Tale Teller (West Hampton U Series #1)

Chapter 7 ● Jersey

-- Muskaan --

I locked up the cabinet that housed all the extra equipment and handed the keys off to my supervisor. Just as I rounded the library's main desk, Sameer walked through the main doors. He offered to walk me home after my shift at the library so he could give me his jersey for tonight's game. It was a cold day, making me wrap my scarf around my neck tighter but Sameer was in just a long-sleeve shirt and jeans. Boys.

Sameer was telling me all about his day, making my cheeks hurt with laughter when he launched into a story about the professor talking for twenty minutes with their microphone off and then proceeding to berate the class for not participating. The fifteen minute walk to my building flew by.

I hesitated when we reached the lobby, not sure how appropriate it was to invite him upstairs. Suhana was there so it wasn't like I was inviting him into an empty apartment but even then.

"How are you getting home?" I suddenly realize.

"Ruhaan has my car, he said he'll pick me up in a bit," he glances at his smart-watch, which doesn't show any active notifications.

A shiver ripples through me when a breeze passes by. "Do you want to come up and wait? Suhana is there," I add quickly before he thinks I'm implying anything else.

"Sure," he smiles cheerily, following me inside.

The ride up to my floor is silent, barring the humming and groaning of the building itself. Once we reach my apartment door, I call out from the doorway to Suhana to let her know we have company. She peeks her head around the corner from the kitchen with a big bowl of something in her hands.

"Sameer! Hawa ka jhoka," Suhana grins. "Would you like some soup?"

"I'm good, thanks," he chuckles, following me to the couch. Suhana says something about taking a shower and disappears into her room, leaving us be in the living room.

"Oh here, before I forget," Sameer unzips his backpack and pulls out his jersey. It looks huge compared to my size.

I stand up and slip off my jacket and pull the jersey over the blouse I have on. It's still big on me but doesn't look like a giant's size when it's actually on. "I can make this word," I nod approvingly.

When I look to Sameer for comments, I realize he's staring at my wrist. The one with the scar I very purposely keep hidden so that people don't scare exactly like this. I sigh wistfully, sitting back down on the couch. "It's not what you think."

"Oh no Muskaan you don't have to say anything, I'm sorry I didn't mean to stare," he looks up guiltily.

"No it's okay," I assure him. I feel like he could be trusted with at least this part of the truth because I know otherwise he would probably think of the worst possible scenarios like others do. "It's a scar from an accident, nothing else. I actually got a few the left side of my body. A drunk driver hit me and my dad when I was 17. I thankfully got out without any major damage, just some scars. But I know any time anyone sees this, they think I'm self-harming."

His face is solemn, all traces of cheerfulness gone. "I'm sorry Muskaan, you don't have to pry."

"No it's okay," I keep my voice light. "I just didn't want you to think it was something to worry about."

Gingerly, his fingers take a hold of my wrist to see the scar more closely. "But you're insecure about it?" His tone is non-judgmental, not questioning, just speaking a truth I didn't prefer to voice.