Samira was feeling lonely in this crowded room.
It was another one of Natalie's parties, and Samira sat alone on the couch, ears flooded by all of the jumbled, indistinct voices. Even after warming up to everyone, Samira still found it easy to feel alone. Though she made the effort to speak to others, she could feel those connections immediately disseminate into the air.
No one noticed when she left the noisy gathering room. The resonance was muffled as she stood in the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were locked on the exposed skin of her neck, and a feeling of discomfort overwhelmed her. Though she had worked to lose many pounds, some of the flesh remained on her neck.
Just get out of here, she told herself, knowing very well that scrutinizing her body any longer would send her down a rabbit hole. After reapplying her favorite lip gloss, she grabbed her yellow jacket and left the party.
She breathed deeply, regaining some energy as she stood alone in the elevator. But the feeling didn't last; she had no pounds on her for a taxi.
The cold breeze brushed through her hair, running a chill down her spine. She looked down the road, mentally preparing herself for the long walk she was about to take all alone. It was an unfortunate situation; she didn't want to walk in the dark unaccompanied, but she didn't want to go back to the party either, because she'd still be alone.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped onto the sidewalk, planning to walk as fast as possible. But almost immediately, she heard footsteps behind her.
"Georgie?"
She knew that particular voice, and in that moment, she didn't feel so alone.
There Harry was, watching her with a simper on his lips. His hands were settled in his pockets, his hair a perfect mess, and his cheeks peppered with a kind amount of stubble.
"Did you just call me Georgie?" Samira retorted, laughing lightly at his remark.
"Well, where's your red balloon?" Harry riposted, walking up to her.
"What the fuck does that—" she looked away from him, furrowing her eyebrows as she tried to figure out what he meant. What does a red balloon have to do with me? She thought.
He kept trying. "You don't remember how you died in that one movie?" His eyes went to her jacket, her yellow jacket. Remembering the name she was called, Georgie, she realized he was referring to the horror movie, It.
"You asshole," she retorted. "I actually love this jacket."
"I don't," he replied, holding a grimace.
Samira tilted her head at him, appreciating his frankness. "First time you're being honest."
Harry rolled his eyes. "That's a reach."
Samira pouted her lips, shaking her head. "It's not."
He didn't argue with her like she expected him to. He just stood there, ridicule in his eyes and a teasing smirk on his lips.
"You aren't allowed to make fun of it," Samira stated firmly, slightly offended by the belittlement.
Harry snorted. "Okay, Georgie."
Samira slapped his arm, forcing another laugh from him. "You always show up at the right time, don't you? Were you going to the party?" She asked.
"Were you leaving it?" Harry countered, rubbing his arm.
"Yeah, I was," Samira mumbled, looking down to her shoes and kicking the pebbles on the ground. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"
Harry had become Samira's good friend. Over the last month, he'd always be the one she'd call if she wanted to talk to someone. She'd begun to feel lonely when she was without him; she was so used to his company.
"Because I didn't know you were?" Harry answered, bewildered.
Samira rolled her eyes. "Alright, I was just leaving."
"Whoa, wait." Harry gripped her arm before she could walk away. "Come with me."
"No. That's awkward," Samira stated the obvious. It'd be weird to go back to a party only because her friend was with her when she'd just left it.
Harry grinned wide. "Then let's go do something," he suggested.
"Can you let go of me first?" Samira chuckled. "And no, you have to go in; they'll want to see you."
Harry shook his head as he let go of her arm. "I'd rather hang out with you."
Samira blinked softly, finding herself happy that he thought of her the same way she did of him. "Well, uh, okay."
Samira walked away, hoping he'd follow her. And he did, stumbling into her as he wrapped his arm around her neck, tugging her head into his.
"Are you alright?" He asked, his lips right next to her ear.
She paused, still looking straight ahead. "I'm fine. You actually reminded me: Cameron was showing me his drinking tricks and that was . . . "
Harry snickered. "He won't leave you alone, will he?"
"Probably never," Samira snickered, gripping his arm.
They walked to a late-night chai place. As Harry decided on what he wanted, Samira muttered to the cashier that she'd be paying for his order too. In a moment, Harry was ready to pay, but the cashier remained silent, holding a grin. His eyes then widened; Harry realized what Samira had done.
"You're not doing that again," Harry said as they trotted out into the cold air, both holding their warm cups of chai.
"I will, though. You're my friend, dude," Samira responded as they sat down on the bench. Harry did nothing but shake his head at her, unable to find the words to counter.
Suddenly, Samira's phone started to vibrate over and over again.
"Your phone is blowing up," Harry mentioned.
Samira took her phone from her pocket, laughing. "Can't say that because I'm a Muslim."
She looked at Harry, who was truly unprepared for that.
"You love to make jokes," he said.
"Jokes? Wait till I start calling you a colonizer," Samira snorted.
Harry rolled his eyes. "I wanted to ask; is that why you don't drink? Because you're a Muslim? I mean, Waseem does, and Fizza has a few times. I know it's different for everyone."
Samira nodded. "Yeah, that's why I don't. I used to, though."
"Oh, so you weren't religious before?" Harry asked.
"No." Samira snorted. "Drunk me was a sight to see."
"I hope you never see me drunk," Harry mumbled. "Well, what made you become religious?"
Samira sighed; she'd told this story many times. "It was after a breakup with my ex."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "You date?"
