12 Chapter 12/Owing you a favour

"Azaan!"

I find my brother in the garage, keys in hand and ready to leave as if he doesn't give a crap about Aarib's safety. He probably doesn't.

"If you've come here to make me apologize to that—I am not apologizing to him," he barks back.

He definitely doesn't care.

But I do, so I defend Aarib because he is not here to defend himself. "What you did out there was completely and utterly irrational! How can you just randomly hit someone like that?"

"Well then he should've stood away from you! I cannot bare this behavior, Haya. And I definitely do not expect this from you of all people!"

My mouth hangs open. Is he. . . "Are you accusing me that I am in a relationship with Aarib?" I can't believe him right now. Hurt slams into me like a rock, almost making me fall in darkness. But there's a light that pulls me back so I can defend myself too. "Aarib is not even my friend."

He scoffs. "Not even a friend?" He folds his arms across his chest. "Where were the two of you before you came in the living room."

"In my room. Aarib wanted to go to the bathroom and since the guest bedroom is off limits and Mom's bedroom is locked, I had no other option."

"You're just trying to find reasons to justify yourself now. You could have told me! I could have taken that prick myself!" Azaan's roar makes me flinch, makes me take a cautious step back.

Regret immediately flashes in his eyes. He closes his eyes and sighs heavily, but I am already crying.

I could never once imagine Azaan would ever use this tone with me, and for something I am not even responsible. Yes, I do expect Hassan to get angry with me like this, but Azaan? He is my best brother. A ball of hurt slams hard into me, like it's on fire. Tears blur my vision but I can see the guilt my brother is feeling now. He used to say he would never make me cry.

But he just did.

"Haya. . ."

I turn around and sprint away from him, wanting to be as far away as possible. I feel like I am drowning and there is nothing that can save me. I feel like I have been betrayed, my trust has been betrayed.

I collide with someone standing in the stairs, my shoulder hitting them hard. Cool hands steady me so that I don't fall down, and I know instantly who it is.

Aarib stares at me. This is the first time he's seen me crying, although I had hoped there wouldn't be a first time. He doesn't say anything, just moves back and observes me with those ocean blue eyes. I see no emotion there. Nothing. Just a black void there. His posture is different too. He's more alert. More reserved. More everything. And even though he's got a bruised red nose, his beauty just got amplified.

A thousand words. I want to say a thousand words to him. I want to say a thousand apologies to him.

"It wasn't your fault, you know." He's trying to make me feel better. He's failing.

"Sometimes, we can't blame ourselves for all that happens in life." I wish he'd show any emotion with the words that he is speaking. But he doesn't. "It can be too much for us if we take the responsibility for the whole world. It could crush us. Shatter us. Ruin us."

Tears keep on flowing down my cheeks. I probably have mascara smudged around my eyes but I don't care. I am just watching this—watching how losing a friend feels like, even though this boy standing across from me isn't my friend.

"I should get going," he says.

I am leaving, is what he doesn't say.

I nod my head despite wanting to stop him from going. This is the worst goodbye ever, and my insides coil with stress to even think that Aarib is back to being the cold, calculated, callous boy.

He chews on his bottom lip, thinking. I want to know what it is, but I keep my mouth shut.

Why is he not leaving? Does he want to say something else?

"I owe you," I say in a hoarse whisper. "I owe you something big."

He chooses to stay quiet.

With one final glance at me, he leaves.

I run upstairs to my room, at last crumbling to the ground with an aching heart, as hot tears keep on gushing out like a stream of never ending water.

***

3 weeks later

I stare at myself in the mirror, at the long bright pink full sleeves dress, a turban on my head, and a black scarf around my neck. I look graceful, even cheerful when someone would look at my clothes. But my eyes are hallow. I don't ever recall having eyes devoid of any emotion.

I sigh. Anyway. Today my school break ends. I had taken a week off from school for my brother's wedding, but when that incident happened, I told Mom I didn't want to go to school yet.

For two reasons.

I didn't want to see Aarib.

