The diary of just another dreamaholic.

I licked the mayo off my fingers like a 5 year old having her first ice-cream. Me and Aisha would always enjoy the food we shared in the car. Especially if it was junk food!
We were parked just a block away from her house. I didn’t really want this evening to end. It has been such a good day so far.

“Tetwa8e3ain ensammi our first child Fatma? Wella Hessa?” I said, sipping the last drops in my cola. “Ya3ni I always imagine my first child to be a girl. Fa its either bensameeha 3ala ummah, awh ommi!” I perfectly stated my argument and waited for her counter one.
“Enti o men? What am I missing?” Said Aisha, fiddling with the mess in my car.
I stretched the hugest smile that my mouth was physically able to stretch and said: “Ana o Khaled! DUHHH”

Silence fell. Ok, ….I kind of was hoping for a reply. A laugh. A giggle. Nothing?
“3awoosh?”
Her face was blank. She held a white paper in her hands.
“Shenu thee?” I asked.
Yes, because it was very normal to find things I didn’t recognize in my car. My car is a moving closet, I tell you!
I stretched my arm and snatched the paper from her hands, and started reading out loud:
“F, Remember this time, last year?
I deserve another chance. Let me back in. -M”
 
The mayo-liking 5-year-old in me suddenly turned into a 50-year-old gazing grandma. An electrifying feeling went through my veins. Mohammad? Did he get this note into my car the day I crashed into his? I bit my lower lip, like I’ll always do when a million thoughts rush into my mind at once! I shrugged to Aisha, who was still pulling a blank face on, and stared at her until she wiped it off. “Fajer… Are you going to be alright?” Aisha asked with a concerned smile.

My heart had an incredibly quick skill at opening up wounds, and recalling moments. All I needed was a tiny handwritten note to turn my magical day around. The so-called emotionally-intelligent self lost all control over her emotions.
I forced my tear down my throat, and said: “Entai warach sefar! la et7ateeni..” and winked.
It took us a few minutes to drive back to Aisha’s place and drop her off.
We hugged and she promised to take plenty of pictures for me, and crop me into each one of them!
I smiled at the scene of her biting up her abaya, and jumping every step up the stairs to her place.

I took a deep breathe.
Aisha and I, we have a strong connection of keeping an emotional balance between each other. If one of us is ever down, the other goes insanely hyper! and so did she at that moment. Which encouraged me to put back my seat for a bit, and put down my strong front.
I shed down a few tears.
“Mohammad wasn’t a nice phase in my life. One that I never want back!”
Ironically enough, I slowly started remembering all about him.
The way he jokes about my driving.
The first touch.
The emotional abuse.
The silence and the waiting.
The break up.
The never-was-meant-to-be relationship from the first place!


________________________

December, 2008

“Eshfeech ya rou7i?” His sweet confident voice whispered across the distant phone line.
I was standing outside my favorite coffee shop in Germany.
Sniffing on the freshly brewed coffee in my hands, I whispered back: “5ayfa arkab el cab ebrou7i!”
It wasn’t my first time taking a cab alone. I just never took it this late at night.
“6ayyeb ag6a3 tathkera o ajee arkab m3ach?”
I smiled at his white lie, you knew exactly how to make me feel protected. Ironically, with a bitter sweet lie!

I stretched out my left hand and stood on the tips of my toes.
“Tara malah da3i etwagfeen 3ala a9abe3 reelich, you’re not gonna see a cab any better!”
“HOW DID YOU KNOW I WAS….”
And we burst out of laughter.

Our laughter was quickly interrupted with the sound of a cab pulling off across the street.
I jumped in the cab after I recited the street name and the building number to the driver.
I looked out on the scene of that coffee shop turning off its lights.
It was late and cold at night, and I was alone in that cab.
But I knew one thing: I wasn’t lonely.

“I love you, my little traveller.” Mohammed whispered on the phone.
The time difference was not on our favor. Mohammed instantly slept after those few words and I stayed on the line till I was back in my apartment…
I got to my room, and reserved the rest of the night for myself.
I reached under my bed to grab the book you got me: “The Winner Stands Alone.” from your favorite writer.
Smiling at the few sweet words on its first pages.
I continued reading until dawn.

