Chapter 3: [My crush]
'We're attracted to the wrong things, and then we cry about the trouble it brings.'
-Muslim Belal.
•~•
NUR
Oh God, this botched up guy . . . ugh. I might've ended up murdering him.
If he didn't know what 'choice of drinks' was, he could've asked me. But no, what did he do? He made a Pina Colada, thrust it in my face and that was it.
Damn him. I was going to fail this course if he kept up this attitude.
And when I told him that he was supposed to make two drinks, he snapped at me.
No. Seriously.
Like it was all my fault.
But, the Pina Colada was hmm . . . so damn good.
Anyway, that's beside the point.
Then, I was left to clean up while he just walked out of the door to God-knows-where.
I washed the dishes, scrubbed the counter till my hands were flaky and disgusting.
Finally, I was free to go.
~•~
No, Nur, don't look at him. Don't. Don't.
Thing was, I really liked this guy at school. He was Muslim and a true gentleman. I had liked him for two years. But back then, I was a baby in O level. Now, I considered myself old enough to get married.
I mean, mama had gotten married when she was nineteen and I was eighteen already, so give me a break.
I hadn't ever talked to him but now . . . I think I was going to.
He was just about to pass by when I said out of the blue, "Assalamualaikum."
His footsteps came to a halt and he looked at me in bewilderment.
His frown soon dissolved and a bright smile plastered on his face. "Waalikumassalam."
I noticed the passersby giving us weird looks. I know it was haram (forbidden) to talk to random males. But I wasn't about to date him or something.
I wanted to marry him and in Islam, it was allowed to get to know someone enough that you can consider marrying him. That, however, did not mean that I kept making excuses to talk to him.
Seriously, this was between me and Allah. I had pure intentions and that's what mattered. Also, it's not like I was talking to him in some dark corner about some weird things.
I fidgeted with the straps of my Converse backpack.
"So, I've noticed you around. You Muslim?"
I mentally slapped myself. Seriously we just exchanged Islamic greetings. Of course, he was Muslim.
He huffed out a laugh.
An uneasy feeling roamed around in the pit of my belly. I really did not like huffs. They, like, made me want to snarl and rip someone to shreds and pieces.
Yuuup.
Still, what mattered was the fact that he was Muslim and he looked innocent enough. It was hard to find good men to marry.
"Yeah, I'm Lebanese."
Now, that's what I was talking about, brother . . . sister? Whatever.
I could tell that he was talking to me while looking at my face whereas I was gazing at the tiled floor.
I actually had never seen his face.
It's funny, I know. But I generally don't look at people's faces.
Except I had seen 'his' face and that was an accidental look so I was all good.
I continued conversing with him until my eyes fell upon 'him'.
He had also paused, looking from me to Adam. I saw a dangerous gleam in his eyes that perturbed me.
And that is all I remembered. It was like a part of my life was completely wiped off of my brain.
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