Ends are so sweet when beautiful beginings are smiling at you from the curve in the corner.
Snowfall grew progressively stronger over the weeks until on the last day of library before the Christmas break, the world was blanketed in a strange white spread like an elite fur ensemble. Twilight fell soon on those days, severely restricting Hamza's outdoor times; which wasn't much in the first place with Jameel always telling him to stay out of the snow and Amanah only managing to let him play a little while before mother and son fled from the father with wild laughs. On a particularly loud evening with Amanah grinning from behind her husband and Hamza hurriedly stripping off the drenched snow clothes, Sidra amusedly watched the scene unfold and made a quiet decision to arrange an entertainment for her brother which her father wouldn't pretend to oppose.
Thus, Tuesday evening, Hamza skipped along, in a matching blue parka with his sister; the fur lining of the hoods framing their faces.
He was finally getting his own library card, courtesy of Sidra. All the way there, Hamza wouldn't shut up.
So I can pick from absolutely any shelf? (Yes, darling) And I don't have to sit in the kids' area? (Absolutely) And I can take the book home with me? (That's the whole point, silly) Can I meet your work friends? (Sure) Will Musa and Kevin be there? (I guess so)
He slowed down at the large double doors and waited patiently for his sister to hang her parka in the staff closet. Then Sidra guided him to the main desk, paid for his card and led him to the fiction shelf.
Hafsa was lounging in the reading area, immersed in Nineteen Minutes when her friend walked up behind her and said,
"Surprise!"
A startled Hafsa whipped around, coming face to face with Hamza. "Ya Allah, you've grown!"
"Jazakillah khair," he smiled at her before politely inquiring about her baby cousin.
Minutes later, Sidra helped him choose from a shelf, then pulled up a chair for him across from Hafsa. She let him show Hafsa his shiny new library card and excused herself to get herself a book. In the contemporary fiction aisle, she met Ayaan.
"You're early," she commented.
"You too. Your shift doesn't start until three, does it?"
"You know?"
"I've been here for a long time now."
"Yeah."
They picked books in silence.
"Delivered the ventilators yet?" she asked as they descended the stairs.
A beautiful smile lit up his face, "Alhamdulillah, yes. You won't believe how good it felt, Sidra. For once we felt like we had done something worthwhile."
His beautiful smile was also infectious, "I'm so happy to hear that. Must have been one in a million moments."
"It was. It was. I....I just can't put it into words. The boys were more emotional than the girls, though" he gave a short laugh. "My sister had a good laugh at my expense when I Facetimed her."
"That's sweet," she cocked her head, still smiling. "Anyway, your sister that you keep mentioning, when will you introduce us?"
"Unfortunately, it's a long way between Crest Falls and home. Plus I don't have a place for her to stay during her visit, yet."
"You'll get around to it, In Sha Allah," she assured him."
"Thank you for the vote of confidence."
"My pleasure."
They reached the ground floor landing; Ayaan not really knowing why he was going down instead of up - except he was going where Sidra was going. For a second he froze, an unfamiliar feeling fluttering in his stomach.
"Everything okay?" she asked.
"No. Yeah. I mean, nothing wrong. Just a thought."
"Okay," she replied. Still not sure why, he followed her to a long table close to the wall. From where he stood, he spotted Hafsa sitting with a smaller boy.
"Come, there's someone you need to meet," Sidra whispered to him excitedly. Feeling her excitement latch onto his ownself, he cleared the few steps to Hafsa's table, coming to a stop near the young boy who looked up at him.
He had the same long eyelashes as his sister's and an identical curiousity burning behind the politeness. However, the similarities ended there. Where Sidra was fair, Hamza was more wheatish in complexion. His face was a little more rounded as opposed to her long face. And his eyes were slightly smaller than hers; all observations which surprised Ayaan. He didn't know her features registered with him at all.
"Ayaan, this is my brother Hamza," she made Hamza stand up. "Hamza, this is my friend Ayaan."
"The one whose carnival you went to?" Hamza asked.
"Yes."
