The Girl in The Green Scarf

T w e n t y - f o u r

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
HAMSA

 “Whenever you look back and say 'if' you know you're in trouble. There is no such thing as 'if'. The only thing that matters is what really happened.”
―

D.J. MacHale

The cold morning breeze plays with the dark curls and ringlets of hair that have managed to escape my braid in rebellious tendrils. They keep finding their way to my cheeks and the back of my neck and every time this happens, it tickles, my whole body cringes and then I giggle like an idiot.

I take the kettle off the fireplace, breathing in the sweet aroma of tea. I know it is stupid but I have always loved how warm and safe tea makes me feel. It has the ability to transport me back in time to the many mornings my mom would wake me up with a steaming cup of tea in hand - with a pinch of cinnamon, just the way I liked it.

Hugging my chest with my free arm, I carry the kettle back into the relatively warm kitchen where Yahiya has his head poked into the fridge, scanning the half-empty shelves.

I stop when I see the empty counter and turn to glare at him, propping one hand on my hip.

"How nice of you to ignore my request to set out the mugs," I say dryly.

He laughs and says, "Glad to be of service, little sister."

The handle starts to burn up my fingers in spite of the cloth I'm holding it with and I rush to the counter, promptly letting go of it. The metal clatters against the marble surface and I groan loudly when some of the tea spills off the top and onto my hand. I bring my fingers to my mouth, sucking on them to cool off the sting.

"Careful there," Yahiya says, emerging from the fridge, a piece of bread held between his teeth and a jar of homemade jam in hand – little does he know that it is Madame Moneera's specialty. He kicks the door shut and it slams so hard that the fridge shudders.  "You already have too many scars; don't add burn marks to the list. Nobody would marry you."

"Who ever said I wanted to get married?" I ask, opening the cabinet where the cups are. Once the words escape my lips, Zayn's face flashes before my eyes, but I dismiss the image. "And be gentle, don't hurt the pumpkin, unless you want to eat spoiled food and drink hot water."

He shoots the fridge an apologetic look and says, "Sorry, pumpkin."

I roll my eyes and start filling up the mugs while Yahiya spreads jam on his bread.

"Did you use the milk I got yesterday?" He asks, licking off the spoon, dropping it into the sink beside me and then putting the lid back on the jar.

"Mhm," I say, nodding.

I hand him his mug and take mine in both hands, leaning back on the counter. We are out of sugar today, but I do not mind; I like my tea sugarless so I can savor its real taste. Yahiya on the other hand is a sugar maniac, so I guess the jam sandwich is a good idea.

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot. I saved you some dates that Lamees brought yesterday," I say, taking a sip off my tea, before placing it down.

"Dates?" He asks, his eyes glistening. "For real?"

"Yep," I say.

I cross the kitchen, open the drawer where we keep our money and fish out the plastic bag of dates. I toss it to him and he catches it midair, a grin breaking across his face.

"Nice!" He exclaims. "Masha'Allah, how did she get her hands on them? I 've haven't seen any dates all year."

I shrug. "It is a mystery to me too."