Other Side

32 | At Death's Door

Burnout was, ironically, too tired a word for this type of exhaustion.

While Neela was having the time of her life at some post-finals rager off-campus—and was sure to return past the early hours of the morning—Talia had collapsed on top of her bedsheets at half-past eight, too spent to have even tugged them over her bare shoulders. The AC never worked in this part of the building anyway, but at least it was pleasant enough of a near-summer night that a silk tank top and pair of shorts sufficed.

She huffed, glimpsing her reflection in the floor-length mirror. God, that matching pajama set was way too sexy for her lonely night.

Her last real final had taken place two days ago, and since then, she'd emptied this cramped room of most of her useless belongings and spent the last two evenings annoying Calvin as he'd tried to cram for his remaining AP exams. She was only on campus for the Arabic oral final awaiting her at eleven in the morning, a supposed thirty-minute conversation about close to anything.

She'd spent most of her shower mumbling to herself, counting that as studying, before throwing in the towel—literally—when twelve episodes of another Spanish drama beckoned to her.

How many ways can you tell the same damn murder mystery?

Disappointment built halfway through episode three of the second season, making her glad for once to be interrupted by her vibrating phone. It was another panicked text from Caleb, a freshman political science major and her partner for nearly the entire semester in Arabic. He'd taken a strange liking to her ever since she'd handed in a listening quiz thirty minutes before the rest of the class and walked out of the room without a care in the world.

Talia had clearly disappointed him when she'd fumbled for words even more than he had in their group presentation the following week. Her clearly lopsided abilities had captured the attention of their animated professor, who would invite her office hours regularly for informal chats and extra help sessions.

After all that awkward suffering—which, admittedly, had worked wonders for her confidence—her ninety-seven average looked quite nice.

Thanks for the not-so-easy A, Zaid.

Throwing her head back down onto the pillow, Talia closed her eyes, not before being jerked awake again by false panic over a non-existent missing assignment. The ungodly demands of this semester had induced a toxic form of Pavlovian conditioning, associating relaxation with the need to study and rendering her dreams just as turbulent as her thoughts.

***

"Zaid."

His name was on Talia's lips as she met a different type of darkness: that of her room past one in the morning. The glowing analog clock on her wall mocked her as she shook off her alarm, fingers curling around her sheets like a safety blanket. For five minutes, she felt as stuck in place as she had in her dream, back flat against the headboard, taking in nothing other than the light of the moon forcing its way through the blinds.

Body on autopilot, she fished for her phone on her nightstand and tapped the only contact adorned with a heart. The rings that ensued somehow calmed her beating heart, but certainly not that of the recipient of this late-night call.

"What, hello—marhaba?"

It took the rasped greeting to remember that it was four-thirty in the morning for him, a time difference that had slipped her mind more than once before. Every time she'd told him she'd remember the next time, he'd made her forget all over again with three simple words.

I'll always answer.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry," Talia breathed, voice thick with unshed tears. She dragged her fingers through the roots of her curly hair and tugged for comfort. "I'm going to turn you into an insomniac at this rate."