"Assalamu alaikum," Hamza held out his hand. Instead of complying, Ayaan pulled him into a hug, delighted by the fact that Hamza already knew about him.
"Wa alaikum-us-salaam, it's good to meet you. How old are you Hamza?"
"Thirteen," he stated proudly.
"Awesome."
"Where do you school?"
"Daybrooke Middle School."
"What's your favourite subject?'
"Maths."
"I like him," Ayaan stated to Sidra matter-of-factly.
"Because you have the same level of maturity," Hafsa joked.
"Probably higher than yours," Hamza muttered to her.
"Alright," Hafsa put her hands up in surrender. Soon the four were seated conversing at the table. Kevin bounded in holding Tessa's hand, then saw Hamza and came over to say hi.
For the next few minutes, Hamza was a celebrity. All the workers stopped by to say hello to him. Musa and Kevin even promised him a tour of the modified fourth floor where the biggest encyclopaedias rested.
Sidra watched every interaction with a satisfied grin that almost made her overlook the queer pang which gnawed at her guts. When Kevin walked Hamza towards a far shelf to show him a book on extinct species, her eyes misted over.
Hamza had grown so much. His limbs were longer and less chubby. His face was slowly evolving from the round one of a small boy to a more angular one of a teenager. Soon, she figured, I'll be craning my neck to see him in the eyes.
"A penny for your thought," Musa said from across the table where he sat with Ayaan, who was watching Hamza with a touch of tenderness.
"Hamza's grown so much," she answered wistfully.
"Exactly what I was thinking," Hafsa agreed. "The first time I saw him, he was a hyperactive ten year old with a complete inability to stay still."
Musa laughed, "Same. Remember the time he almost toppled a bookshelf? When was it Sidra? Your first couple of months, yeah?"
"Oh God," Sidra put a hand on her face. "Yes. And I so wanted to die."
Ayaan absorbed the swapped stories, albeit feeling left out until Musa deliberately diverted the topic to include him
"And Ayaan, how're the finals treating you?"
"Does each headache treat you different?"
"Yes," Hafsa answered. "Some are tolerable, some make me want to dissolve into nothing."
"Then imagine this as the mother of all migraines."
"Descriptive much," Musa concluded.
"Not that I have much of an interest except in Law. But winning an argument is rather exhilarating," Ayaan grinned.
"Good thing that," Sidra jerked her chin at Hamza, "He wants to be a lawyer too. I'm sure you would get along like a house on fire."
"Graphic simile. Please don't," Hafsa begged her.
While his sister and her co-workers claimed their shift, Hamza spent the rest of the day with Ayaan. As per Sidra's prophecy, the two did get along really really well. Classic Ayaan, he has a way with kids too.
Sidra looked over her computer some time through the evening, to watch Ayaan and Hamza deep in conversation over a map spread out on the table. Hamza was asking questions and Ayaan was answering with all sorts of hand motions, trying to animate the inanimate map. She shook her head with a small smile and went back to work.
__________
Musa had sent the proposal a week back and she was yet to reply. She didn't know what held her back. But a tiny voice in her head said she was afraid of her temper. What if it flared again and broke them apart after marriage? Surely, her temper had the potential. She wondered if a No was good enough.
But she liked Musa, that was the problem. She had seen so much good in him. And it was her other fear she may not measure up. Musa was calm, rational, sensible and mature. Hafsa was temperamental, easy victim to emotion, impulsive and thought too much. It was quite an opposite match.
She tossed to face the ticking the bedside clock; recalling Musa's face. He was doing an extraordinary job at ceiling his emotions; her gut the only source of knowledge that her lack of response was clawing at him.
Maybe he is regretting his decision.
No. That's unlikely.
He would've already thought it through and accounted for all eventualities that may result from my possible rejection.
At work, things were no different. No wistful stares or pleading glances. He was not forcing her to accept him in silence. It didn't help that she liked it, too. They kept things normal at the library.
Except, things were far from normal. Her heart was battling her mind and his heart was tearing itself apart in noiseless agony. How her battle played out would dictate the rest of their lives.