"Yes, dummy, I've done literally everything." She paused, closing her eyes to take a deep breath. "But uh, he ruined me. It was bad; took a while for me to break up with him."
"Oh." His face softened as he looked at her. "You didn't deserve that."
Samira's heart melted at his concern. "It's in the past, Harry."
"But still," he added. "If he drove you to really change yourself, then it must've been hard."
Her eyes went to the ground as she placed her elbows on her knees. "I see it as a good thing because I don't know what else could've changed me."
He copied her actions, leaning lower so his eyes met hers. "Nothing else?" He asked, a cloud of breath forming in front of his lips.
Samira gave him a meager smile, shrugging. "I wouldn't know."
She bit the inside of her cheek, seeking comfort. It was strange for her; normally, she'd tell this story like it was nothing, but now she felt a little ache in her chest.
"Something told me to turn to faith because I had nothing else. I mean, duh, I had my dad, but the man's heart would literally break if he found out I had a boyfriend . . . and did things with him," Samira elaborated.
Harry chortled, his dimples sinking into his cheeks. "You were able to get away with that?"
"Honestly, I don't know how I did," she laughed. "But I went to a masjid, asked an Imam for guidance. And the thing about this Imam was . . . he didn't judge me," Samira expressed. "Not once."
"So . . . you weren't religious because you were judged?"
"Not completely, but yeah. Around the kids I grew up with, faith was a competition. They bragged about their faith, like how many Islamic stories they knew, or how many days they fasted, and their parents encouraged them to do that . . . it never made sense to me," Samira explained. "Faith is something that's meaningful, but I found no meaning in it since I was judged if I didn't act or do something a certain way."
"You learned what it was later on, eh?"
"Mhmm." Samira nodded. "I had no idea that faith was something that was only between you and God. That's what it was the whole time."
"That's something that I struggle with," he said, out of the blue.
She didn't expect him to share his beliefs. "Really?" Samira inquired quickly.
"Yeah, I don't know, I just . . ." There was regret in his tone. "I guess I just gave up."
Samira shook her head. "You didn't."
Harry furrowed his eyebrows, confounded. "Why are you saying that?"
Samira looked to his chest, nodding to where his cross necklace sat. "Your chain. You wear that for a reason, don't you?"
"Maybe," he replied blankly.
"You sound enthusiastic," she snorted sarcastically.
"It's not something I think about a lot, Sam," Harry replied, playing with one of the rings on his fingers. "It's hard for me to believe that people are forgiving. Or that there's a deity out there that's forgiving."
Samira could only wonder what it was that he'd gone through for him to think that. "Do you believe in God, Harry?"
"I do." He replied, but he also turned away from her. Samira was struggling to read the meaning behind his actions.
"I've never talked about that before," he confessed, shaking his head. "With anyone."
Samira assumed he was worried she'd tell someone. "I'll keep this between you and me."
"I know you won't tell," he said. "It's just that . . . I don't think I've ever really thought about these things until now."
"I'm sorry." Samira could tell he was uncomfortable; she had pulled something out of him that he might have tried to bury.
"No, it's okay."
"I won't judge you if that's what you're worried about." Samira leaned back, pulling out her lip gloss so she could reapply it; most of it had ended up on her styrofoam cup. "Well, not unless you do something really stupid, but even then, it's only because I care about you. "
"Wow . . . that's exactly how it should be." He leaned back on the bench, sipping the last of his chai. "So . . . what was your ex's name?" Harry changed the subject.
She rubbed her lips together as she put away her lip gloss, unwilling to look him in the eye. "James."
Harry grimaced. "He sounds . . ."
"White? I know."
"I was going to say terrible."
"He was," Samira laughed. "He made me smile a lot at first. Then things got serious, and he became toxic. He needed me to be someone I couldn't be. I stayed too long and I don't think I ever smiled during that time."
"You deserve to have someone who makes you smile," he said, leaning his head on the base of the bench, almost in admiration. "You have the nicest smile."
Samira pouted her lips. "Thanks, bestie."
"Is that what you're calling me, now?"
"Yes."
His face reddened. "Okay."
On Samira's lips was a smirk. "You got any ex stories?"
"Oh, Samira." He slouched back, his calm eyes glistening under the street lights. "You don't want to hear any of that pathetic shit."
"Uh, yeah, I do," Samira retorted, leaning back with him.
The wind began to blow as Harry gently blinked, keeping his gaze on Samira. Then he scooted closer to her, settling the back of his head on the base of the bench, right near her shoulder.
"How are you not sleepy, Sam?" He asked, voice soft and raspy.
Samira lifted her wrist, checking her watch. "It's almost 11; that's not late."
He cleared his throat, smiling as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Maybe it's your voice. It's soothing. Like a lullaby."
Samira scrunched her nose, shocked at his comment. "My voice is so ugly."
"It really isn't," Harry retorted, almost annoyed with her remark.
"Funny how it's you that's telling me that."
"Why?"
"Because I thought you had a nice voice when I first met you."
He simpered. "Oh."
Samira rolled her eyes. "God, you're a dork."
"You've called me that too many times."
"I know."
The wind blew harder, and Samira felt a piece of her hair get stuck on her sticky, glossy lips. Before she could lift her hand to remove it, Harry's hand reached by her lips, moving the strand aside.
Samira's gaze was locked onto Harry. Taken aback by his action, her heart nearly leaped out of her chest.
"That was bothering me," he mumbled, looking away.