How I Met Mr Jinn ✔️

Chapter Twenty-Six

Britain Isnt That bad

       I pressed the doorbell, stepped back, and waited gracefully despite everything going on in my head.

It was a cloudy morning, or as I called it, a 'plain morning'. With only gray clouds painting the skies like expensive paint, and the sun a big blob of yellow, hidden somewhere between them.

I looked back, where I noticed a black car, spreading the plainness in my eyes, yards outside our house. I didnt give it much thought and predicted the married couple next doors was holding a party. Or someone probably came to stay for the holidays. After all, Chrismas was only a week away.

Eventually, and just as I raised my hand to give the big chunk of wood a good knock, Hassan opened the door, yanking his neck backward to avoid my fist. "Hi..." He awkwardly greeted.

I twisted my brows, and sarcastically replied with a classic roll of the eyes, "That's a way to greet your sister who just came from Britain!"

He turned to raise a brow, but I raised both in response. "You were going to hit me." He told me like I had no clue.

"I know."

"Then why.. ?" He asks, "You know what, I don't care anymore."

And with that, he walked away, mumbling a few things. I rolled my eyes and kept them closed as I slowly unpinned my shawl and walked toward the second living room.

"You boys really are pathetic little heartless jerks, you know? Just because your big you think you can carelessly treat your older sisters like-" I froze in my tracks and almost swallowed my tongue from the shock once I opened my eyes. I quickly pinned the shawl together under my chin in order to not expose my neck to the Arabic-looking stranger, sitting on our sofa like some king.

I don't know how, but not even his wavy brown hair with a ridiculously shine, deceive others into thinking he was anything else but Arab. I'd guess Saudi, Emirati, or most likely Yemani for his light brown eyes.

I didnt just stare at the man fighting over his race or nationality, I turned over to Ahmed who was sitting next to him, a Pepsi can in his hands as he silently chucked at the situation.

"Hi." He somehow managed to say.

"Hi. Who's this guy?" I said, still shocked as I point at the man accusingly.

"Hey! Don't point, you're making me feel like a criminal." The man joked, a British accent dancing out his lungs.

Speak of a devil. I thought, remembering my sarcastic reply just seconds ago.

I turned to give him a look, one that 'persuaded' him to talk no more or less. I turned back to Ahmed and warned, "Any move, any prank, and I'm going to tell the whole world about it- including dad"

"Why would-" I yanked my head to glare, stopping him from questioning my words.

"Ruqaya, that was four years ago! John didnt know his way around the house." Ahmed explained with the same words I've been bored of hearing multiple times for the past year.

I simply rolled my eyes.

"I would have thrown more then a pillow if I had hardcover books near me." I hissed. After that, I angrily walked to my room. I hated it when his friends came over. If they were neighbors or we go to the same school, sure, but not a complete stranger like this man!

Dad's rules were always the same, no stranger to the family gets in if he wasnt there himself. So I opened the door to his office and found him typing something on his computer. Dad got a job as a professor a few months ago and he's been at work ever since. He still stays up watching the news though.