I couldn't handle to see Aarib.

There. I said it. I had been refusing to admit this was my reason why I took three weeks off from school. Maybe because I am a coward? I don't care right now.

I contemplated a lot on this—this situation that was happening with me. I couldn't stop thinking about Aarib. And it was scaring me. A lot. I would cry at night sometimes, missing his annoyance with me, or the way his eyes would snap to me whenever he was caught by surprise.

I shake my head, urging myself to stop thinking about him. To just stop. . .stop thinking I had a chance with him. The only way I could be with him was if we married, and that was not going to happen.

A knock sounds on my door.

"Yeah?" I call out.

Maira stands in the doorway with a glass of juice in her hands. My favorite apple juice. She's been extra nice to me these three weeks, and I love her for that.

She smiles brightly at me. "You look very beautiful. I bet guys would look at you twice and wish you were theirs."

I chuckle, turning to face her. "So i guess it's a good thing I am not interested in them?" I march across the room towards her, and take in a deep breath. The air around her always feels safe. Like home. The warm vanilla scent that she carries with herself is just a safe place for me now.

I take the glass from her and finish the juice in three big gulps. Ah, yummy. And cold. My mood instantly brightens a little.

"You're amazing," I mumble. I put the glass on the table beside me and pull Maira into a hug.

She wraps her thin arms around me like a mother looking out for her child, and squeezes tightly. She understands me. And although I could talk to my mom about Aarib, I was afraid she would discuss the matter with my brothers. I didn't want that.

"Oh, sweety. Don't be sad. You'll marry the man who is written for you. We should pray that you stay the happiest with whoever he is. If it's not him, then don't think about it too much. He wasn't meant for you."

"I wish things wouldn't have gone the way they did that day," I confess. "I wish I would not have listened to mom and invited him over. I wish. . .I wish Aarib would have never talked to me. Ever."

She pats my head soothingly. I let myself cry in her arms, because why not do it again today just like I had been doing it for the past few weeks. Crying. It has become my hobby now. I know how people say that teenagers are too emotional. That we're not in love, just hormonal.

And yes I am of course not in love with Aarib, but it's not just a crush as well.

I just don't know what it is!

"I know. We all wish for a lot of things we want would've happened some other way. But Allah SWT is the best of planners, and He knows what we don't know, so always trust Him."

I pull back and manage to smile at her. Her eyes speak how much she pities me, and as much as that bruises my ego, I stop thinking about it.

"Yeah, Allah knows best. Okay. . .I should get going," I shift from one foot to the other, kind of not wanting to go anywhere and just hide behind my blanket and books.

"Yes, go. Have fun!"

Definitely.

***

Hassan pulls the car in the parking lot that is crowded with way too many automobiles. Students stand in groups everywhere, laughing, giggling, and talking. I feel like vomiting. Just the thought alone of seeing Aarib is making my insides churn up.

"Okay kiddo, you're gonna be okay?" Hassan shifts in his seat to face me completely. He's wearing sunglasses so I can't really say if he is convincing me if I am okay or himself. He full on fought with mom that I should take some more rest, because according to my family, I had lost a lot weight and I looked weak and fragile.

I clutch my bag tightly, holding onto it as if it's a shield. "Yes. Are we really going to fight again? I'm fine, seriously. And if I feel down, I will call you immediately."

Those were Hassan's rules. He warned me to instantly call him if I didn't feel okay, or if there was anything bothering me and I didn���t feel like taking more classes. He already submitted an application with the principal to grant me an early leave if I demand it. Honestly, I don't get why he is so worried. Maybe it's just a brother thing?

"You better be doing that, kiddo." He bumps my shoulder with his fist. "Go. Don't worry too much. Everything's gonna be fine inshaAllah (if Allah wills)."

"Thanks, bro." I smile.

Walking to the first class made me sweat profoundly. Thank God I had put on extra deodorant today and still smelled fresh.

It is chemistry, and ever since I sat at my usual desk, everyone's been bugging me why I missed so many classes. I tell them I was sick, meanwhile wondering if that was a lie or not. I mean I was not feeling well, but not exactly sick.

