It took blood, sweat, and tears for Samira to keep her eyes open. Avoiding even a single nap was a challenge.
Samira was back in Liverpool. Tasneem had come over to keep her awake, entertaining Samira with another one of her comical boyfriend stories. As they talked in the kitchen, Samira was distracted with whether it was worth telling Tasneem about her feelings for Harry.
"Can I tell you something?" Samira asked out of the blue, sipping her coffee.
Tasneem blinked, surprised: "Yeah?"
"Um." Samira paused, bracing herself. "I like Harry."
Tasneem froze, widening her eyes. "Really?"
"Uh, yeah?" Samira furrowed her eyebrows, catching herself off guard at Tasneem's actions. "He was there for me that day, you know."
"He didn't . . . do anything else?" Tasneem asked, as if she was predicting the rest of the story.
Samira squinted her eyes: "Do you know anything?"
"No." Tasneem looked away.
Samira put her cup down, leaning in.
"Tasneem."
"Can't tell you." She shook her head.
"Can't tell what?"
"That . . . he likes you," Tasneem answered nonchalantly.
Her mouth fell agape, and Samira was surprised by how easily she got an answer.
"He told you?"
Tasneem nodded, hiding a smile: "Yes."
"Say wallahi." Samira covered her face bashfully.
"Wallah," Tasneem confirmed. "He kept it a secret with me."
Samira couldn't figure out whether she was relieved or worried. Of course, he would keep it a secret, that was Harry, but there was now no chance of him ever confessing after she embarrassed him.
"Are you going to tell him?"
"I can't," Samira groaned. "Fuck."
"Who says you can't?"
"Allah, you idiot."
"Is there another reason?" Tasneem asked, giggling.
"We had a little argument . . . I said we can only be friends. Then he showed up that day and now he's all I think about," Samira explained.
"Oh . . ." Tasneem put her soda can down. "Well, Harry called me the night before, wanting to know when your train was so he could . . . tell you."
"Really?" Her gaze softened.
"Yeah. He called me again that morning to make sure I was okay," Tasneem shared. "And he said he was going to make sure you were okay, too."
"Oh man," Samira whined, covering her eyes wistfully. "He tried to tell me."
Tasneem pouted her lips: "Well, now you know."
Samira swirled a spoon through her coffee: "I barely know him."
"Please," Tasneem interjected. "He's loosened up since you showed up."
"Why?" Samira said. "I'm such a bitch to him."
"A bitch? Or brutally honest?" Tasneem snorted. "He likes that you call him out on his bullshit."
Samira shrugged, trying to push away the idea of doing anything with Harry. All she wanted was to be his friend and keep that halal gap, but now she wasn't so sure.
"What are you insisting, Tas?" Samira pressed.
"Follow whatever your gut is telling you."
After Tasneem left, Samira wandered out alone, taking a long stroll, hoping to find some guidance on her own. Her gut was silent for the rest of the day as her mind was too boggled for her to comprehend anything.
It was late by the time Samira began to head home, but she was still wide awake, figuring out how else to spend the night.
Harry: Do you want to get some waffles? By the docks?
Samira smiled at the thought, but she had to be considerate for Harry's sake.
Samira: it's late, u sure?
Harry: Of course. And I miss you.
Samira: Oh ok. 🥺 meet you there.
Samira's heart was in her throat; he said he missed her.
Nose and ears cold, she walked in the dark, accompanied by only the street lights. Her breath clouded the air and the breeze whisked the curls of her hair.
As she walked, she heard footsteps behind her. They were fast, almost startling her, so in the rush of the moment, she turned around with her fists. A body bumped into her abruptly. Her hands loosened when she heard that particular laugh.
"God!" Samira exclaimed, watching Harry giggle his ass off. "You have to stop doing that, man."
Harry wouldn't stop laughing; Samira felt her stomach flutter. Hair curled around his ears beneath his beanie. His nose was red, his eyes were lively, and his lips were rosy. A black jacket nestled him from the cold.
He's so fucking cute.
He wrapped his arms around her, calming himself and holding her tight. Samira didn't hesitate to take up every second of his hug.
"How are you?" He asked, mumbling into her shoulder.
Tell him.
"I'm alright," Samira replied, letting go of him. "Uh, I wanted to apologize for the other day."
"For what?" Harry batted his eyes, lost.
Samira swallowed, scratching her head. "For being a bitch. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"
"No, no," Harry interrupted, clicking his tongue. "No need."
Samira frowned at his kindness, awaiting honesty—she wanted him to confess his feelings.
Harry stared at her for a moment, reaching out to touch her curls.
"You look like a lion," he said, chuckling.
A surge of heat rushed into her cheeks. "I uh, showered and left it like this."
"It's nice this way." Harry complimented, then looked at all of her. "Where's your Georgie coat?"
Samira blinked a few times, bewildered. That yellow jacket never saw another day because he didn't like it, but he couldn't know that.
"It wasn't heavy enough for the weather," she justified.
"Oh," Harry said nonchalantly, beginning to walk. "It grew on me."
Knowing well that if she spoke at this moment, she would gush nonsense; she decided against replying to his surprising remark.
After devouring their bubble waffles, they sat at the docks. Feet dangled above the water, they rested their arms on the railings. The sound of wading water passed through the air as they gazed at the stars ahead.
"Did your siblings eat all the chocolates you brought them?" Harry asked, turning to her with his head settled onto his arms.