Because dawn is my time. Fajer.
________________________

I’m not sure what exactly drove me back to that time.
But whatever it was, it drove me back home too!

I had plenty of work on my to-do list. But I knew I had no power in me to do any work!
Mohammed, and his flashbacks, were tiring! Exhausted like the day I crashed into him, I threw myself back on my bed.
Just when I finished my little prayer to Allah, I got a beeping noise from my Blackberry.
“1 New Email”
Uh that university! They’re spamming us with emails!
I tried to disregard the email, but the flashing red LED was too annoying.
I opened it.
It was from Khaled.
I let out a silence sigh. All that thinking of Mohammed, with Aisha leaving, got my mind way off Khaled. I didn’t like that feeling. I thought I was emotionally intelligent when it came to these things.

I read down his casual email, until I got to the part he asked me about kids names!
“Have you ever though of what you’ll be naming your kids?
lol I know thats so random! nevermind me…
Have a good night. K”

Kids names? I giggled with myself a bit remembering the conversation I had with Aisha about just that!
Now isn’t that a complete circle for my day?

I looked down at the time on my phone, and was jumped with a random bump on the road. I always hated the road to Katara, if I was the designer of the place I would totally reconsider the bricks on its streets. Not to mention of the security guys that are forced to wear the traditional Qatari attire, regardless of their nationalities, in a climate like ours.

I let out a sigh as I thought to myself: “I took too many design courses… too many!”
Oh well, the idea soon slipped my mind as I told myself yet again:
“I’m not late. I’m not late.”
I looked around and found a pink and purple tent set with huge banners signaling volunteers. I asked Kumar to park. I was not going to take long.

Marching to the huge tent, I was greeted with the cliche of “THANK YOU VOLUNTEER” spirit. I’ve had too many of that, its growing old. The DJ music was loud, too loud I could hear it all the way from the car. Lights were everywhere, it felt like the atmosphere of a disco place. Not that I’ve ever been to any.

I approached a table with a pile of certificates, staring blankly at them. No technology?
Am I supposed to just manually look for my name in that pile?
“Am I supposed to just manually look for my name in that pile?” -Wait, that wasn’t me. For a second, I thought that was the voice in my head speaking out loud. Until I realized that it was the voice of a man. I slowly turned around with an impressed smile, not only did he speak my mind, but he also did it with an accent.
A British one to be exact.

“Khaled?” -I blurted out surprised.
Crap. FAJER! You were supposed to think that with yourself not say it out loud!
“Pardon my ignorance, do I know you?”
Did he just say pardon? Pardon? With his eyes piercing through thick black framed glasses, I felt it burning holes into my gaze. The difference in our height made my neck crack. Is that 1 Million I’m smelling off of him? Wait, I can smell his perfume? Am I standing too close?
Oh I hope he can’t tell I’m blushing. Oh, shoot, Fajer, I hope you’re not drooling too.
I instantly swiped off the edges of my lips and chin.

Ashwa. No drool.

“Umm. So do I?”
“Do you what?” -Still gazing into him. Last time I saw him, or saw pictures of him, he didn’t have this much facial hair! Which I can’t not admit, is very attractive.
“Do I know you? You just called me with my name. Khaled.”

FAJER. REALITY. RIGHT NOW!
This is another moment where I must remind myself that people around me cannot hear the 10 voices in my head. Now, remind me self, how do people introduce themselves, again?
“Fajer. Your second cousin.”
“Oh, ya hala bel ahal! Bent ay wa7ed men 3mami, fajer?”
“Well, technically, bent 3amik et9eer bint 5alti. Get it?”
And then he made the cutest facial expression of a blank look.
“No, I didn’t get it.”
I blushed. Of course he got it.

“Amz7 m3ach.”
Was that flirting? Wela shesalfa? Side note: google pick-up lines. 5aleeji ones.

“And now you laugh!”
“Oh, sorry. I can be so slow sometimes. Hehe!”

