him. "You can't just say that."
"I know I don't know what it was that happened between you two, of course." Harry took her hand. "But life is way too short to hate someone."
His answer caused her to ponder something she never had before.
"There's something you're not telling me," Samira said as she shook her head, chuckling ineptly as she took her hand away from him.
"Maybe."
Harry's phone buzzed in his hands. He clicked the button on his phone, glancing at it. "I have to run, now. I'll text you."
Harry stood up, grabbing his ball. Samira realized he hadn't answered the question.
"Dude, you can't just say that and leave!" She yelled as he started to walk away with a mischievous smile.
Harry turned around. His hair danced in the wind, the color in his eyes spoke to her silently, and the curl of his lips only made her anticipate the words he was yet to say.
Cupping his hands around his mouth, he exclaimed, "This is the only time I won't answer!"