Hooked By The Hijabi

Four

Rayman props down on is bed and reclines until his back hits the bed. He then closes his eyes and releases an elongated sigh. His phase one of the plan has been completely ruined.

He had drafted everything, from the timing to the last word of the conversation, all to no avail.

In his mind, he had seen himself materializing on the front steps of the Ayats' house and ringing the doorbell. Mrs Ayat would open the door. Rayman would greet politely with salam and she would reply. She would stare at him for a couple of seconds until a look of recognition crosses her features.

"Rayman." she would say. "My dear boy, it's been so long!"

"I came back to the city and thought I should visit." He would say, plastering the charming smile he had practiced over two dozen times. "I hope you have been well, Auntie."

"Alhamdulillah. Come in, come in!"

Mrs Ayat, being a gregarious lady, would usher him to the living room or the dining room or the kitchen and make them a pot of tea or coffee as they engage in a steady chatter that would involve mundane, innocuous topics like work and family. During the course of their conversation, he would casually ask about Wissam's sister and, if he's lucky, she'll be home at the time and Mrs Ayat would call her, unless she appears on her own accord.

The last time he had seen her was when the investigation on Wissam's disappearance was being conducted. A little brown-eyed hoyden, her brother would call her. Tomboyish, for he sometimes caught her in her brother's T-shirts when he would drop by. Wissam used to be insanely protective of his sister. Rayman, among all his friends, got to see her the most. Privilege of being the best-friend, he surmised. She would be in her early twenties now. What would she be like? He had entertained himself trying to envisage her appearance and personality. Spindly and awkward? Demure and comely? Tanned and sporty? Lumbering and clumsy?

Rayman had pictured himself talking to her, laughing occasionally as one of them jokes or recalls a hilarious memory. He needs to make a good impression because he wants them to be friends. Very good friends. If he can establish that relationship, the rest will be easier.

Now, forget being friends when he had landed himself in a job as her professor. Not only that, but he had stumbled upon her while being completely ignorant of her identity. The introduction phase of his plan simply shattered the moment he took the stapled sheaf of papers and read the name on top. No, it actually shattered way before that.

They were standing right outside her place.

"Do you know the residents of this house? The Ayats?"

"Oh yes. Very well, as a matter of fact."

Rayman chuckles sarcastically. He couldn't even grasp onto the hint. He must've looked like an utter idiot.

She didn't turn out bad looking, he could give her that. Those earthy brown eyes are just like Wissam's. Another obvious hint he had missed. He cast his mind back to this morning when she and her friend helped him in the hallway and then the joke she led at his class. Maybe being her professor isn't such a bad thing. They will be able to run into each other more often.

________

Yusha

Inside the cylindrical elevator, I click on the top left button and I'm whisked up with terminal velocity. In about a minute, the elevator announces its arrival on the eighteenth floor with a soft ping.

A disembodied voice says," Door opening."

I get off and walk straight towards my futuristic new bachelor pad. The advanced biometric facial recognition system identifies me as I approach and the front door clicks open without me having to lift a finger.