“So, Fajer? What brings you here?”
“Its a volunteers appreciation event, I am a volunteer!” I said, sarcastically. I speak fluent sarcasm, and I couldn’t help it.
“Oh, looks like I’m slow too!”
“Looks like it.”
I looked around, the place was too noisy. People were bumping into each other from how crowded the place was, and I wasn’t in no mood to socialize or mingle.

“Shaklich mu merta7a bel jaw ehni!”

I turned around. He’s still here!
“Abadan.” I stated bluntly.

“Ana kent twni b6l3 br3 eshwi. ..”
I nodded my head. I wasn’t sure if that was an offer, a suggestion, or a purely a statement. Either ways, I was determined to leave this place, and I was eager to spend more time with Khaled. For some reason, the idea of knowing a lot about him, when he knew I didn’t, was amusing.

We walked out of the tent, I waved a few goodbyes to other volunteers I didn’t really know too well. I took out my Blackberry and texted Kumar to go home. We were taking slow paced steps. If anything, this night was going to be a good one. And nothing, as planned.

____________________

“Uh, I needed last night! Te5ayeli Kumar te2a5ar 3li waaaayed, but he still waited with me.” -I sighed while saying to Aisha.

I laid on my back on her bed, while she was walking around the room throwing stuff from her closet to her floor. A clutter of sweaters, hoodies, jeans, shawls and winter outfits grew on the floor.

“Yeah… Yeah…” -She answered, with absolutely no attention to what I was saying.
I love how I can be oh-so-dramatic all over her, repeat the same thing over and over again, and she’ll never show me that she’s bored of it. Well, at least, she’ll try not to!

“And then we hopped into his car, drove to LasVegas, and got married!” -I said sarcastically,like it was nothing big, while waiting for her reaction.

“Uha… Uha.. What else?” -Aisha said, as she threw herself on the bed next to me. “I don’t know what to pack! And what to leave! I have nothing in my closet!”

“Well, thats because everything is on the floor, and nothing IS in your closet!” -I said as I threw the pillow that supported my back to her face.
I stood up, hooked a few outfits together, and arranged them in her suitcase.
“VIOLA!”
She took a moment to stare at the outfits, “I love you!” -She shouted. “Now, what were you saying about how nerdy Khaled is?”
“Oh, yeah! Well, we had this long-ass debate whether or not the new Google Andriod was as good as the iPhone! Ahh, it was magical. We clickkkkked!” -I said as I spun around myself like I was swaying.

“Suuure.” -Aisha said, sarcastically, of course. She coughed: “Nerds” and coughed again.
“So let me get this straight, you guys clicked like an iPhone to a MacBook, and he didn’t ask for your blackberry pin? Number? But for your……. EMAIL!”

“Well, yes!” I said blushingly. Khaled did seem like a shy guy. I didn’t want to scare him off. “But he didn’t stop emailing me ever since! The cutest randomest emails sent via his blackberry, to mine.” I explained.

She stared blankly at me. Aisha was always a guys girl. In no wrong way, really. She was just better at dealing with guys, getting them to like her, and getting what she wants. Whenever we would be out, she was always the one getting all attention. On the other hand, I was always “the friend” to guys.

“3awoush, don’t leave!” -I took a whole turn of subjects to break my train of thoughts.
“I have to! Its only for five days…. you’ll survive bedouni!” -She patted my shoulders.
I crossed my arms, shook my head and said: “kaifich. Bastanes. Ba6l3 o ba9ee3 o bastanes. Mu ekfaya kel elmu7a’9rat eli you’ll be skipping!”

“I couldn’t care less.”
Aisha’s careless attitude was shocking. Since when exactly did she not care about her studies? We might rely on our last minute luck or presenting charm, but this time she was pushing it too far.

“Ok, 5al akamellach!” -I stated with pure confidence that she’ll listen to me repeating how charming Khaled is, how the perfect height difference is, and the names of our children will be!
“I’m starving!” -She interrupted. “You meeting the guy of your dreams, and me leaving to London for a few days is the perfect occasion for….”
“SUSHI!” -I yelled, grabbing my car keys and running towards the door.
My dad just got my car back that morning, after a lecture from mom, I got to come over to Aisha’s driving myself.
“No, idiot! Basich sushi. You need rehab.” -Aisha shouted.
Actually, I do. I’ve been having all sorts of Makki rolls for the past two weeks. I felt like a woman on her first month of pregnancy, craving the randomest things.
“3ayal?” -I asked, staring blankly at her.
“JUNK FOOD!” -She yelled excitingly!

