Going 78 Miles Per Hour | ✓

39 | On The Road

DOMINGO
10:53 AM

Dahlia Gray

"Why do you want to hang out so late?" Aysa prompts, stepping off the subway as I wait by the platform, behind the yellow line. She glances around the station, adjusting the beige headscarf that coordinates with her Burberry-patterned pants. She finishes with a form-fitting white shirt, and matching Jordan sneakers.

I scoff, "this is late?"

"It's nearing eleven."

"Yeah, in the morning," I shake my head, a careless smile splitting my lips. "Are you always in a rush of time?"

"I am taking a day off from studying just to hang out with you, kid," she reminds, coming beside me as she hooks her arm around mine. She begins to lead the way out from the underground station. "If you wish to use up my entire day, might as well use up all of it."

I laugh as we reach the top of the steps, stepping out from underneath the steel entrance and out onto the street, the sun flows with soft rays and a breeze that captures the whole community. Busy people crowding around us, nuzzled in outerwear and bustling in and out of coffee shops, heading off to work, or taking strolls around the city.

"Where do you want to go?" I prompt, taking a look around the stores stacked right next to each other. "I don't usually go into the city, so..."

"Neither do I," Aysa shrugs, stopping in front of a restaurant with an outdoor venue, and a couple of strangers stopped their brunch to take a glance at Aysa. I knew exactly why. "You didn't plan for the day?"

I freeze. My lips parted, but no words hung. "I didn't think...I kinda...I just—I thought we could wing it!"

Aysa stares at me, dumbfounded with a hard look, for a long time before she shakes her head. "Kid, if I wasn't Muslim, I would beat your ass."

"What's stopping you?"

"Allah." She said, proceeding to walk. She tugs on my arm, dragging me alongside her as we begin to explore the city, looking for activities to do. We browse windows of stores, looking at outfits and the mannequins hung on display, keeping our eyes out for opportunities for the both of us.

I don't exactly know what Aysa likes—outside of studying and being at SAINT—so, I was hoping I could find out a little more about her today.

We stop in front of a bookstore.

"Do you read?" Aysa turns to me, leaning forward to pull on the glass door of the two-story building. She props it open, inviting me in.

"I don't." I answer honestly, "I read a lot of articles about astronomy, and constellations, but I barely read fiction."

"Well," she opens the door further, "it's time for you to get into the world of literature."

Aysa pulls me into the store, and we begin to browse the shelves. She doesn't loosen her grip around me—our formlinked together by the hook of our arms like a pair of twins—and we stroll past the rows of bookshelves, just to find a book.

There's a coffee shop inside of the bookstore, serving brewed coffee and pastries. The steaming coffee lingers all over the store, warming a temptation among the customers, driving them in.

"What is this?" Aysa picks up a book off the shelf, reading the inside of the cover for a synopsis.

I do the same, mimicking her action as I pick up a random book and flip open to the inside, skimming the summary. "What is this?"