"Elias ate everything," Samira answered, laughing. "He loves those Kinder Buenos."
He giggled: "He has taste."
"Yeah." Samira paused, looking at him. "You know, you never talk about your family."
Harry squinted his eyes, pursing his lips. "I don't?" He questioned, belittlement laced in his tone.
"No," Samira snorted. "You don't."
Harry chuckled lowly, "There isn't much to talk about."
"Why?" Samira tilted her head at him.
A sigh. "I just distance myself. They deserve good."
"And what do you have to do with that?" Samira furrowed her eyebrows.
"Because I'm a shit person."
Struck by shock, Samira burst out laughing: "That's the biggest lie you ever told."
Harry didn't laugh with her, tensing his jaw. "I'm serious."
His straightforwardness almost shattered her; it hurt how he'd think something like that. If anything, he was one of the kindest, most compassionate people, and it was rare to see anyone like him.
"Harry," Samira began, taking his warm hand in hers. "You're one of the best people I've ever met."
His gaze shifted. "Best is a stretch, but thanks anyway."
Samira shifted her body toward him, leaning her shoulder onto the railings. His gaze remained away from her.
"Hmm." Samira thought about what he said, remembering what he hadn't said in the past. "Why don't you ever say you're welcome?"
He sighed; his chest rose and fell prominently. "I feel like it's me praising myself for doing something good. I don't like that idea."
Samira chuckled. "I think there's a sense of validation when a person appreciates what you did for them. So replying should be nothing, you know."
"I wish it were that easy." Harry cringed. "People love saying shit, whether you've made mistakes or done good."
"I agree," Samira said. "But I really can't imagine giving a shit about what other people think of me."
Harry snorted, fiddling with the rings on his fingers. "Hmm."
Samira leaned in, hoping to explain it further. "It starts with accepting that you're human and you make mistakes. If you try to get forgiveness from others, that's what matters. If they choose not to forgive you, that's on them. Not you."
Then he looked at her. "Is it that simple to you?"
"Okay, I know it's different for everyone," Samira justified. "I guess what matters to me is if He sees it."
"See, that's the thing I can't fathom," Harry interjected. "That God forgives. How do I know?"
"You just have to believe. It's hard, takes patience," Samira added. "It was easy when I did good, as a way to seek forgiveness. And good came to me because I was patient. It will for you, too. I think it has already."
He blinked a few times, nodding. "Maybe," he replied softly.
She looked away for a moment but brought her gaze back, witnessing his eyes trail to her neck. She'd caught it, and he gulped awkwardly.
"Um." He cleared his throat. "Does your necklace say patience?"
Samira looked down at the pendant resting on her chest. It was on the other side, reading patience in English. She flipped it over, reading sabr in Arabic.
"Yeah," she answered. "After trying so much to have it, I guess it's a piece of reassurance."
"It's pretty."
A whistle blew; it was past midnight and they'd get kicked out if they didn't leave.
"We gotta go," Harry said, standing up.
Samira looked up at him considerately. "Do you think you'll try to be patient?"
He held his hand out for Samira to take, smiling softly.
"Yeah." He nodded.
Samira took his hand, pulling herself onto her feet. The lights around the dock shut off as they walked to his car, finally out of the cold air.
A sense of dread seeped into her when he parked next to her apartment.
Harry leaned his head against the headrest, ready to sleep, but he stayed awake, just to spend time with her. She'd almost forgotten that she wanted to tell him how much she liked him, but she knew that the feelings were for him to confess.
Make your fucking decision already.
"Samira?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you going to get out of the car now?"
A smile appeared on her lips when she realized she didn't leave yet; he'd begun to laugh.
"Thank you," she said, squeezing his hand. "For staying up and dealing with my bullshit."
There was that stupid, yet charming twinkle in his eye.
"You're welcome."
Just like that, her breath was lost. He said that. He responded to her appreciation, wholeheartedly, like it was the most normal thing he'd ever told her. He'd never said that to anyone, but he said it to her.
Her chest ached as they locked eyes.
Fuck it, Samira thought to herself. Fuck it all.
She leaned over and yanked the collar of his shirt, enchaining their lips. Every thought was dispelled, and all she could think of was how his lips were on hers, how soft they felt, how they began to cooperate with hers like they'd done it before. Their teeth clanked as she felt his fingers wrap around her wrist.
Oh, God, he was kissing her.
The way his hands pulled her near and his lips bit hers gently only told her: Yes, Samira, he fucking likes you. They were connected in a way she'd never foreseen, like a bee to its honey. His fingers gripped her hair, caressing her skin with his thumbs. Their noses brushed; she engulfed herself in his scent as much as she could.
As their lips played a game of finding the treasure, she realized that Harry was no longer her friend; he was someone she'd kissed, someone she told herself to never try and do things with, someone she now had a different label with.
So she pulled away, feeling the cold enter the surface of her skin; she was no longer joined by the warmth of his lips. Their breaths were audible, a furious heat visible in both of their complexions. Harry's eyes never left her, whether it was on her lips or her gaze.
But he was startled—not that she kissed him, but because she pulled away. He wanted more, but Samira didn't know if she felt the same.
Then she realized what she'd done.
Samira licked what was left of him off her lips and fled his car. Her purse was clutched in her fist as she sauntered as fast as she could, leaving him alone as her heart overflowed with regret.
-
merry christmas to those who celebrate x
here's my present :-)