________________________

It was almost 5 PM, driving to mcDonalds drive-thru. Late lunches were my favorite meals! Not to mention if it was junk food, with my favorite person on the face of the planet.

“Choofi el-Cayenne eli jedamna. Lonha rw3a!” -Aisha said, pointing to the car that was ordering in front of us. “Gooli mashaAllah. Thaneyan, we3, chenna loon chai karak.” -I stated bluntly. I always hated how tiny and worn out my car is, but I also loved it for that same reason.
“Ya3ni methel loonich!” -Aisha said laughing while stretching out her arm next to mine.
The difference in our color was too noticeable. Regardless of her Beduin origin, her skintone was pure white, when mine was turabi. Not naturally tanned, no. Just a hint darker than chai karak, really.
We giggled. I stepped on the gas just a bit to get our Two McSpicy meals from the 2^nd drive-thru window.

“SIR! SIRRRR!” -The filipino lady at the window shouted to the Cayenne that drove away. “Sorry, madam. I mixed orders! I hap his order. One mcArabia. You want?” -She explained to us as she leaned forward with the Cayenne’s guy meal.

Aisha hates it when someone screws up with her food.
Her face is turning red.
Her hands turned fists.
This is not a good sign!

Aisha grabbed the one mcArabia from the lady, “Akaho the Cayenne parked! Go park jambah.” -She shouted, while putting the order on my lap. I parked. “Shswi feh?” I asked while staring at the meal on my lap!
“Ro7i 3a6eeh hal 7awal.”
“AISH! Laish anaaa!”

“Because you’re the adorable girl with the cute smile that people will totally trade their food with!”
“Pshhht!” I puffed, as a knocking on my cars window interrupted.

“Khaled!” -I shouted, rolling down my window, surprised. This time I shouted his name with pure conscious. “This is too random!” I giggled.
Aisha coughed.
“Oh, Aisha, Khaled. Khaled, Aisha. My best friend, My second cousin!”
I could almost hear Aisha correcting me in her mind: “Potential boy friend!”
I pressed my lips and tightened my gaze at her, when I instantly turned to Khaled and found him carrying two meals and two drinks.
Oh, the guy in the Cayenne. Our food. Makes sense.
“I believe this is my meal you have!” -He said, with the most charming smile ever.
“AND THOSE TWO ARE OURS!” -Aisha shouted at him, stretching out her hands to pick the food up. We exchanged meals, and he apologized deeply for the confusion. It was non of his fault, the filipino lady to be specific. But it was so gentlemen of him!

“I’m glad I got to see you again though. It was nice meeting you too, 3aysha. Oh, thanks for last night. I had fun!”
I know. You mentioned that in your earlier 100 emails. I smiled. “Me too!”
“You look good today!”
“So you mean she didn’t look good last night?” -Aisha instantly crashed his compliment.
Quick, Fajer, make things right! I let out a quirky laugh. He giggled along. Not sure if it was at the sarcastic joke Aisha made or at my squirrel-sound laugh that just came out of my throat.

“Laish ma nakel together?” -He generously offered. I looked around, realized we’re in the middle of rush hour for the busiest mcDonalds nearest to our place in Doha. So I politely rejected and thanked him.
“I have work to do anyway, for my design class.” -I explained.
“Lu e7tajti shai, 5abreeni.” -I melted a little inside as he offered his expertise.
“Yallah lazem nakel.. warai sefar.. ba3ad ma ana aroo7 kaifkum eklo MagDonalz kel yoom!” -Of course Aisha would ruin the intimate moment.
“Yallah, darb elsalamah.” -Khaled said, as he tapped on the edges of my window.

The minute he drove away, I locked the car windows and started filling the car with my voice, shouting “OMG OMG OMG! 3AWOUSH DID YOU SEE THAT! OMG 9EJ LOON ELCAYYENE RW3A!”.
Aisha was already digging into her mcSpicy and half way done with her coke. I realized the symphony my stomach made at the scene of the mayonnaise escaping her sandwich and decided to keep my excitement in, and driving back home.

