The Girl in The Green Scarf

T h i r t y - o n e

C H A P T E R

31

- H a m s a -

Someone knocks on the door as I squeeze paste on my toothbrush, jolting me back from my thoughts of yesterday afternoon. Whoever it is has already knocked three times by the time Yahiya answers the door. I accidently swallow some tooth paste when I hear the voice of the early visitor.

"Salam Alaikum, Yahiya," Zayn says, his voice impassive.

In haste I rinse my mouth, tie up my messy hair and race to my room to put on my abaya and scarf.

For the first time ever, Zayn looks uncomfortable standing on our doorstep. The last time I laid eyes on him, he was bruised and bloody.

"Salam," he says, his eyes passing from Yahiya to me on the top of the stairwell. "I, uh, came to speak to you." He shifts his weight from foot to another.

"Salam," I reply with a tiny smile - I can't believe how awkward it has become between the two of us. "Sure come in."

I descend the stairs, securing my scarf and wondering what could bring Zayn Nabil to our door.

Yahiya doesn't bother to mask the frown on his face. Holding the door open with one hand, he gestures Zayn inside with the other - that's the most interaction there's been between the two since Zayn made it clear to Yahiya that he wasn't going to break things with me just because Yahiya says so. Even though that is the case, I don't remember the last time Zayn and I had a normal goodhearted conversation like we used to.

"How are you?"

I feel my heart quicken as my mind scrambles to come up with a more interesting response to "How are you?"

"Good, Alhamdulillah," I finally blurt out.

"No thanks to you," Yahiya mumbles, glowering at Zayn.

I shoot him a look that screames "are you for real?" to which he responds with an exaggerated eye roll. He slams the door shut and saunters down the hall into the kitchen.

I smile apologetically at Zayn and drop into a chair, signalling for him to take the other.

He combs his fingers through his hair and sawdust rains on his squared shoulders. I notice his hair grew longer, there is a new scar on his chin and dark shadows under his eyes. I don't think in my seventeen years we've ever been this distant. I used to know the story behind every sleepless night, every painful scar and every restless breath. I can't even decide what exactly went wrong. Oh right, I went ahead and got kidnapped under his watch.

I clear my throat, peeling my eyes off the scar on his chin.

"So," Yahiya says, coming back into the living room with a mug in hand. He takes a long sip then scowls at Zayn. "What did you want to talk to my sister about?"

"He want to speak to me, not you."

"Well." a callused hand clamps down on my shoulder. "He'll have to do it in front of me." I can feel the tension seep into my skin. "I already made it pretty clear I don't want him anywhere around you."

Zayn gives him a look so dark I thank Allah it's not directed me. "Right. Because you'd rather she hangs around English guys instead."

Yahiya's grasp on my shoulder tightens and I can almost feel his nails digging into my skin but I'm too dazed to register the pain. Heat creeps up my neck and bleeds into my cheeks. He knows. Zayn knows about Sebastian. I shove away from the table, away from Yahiya's hand and storm into the kitchen to escape the flames in the room.

Of course I am stupid to think they won't catch up to me.

I start rinsing out the cups and bowl in the sink, even though it's Yahiya's turn doing the dishes today. Anything to avoid making eye contact with Zayn.

It's hard to do when he leans against the counter beside me, crossing his hands.

"I won't be stupid as to ask you what the hell you're thinking bringing an English person into your life, because I'm sure you'll come up with quite an excuse for that. And I won't ask why you didn't tell me about either, because I can guess the answer to that," he breaths out a heavy sigh. "Just be careful."

I squeeze my eyes tight, plaster a smile on my face and turn on him. "I am, thank you for your concern."

"He's not concerned. He's jealous. You should learn the difference sister," Yahiya says mockingly.

Zayn has the decency to ignore him.

"Mom sent me to remind you that iftar (Arabic for breaking fast in Ramadan) is at our house tomorrow."

"Of course," I say, turning off the water tap and drying my hands on my abaya. "What's the first iftar of Ramadan without Auntie Samiya's porridge?"

Instead of grinning like I expect him to, Zayn has that sour-lemon look that tells me he's about to spit out something he doesn't like. "And that oh - that friend of yours, the English man, is welcome too."

"What?" Yahiya beats me to voicing disbelief. "Why would Auntie invite him? How does she even know about him?"

The same way that Zayn knows about him.

"She wants to thank him for saving Hani's life." I don't miss the grimace of detest on Zayn's face.

"When did this happen?" Yahiya asks me.

I shrug, like his scowl doesn't make my skin shiver. "Yesterday at school. A pillar collapsed and Sebastian got Hani out just in time. It was so brave of him."

Beside me Zayn goes rigid.

"Even so, this doesn't grant him a ticket into our home," Yahiya says, throwing his hands in the air.

Zayn scoffs, pushing away from the counter. "You already gave him a ticket into our lives without him doing anything heroic, so I don't see what's so wrong with inviting him to have a meal with us now that he has." Zayn's words drip with sarcasm.

Yahiya grumbles something highly inappropriate under his breath. I glare at him. Clearly they're incapable of having a conversation like adults. This has gone for too long.

"That's it! Both of you, it's enough." I think I liked them more when they weren't speaking to each other. "I'm walking to the park. Why don't you guys hang out today? You know, remember that you are actually best friends and that this feud between you is just childish."

"I gotta work, I picked up half a shift today, figured we could use the money," my brother says, slamming his cup into the sink.

"Me too," Zayn says. "Next year maybe."

And I thought Zayn is the mature one.

"If only you two worked at the same factory," I say, cramming the sugar and tea jars back in the pantry cabinet. "Oh wait. You do."

"Yeah, whatever," Yahiya says as I push past him, heading for the door to slip on my shoes.

I crouch to tie my shoe laces. "I'll deliver Auntie's invitation to Sebastian tomorrow, though I doubt he'll make it."

"Let's all pray he doesn't," Zayn mumbles.

For my sake. I am not in the mood for more drama.

Yahiya gives me a hug. "I'll come by the park when I get off."

"Insha'Allah."

I hesitate on the doorstep. "Ramadan is tomorrow, you guys really need to bury the hatchet and start anew. Just talk to each other, will you? For your sake and for mine. I miss the old us."

I stalk down the walkway, thought of Yasmeen already flooding my mind. A week, Sebastian said. I have a week to figure out a way to tell Madame Moneera or he'll do it for me.