Muslimah Next Door { Editing }

{ 16 } Picking Him Up

{ A few months later }

{ Saabira }

It's been one year since I started getting the messages. Also, I haven't yet figured out who the person is, what they want, or why they're talking to me.

I have a job and get paid a decent amount which is really great. I'd been living in a dorm, but I recently moved out to a small apartment, which is also great.

"Sabbira are you going to finish that?" Ayan asks me, staring at my pizza. I chuckle and give it to her.

"So, has your mother talked to you about marriage? I must say, you're getting old! Look at this gray hair! Oh, my Allah, your skin is getting wrinkles!" I playfully tease her.

"Girl, what are you talking about? I am not getting old. I told you, my mom hasn't stopped talking to me about marriage. Were you even listening to me the night I told you?" She frowns, knowing that I probably wasn't listening. At all.

That stupid nut jar head was on my mind that night. Stupid James.

"Sowwy," I flutter my eyelashes and make a pouty face. I know she hates my baby voice, but it's fun to annoy her.

She thinks I sound like a cow. Ayan, cows don't even speak. Sometimes I worry about her.

"But I love someone else and I try so hard to keep it halal! I haven't seen him or talked to him in a long time," she says, her voice revealing her sadness.

I give her a side hug, trying to comfort her. I wrap my arms around her like a teddy bear. I love my best friend and I hate to see her sad.

"Who is he anyways? You still haven't told me," I ask, unwrapping my arms from her after she calms down.

"His name is Mo-," she gets cut off as my phone begins to buzz.
I look at the number, an unknown caller. I pick up.

"Hello. Um- Can you please pick me up from here?" His voice sounds tired.

How in the world did he get my phone number?

But most importantly, why does he need my help? Just a few months ago he told me never to speak to him or even come near him at work. Now he's asking me to pick him up!

"What? No! I will not pick you up, James. You have your own car now! How in the world did you get my phone number?" I speak, my confidence building as I talk.

I remember how he looked at me at work, with his eyes full of burning hatred. What I found funny was how I didn't do anything to him and he was treating me like I killed his whole family.

"Do it, or I'll fire you!" He shouts angrily. I sigh into the phone.

"Where are you?" I ask, having no other choice. His father owns the dumb company and believes his son's every word.

"I'm at the South Park. Hurry, please," he says impatiently and hangs up.

My phone is still to my ear and my eyes are wide. It sounds like he was in trouble, even hurt. Why is he at the park at this time of the night, anyway?

"Ayan, I have an errand to run. Just watch some Law and Order or something. I'll be back soon in sha Allah," I say to her as I grab my keys from under my pillow. I notice Ayan cuddled up in the corner of my bed, lightly snoring.

I grab a blanket and sloppily lay it over her, hoping that it'll keep her warm.

I turn the TV and the lights off. I lock the door and head to my car.

◈

I jump out of the car. The park is absolutely silent. No one is here. Just me.

Is this some kind of prank?

Why did I even believe that kid?

"You came?" His voice sounds suddenly behind me, startling me.

"I had no other choice," I say, turning around.

I gasp in shock.

His face was so full of bruises, his skin tone changed. His lips pop out and his eyes are bruised purple-black.

"W-what happened to you? Who did that?" I asked, shocked of my own confidence.

"None of your business," he mumbles as he walks over to the car.

I almost completely snap, but then quickly calm down. I can't get fired, I need this job.

I make my way to the driver's seat and open the door.

"Where to?" I say, turning the ignition.

"My house," he says with his head in his hands.

"How about the hospital? They can help you, you know," I say, but then I quickly regret it.

"Are you asking to get fired?" he shoots me a glare which makes me start driving.

It's so silent.

Once we stop at a traffic light, I quickly slip in the CD of the holy Quran that Ayan and I got the other day. I put on Surah Al-Baqarah - recited by Sheikh Abudrahman Al Sudais.

I notice out of the corner of my eyes that James' head isn't in his hands anymore. He glares at me, but then his face relaxes after a few moments. He seems to be letting his worries go. He looks like he's in peace, out of this world.

It's like he can understand the Quran. The Quran is so peaceful, the most beautiful thing in this world. The feeling is so great. Alhumdulilah we have the Quran in the world. Allah created it to guide us and remind us that 'surely, with the remembrance of Allah do hearts find peace'.

◈

I park the car.

"Thank you," he says. I just give him a smile in return.

He opens the door briskly gets up, slamming the door behind him.

He walks to his apartment, not looking back.

He walks like every bone in his body is broken, hurting.

But that's not the only thing I notice.

I also notice his brown wallet laying on the passenger seat.

I look back at him, but he's not there anymore.

I peek inside to make sure that it's his.

My eyes travel down to a picture.

I take it out and gasp.