Ah, seeing Khaled really refreshed my day.
I smiled, driving home, with the smell of mcDonalds hot salty french fries and the voice of Aisha singing along to “7abba 7abba 3ala galbi.. 7abba 7abba!”

“KUMAAR! Wageff ehni. Mama yabi jareeda. Newspaper!” -I shouted, pointing at the guy in yellow shirt and a stack of newspapers out in the sun, on the side walk.

Pulled one of the headphone pair out of my ear, realized the music from my ipod was blasting, and stretched out a few Riyals.

The minute I got home, -ironically safe, with the way Kumar drives- I ran to the living room. Only to find mom already with the newspapers. Most probably she thought I’d forget, I don’t blame her really, I blame my goldfish memory span.

I threw the newspapers I had in my hand, and peeked over her shoulders. She lowered her reading glasses and said “Oh elgumar we9al!”
“Yumma b3dna fi 3ez el’9uhr.”

I had a way to turn every compliment against the person that made it. Especially if it was made to me.
Oh well.

“Shofi, hatha Khaled, 3erfteeh? MashaAllah met5rj elawal 3ala kuleitah mn Landan.”
That explains a lot.
“Mashallah 3alaih.” -I smiled.

____________________________

The idea of Khaled consumed my mind that evening. That same guy I stalked on facebook or twitter to find out about the latest technology updates is now graduated and back in town. And none other, than my 2^nd cousin. Both our fathers were close friends. And our mothers too.

I was taking a few extra moments of Dua’a on my sejada that evening, until I overheard a phone call between our mothers. Yes, mom’s interesting phone-calls always disturb my self-quality time.

“Alf mabrouk tafawe8 Khaled!”
..
“Eh wallah, yestahel el5air.”
..
“A7een wain yeshte’3el?”
..
“Aha.. Aha.. 5oosh shai.. Emwaffag enshaAllah”

My curiosity was killing me! Yallah, mom, hang up already. I want to know all the details!
My iCal on my laptop made an annoying alarming sound, reminding me of a volunteer appreciation event I had to go to. Oh shoot. Its in 20 minutes!
Last week, since it was my Winter break, I volunteered in the Film Festival. The first of its kind in Doha. The whole idea of walking on the red carpet, taking picture of and with famous people, and meeting new people fascinated me! Not to mention, I’m a sucker for volunteer work.
I bit my lips as I heard my mom finishing her phone-call. I ran back to my room, and just before I jumped into a pair of heels, I remember how Aisha stated bluntly how “m2sa” I look. So I drew my lips with red lipstick, brushed my eyelashes with mascara, powdered my cheeks and ran back outside.

“Wain ray7a?”
“Event! Event!”
“Yooh. Enti o your events.”
I know my mom didn’t appreciate my hectic outgoing lifestyle, but I couldn’t help it really. I had a whole plan of studying abroad on hold, well, until receiving the acceptance of an American University right here in Doha. My mom and dad both agreed that they didn’t need another of their daughters or sons to be away for another 4 years. Even though I made that decision myself, I still blame my parents for it. I saw my brothers and sisters come in and out of this house like its some kind of hotel. Always on the road, dragging their suitcases. I was secretly jealous, but also blessed, to be on the right end of our Skype calls.

“Drive my wrecked car? Or go with Kumar?” I thought to myself as I spotted Kumar pulling up in our garage. I bet mom called him to warm up his car to take me.
I gave up to her wishes as I assumed, and jumped into the backseat, yet again.

“Go Katara. Mekan gareeb bait mama 3oda.” I wonder how my perfect English soon breaks down into 3arabi/Englezy Emkasar when talking to my driver.

I took a glance at my phone, “I’m not late.” I thought to myself.
Of course I was late.
For as long as I remember I always wanted to break the stereotypes. Specially those linked to being a Muslim Qatari Lady. But the only stereotype I couldn’t break was my Arabic standard timing, thats always one hour late.
Both ways, I couldn’t really care much. I’ll go in, get my volunteer certificate, and leave. I didn’t know anyone there anyway!
Yes. Because thats how things always go. Just as planned.