In school I have only two friends, Mehwish and Zoha. Mehwish and I are in the same year, but Zoha is one year senior than us. But I would say she's more childish than any of us. With her blue funky hair, and a rock star getup, she slays everyone with her existence. I mean, there doesn't go one day where she doesn't get hit by a compliment from one of the lacrosse players. I don't wish to get compliments from boys, but sometimes it upsets me to think they don't find me pretty.

Then I remind myself that high school boys suck.

End of story.

Mehwish is the complete opposite of Zoha. We call her wish, because why not? She's the kind of person who finishes a novel in a matter of hours and only gets up from her bed when she needs to pray or use the bathroom. Sometimes, her family has to drag her out of the room for dinner. Honestly, her behavior kind of concerns me because she cannot just spend her whole day in bed reading when she gets married. Her mom and I share the same concern.

And then there is Talha. He's not my friend, but he likes me. Too much. It's been pretty obvious to all three of us that he has a crush on me, although I have never even talked to him except for the one time when I needed a pen and he was the only one in class who had it. He's cute with his light brown shoulder length hair and dimples that show up when he smiles and his gray eyes that are always widened in surprise when he sees me.

But I just don't like him back. Sorry, Talha.

My best friend walks through the classroom door with an expression that yells 'DO NOT TALK TO ME'. I instantly feel my mood getting better and my lips curling uowards to reveal a smile.

When she spots me, it's like her whole world brightens and she sprints towards me, pulls me up from my chair and grabs me in a hug. I laugh and hug her tighter, welcoming the comfort she gives me. The comfort I yearn for.

"AAAA! You're finally here!" she squeals as she pulls back, happiness shining brightly in her eyes and a huge grin on her face.

I grin back, feeling all the negative energy leave me in waves. Excitement bubbles inside of me, warming my heart.

"I am! You cut your hair," I point out, my eyes widening in shock. "Wish! You cut your hair!" I scream in delight.

Everyone in the class stops with whatever they are doing and turn to give us a look. I dismiss them and revel in the happiness of what Wish just did.

Wish suffers with this OCD where she just cannot cut her hair. I don't even know what to call it, OCD? A disorder? I am not sure, but she would LITERALLY cry, wail even, if someone from her family insisted that she at least get a trim because she had damaged ends.

And now she finally overcame her fear.

To say I am delirious would be an understatement of the year.

I have so much to talk to Wish about, but the teacher walks in and my mood sours.

"Good morning, class. I am sure you all had a good weekend, and didn't spend all of it just on your phones—"

I am fishing some pens from my bag when suddenly the teacher goes silent. Frowning, I stop fumbling with my things and look up to see what's the matter.

The oxygen kind of leaves my lungs.

"Mr. Aarib?" Miss Shella half frowns, half smiles at him, confusion dawning on her face.

Aarib scratches the back of his neck—and then his eyes meet mine.

Something changes in them, like he is relieved or something. The purple eye bags under his eyes cannot be ignored, though I wish I wouldn't notice these details on him. I look away in a hurry.

I was hoping I woudn't see him at least till lunch period.

"Sorry, but this is on short notice. I am retaking chem because my final grade last year wasn't what I wanted it to be. I have talked to the principal and here's my slip."

He—what?

NO! He cannot take chemistry! I have chemistry every day! I only have religion class once a week!

I groan, tucking my head in my arms. Tears burn my eyes but I still try not to cry. How pathetic am i? How more pathetic could I get? Crying because now I would have to spend two periods every morning with him?

"Yes, of course. We're happy to have you back for another half year. Please take a seat. I'm sure your classmates will help you figure out on which chapter we are," the teacher chirps.

She's being way too excited for my liking. Way too much.

I hear him pull a chair somewhere near me. I recall there being an empty chair behind me yet I a still hoping and wishing he doesn't sit there.

I smell it. I smell him. I know his scent and it's all around me.

He's right behind me.

Of course.