Stepping down from the back seat of Kumar’s car into our huge freezing cold campus. Its been awhile since I was in the backseat, I needed the change of perspectives. Literally.
Fixing my huge Gucci tote bag on my shoulder, and grabbing my macbook from the maid, I spot Aisha running towards me with her mouth hanging open.

“FAJOOR! ENTI 3AYSHA!!!!”
“Laaa enti 3aysha.. hee fajer” -Our Kuwaiti friend, Ali, the class clown shouted off my back.
“Hhhhhh Sa5eef!” -Both Aisha and I agreed.
His lame sense of humor was, and I can’t deny it, lame! But it still made our day. If he was ever to be sad or quiet, the entire university would feel different. Yes, he was THAT lame.

“Shaklich ma2sah.” -Aisha stated bluntly. I love her honesty. But sometimes, just sometimes, I’d appreciate if she keeps it to herself.

“Adri. Ma nemt ams 3adel. El7adeth b3dah fe rasi. Wallah, 3asha, its still terrifying when I think of it. And for the fact that its Muhammed. Did karma forget there are 6.7 billion other people I could’ve hit?”
And I was instantly wrapped with a big warm hug.

Because of our different majors, Aisha and Ali took very different classes than I did. Our schedules fitted like two pieces of a puzzle. We can only meet for a few minutes between classes.

Walking in the corridors of our university, its like I was reminding myself my way around it.
I saw pictures of the next graduating class hanging on the walls, and thought to myself: “Two more years, Fajer. Just two more years.”

I took out my messy schedule of classes. I’ve never dropped and added this amount of classes in my life! Which is it that I’m going to first? Ugh, can’t our university come up with a more user-friendly layout of this schedule system!

“User-friendly?” I thought to myself. Anyone can tell that I’m an IT major from the terminology I use in my everyday talk. And anyone can spot that I’m a tech-savvy nerd. Studying always came first to me. My priorities can mixed up all they want, but my studies always came first. I get that from my family. Even with the CV I have, the honors, the American education, I’ll always feel the least successful in my family. So, studies will always come first. Even before family.

*ست الحبايب calling*
Speaking of which……

I answered and stayed silent.

“Fajer, wenti raj3a elbeit jeebi eljarayed. 7a6een 9owar 5reejeen UK.”
And I care because?

“EnshaAllah.”
My mom knew no hi or goodbye when it came to phoning. Straight to the point. I can never tell when she’s done until I hear the line disconnects from her side.
The minute mom’s phone call disappeared from my Blackberry’s screen, I read the time.
Well, of course! How typical of me. I’m already 10 minutes late on my first day. So much for good impressions.

I ran across the corridor, into the other building, up the stairs, and into the lecture hall. 11O5. Yup, thats the one.
I carefully stepped in from the backdoor.

Stepped in with the squeaky noise from the door. So much for careful.

“Aaaand…. Miss Fay-jer, I presume?” No one on this campus ever pronounced my name right from the first time. So I raised my head as I was carefully finding myself a seat in the back row. Oh shoot, its that professor! So much for last semester only C in my life. Sounds like I’m gonna see that again. “Its Fa-jer. Fajer Al-Flani” with the turning of over 30 heads at the sound of my quirky voice.

I surrendered to the first seat at hand, fixed my Abaya, and caught my breath.
“Isn’t this IT management class? Eshda5al 7a’6retah?” I whispered to the girl sitting a few seats away from me, pointing at the professor.
“Umm.. Sorry?”
Oh shoot. Hendeya.
“Where’s the other professor? The professor that was supposed to give this class?” -With clear pronunciation of my Ws.
“Oh, no. There has been a switch. Now professor Vhite is offering this class.”
Professor White, then. Whats even more ironical was the fact he was more pink than white.
Allah yaster mn hal course.

I read through the syllabus, gasping with everything wrote on the 2-side 4 papers stapled pile! I can’t believe the amount of things that this professor wants us to do over the span of his course.
“Class is dismissed. Make sure though, that this is the first and only time class will dismiss early.”
Thanks for the heads up, Doc.

I ran out of that lecture hall, texting Aisha to meet me by Starbucks. I’m a part-time caffeine addict, and she knew that well.

I sat and settled at our favorite table, reading the random scratched names and letters all over the table. Its always fun to read the stuff written on Starbucks coffee tables fe Qatar. Even though its public property, and all of that, I do think it adds texture to the place. Umm, personality. Yes, it adds personality.

A guy passed by. And usually, I don’t give a second look to random guys around our campus. But this one looked familiar.
Khaled, was it? I’m pretty sure that was him. I stalked him well enough on Facebook to know. He’s the only other tech-freak in my extended family. A 2^nd cousin to be exact. I bet he doesn’t even know of my existence. He’s been abroad all his life. Is he back in Doha?

“6elbti?” -the voice of Aisha intrrupted my thoughts.

“La, my regular, por favor.” - I realized one of the few words I got out from last years Spanish lessons was ‘por favor’!

Aisha proceeded to recite our orders to the adorably chubby Pilipino lady by the counter.
“One hot chocolate for me. And for her, one tall white mocha, extra caramel and creme.”
“With an extra shot!” -I shouted.
“Make that two shots, she just got into an accident last night.”
Pshht, I almost forgot about all of last night. Thanks, Aisha, for bringing that up again.

Aisha has an absurd habit of telling coffee shop staff about her entire life story. Oh well, I shook last night off the minute I entered Professor White’s class. That class, that professor, was the worst combination to top up last night. I was always the girl that did all the worrying before it was necessary. Even though I didn’t show it to the people around me.

“How was your first day?” -She said as I was indulging in my first sip of the coffee.
“Typical.”
We both knew well, that this is what we declare every beginning of semester: Typical. And this was a sign for destiny to show us, by all means, how the rest of our semester will be anything but typical.

October, 2010

My heavy head rested on the cold pillow, trying to turn my body on the side where my mobile was plugged to charge. My eye lids never felt heavier, more like gravity was pulling them back to shut my eyes. I can barely read the digital clock off my blackberry, but I can still notice the annoying red led light beaming.

Nothing in specific woke me up, the house outside my room is casually quiet. A bit of sunshine escaping through my curtains, but thats about it. I blame my light sleeping, its tiring. I can never get more than five hours of sleep. Regardless of how I slept the night before.
Oh, ….
The night before?

I pull my knees to my chest, under the cold bed sheets. I’m still in my outfit. The same comfy leggings and worn out t-shirt with my university logo printed on its back.

My cheeks are kind of rough, mascara stains all over my pillow. My stomach feels hollow.

I sat on the edge of my bed, with my weak body, tying my hair in a messy bun. I’ve always believed a smile is a girls most essential make-up, but this morning, I bit my lips and warned myself: “You’re up for another roller coaster, Fajer.”

_______________________

Fajer meant the time of dawn, which thus made sense for how optimistic of a person I am. The lavishing purple lining in the sky, just before sunrise. That beam of hope, for when a new day finally arrives.
Yes, thats me. Or what I would like to believe I am. Maybe what I best pretended to? Or at least, what all my friends saw in me. I’m not sure which, to be honest.

_______________________

A good warm shower, good warm coffee, and good warm hugs from my niece. Thats all I needed for the perfect morning. I marched through the living room, “Alsalam 3alaikum, 9aba7 al5air!” I made sure I always greeted. Mum got so used to my mornings uplifting spirit, that I knew she’d notice if something was wrong. She recited Qura’an, blowing her breath on my hair. I always found that to be the most relaxing and magical of things.

“Obouch yegol 7asbi elmarra eljayya! If it wasn’t for the kind guy you hit, chan re7ti fe seteen dahya!”
Oh crap, its all coming back to me. I got hit last night.
Correction, I hit someone last night!
And it wasn’t any someone.
It was that one specific guy, that always smelled like smoke. the guy that fell for me a year ago, and fell for my reckless driving just last night!

Ugh, it happened too fast. And he made sure I then was perfectly humiliated, apologizing to him, the bad guy, in front of my father that knew nothing of him! The pain in my neck, across my shoulders, down my spine, it all came back to me.

Ugh, Dammit. Fajer, SNAP BACK TO REALITY!
“Uh, yumma! I’m sorry. Kam marra lazm at2assaf? Te3abt wallah.”
“Fajer, ensi eli 9ar bel sayara, aham shai salamtich. Yallah, betet25erain 3ala your classes. Bas la tsougeen, 5ali Kumar yewa9lich elyoum.”

_______________________

Last night I was at Aisha’s. Not only is she my best of friends for 7 years in a row now, but she’s the only one my parents would trust me with her. Not because she’s insane, but because I am. Even insaner when I was with her, but no one really knew.
But my parents knew we were complete opposites.
Whenever she’d ride with me, she’d switch to Mu7ammad 3abdu, or Rashid. I never got Khaleeji music. I mean, some are catchy, but you can’t really whip your hair listening to 3oud!

Well, the unfortunate events last night led us to party hard, and I left her place almost midnight. It was a casual Saturday night, last night of Winter break.
I forgot how much I was stepping on the gas until my car started signaling me with the over 120km/hr warning.
Alone in my car, empty streets and the magic of the shuffle on my iPod was the perfect combination to bring out the rebel in me.

Well, not until I crashed into Muhammed.
Everything happened so fast. Too fast, to even realize who it was in the beginning.
Until he stepped down of his car. I locked all my doors and gasped for air, parked on the side walk. Rolled down my window and saw his reflection in my rearview mirror: his 6 feet tall figure, that same sarcastic smirk across his face, and that smell, mixed with fresh cigarettes.
I was already exhausted from the long night I spent at Aisha’s. Exhausted off this not-so-much of a break after an overwhelming semester. Exhausted from the obligations that weren’t near the end. And now, Him? This? Right now?

Its just, too much…..

But I always pulled a tough front in front of him, and all of our friends. And last night I wasn’t planning to do any different.
Muhammed kept a good distance from my car, we exchanged formal talk, as he soon shook the awkwardness off by making fun of the way I drive.
I was a feminist at heart. So the minute he stated the common stereotype of how ladies in this country drive badly, I stepped down of my car, crossed my arms, and parted my lips in preparation for a good defense argument…..
until my dad pulled over.

Yes, Muhammed knows I’m tough, argumentative, and confident. But he also knew that when I get myself into trouble, I soon find the 12 year old girl in me: her eyes tear up, her knees weaken for the rescue and I instantly become daddy’s girl.

From my fathers first glance of me, he knew I was alright. I could almost hear him counting my hands and legs in his head. But the minute he saw a guy standing just a few feet away from me, he ordered me to go to his car. I threw a quick, yet one of the very humiliating apologies to Muhammed in front of dad.

Seated in the passenger seat, I adjusted the mirror to take a good look of whats happening between my father and Muhammed. I wonder if he’ll tell my dad that there’s actually more to us, that two strangers that got into an accident. But I knew him better……… To some extent that I am not proud of, I also trusted him. Yes, I trusted the bad guy I blame a lot of my bad memories for, somehow.

My blackberry vibrated in my purse, it was Aisha.
“-PING!!!
-we9alti baitkum?
-3woosh, Ende3amt! 3nd dwar baitkum! Muhammed d3mniii.
-Muhammed ma ‘3airah? Men 9ejjich? OMG laykoun he was stalking you.
-5alli 3annich! Eff. Allah yaster oboi ga3ed ye7acheeh. Omg, kahum they shook hands, dads coming, bbr.
-*brb
-tyt, yal kalba 6amneeeni 3alaich!!”

I ignored. She should be smart enough to know that if I had the time to BBM her, I’d be in good health. I quickly shook it off, lowered my head, and sat silent.
The door of the car slammed.
This was not a good sign.

“Al7amdellah, jat fel 7adeed wla feech.”
“YUBA ASFA BAS HO…”
“Ho? el’3ala6 3alaich enti. Goli le, kam kenti mashya? HA? 100? 120?

Ho… Ho ensan 6ayyeb, we took care of everything.

Yallah, netwakal.”
We both let out a long, disturbed sigh.

And the next thing I remember was a long silent drive back home, and the locking sound of the door to my room….