His Hafizah and her Hafiz

Agony

Huzaifah POV:

"Assalamu alaikum," Osman and Ali greeted me and grandma brightly as they entered our house with huge grins plastered on their faces.

"My personal salam to Abu Hurairah's grandma and the idiot who's sitting on the sofa." Ali said politely, taking his shoes off in front of the door and throwing me a mischevious glare.

"Walaikum Assalam." I answered bluntly.

"Walaikum assalam wa rahmatullah dear, how's things going?" Grandma asked sweetly, ushering them to take a seat beside me on the sofa. "So you boys have any plans today, hmm?" She entered the kitchen in her pink polka dot apron and bright pink hijab.

"We are going back to hifz again?" Ali announced happily, perching his blue backpack neatly on his back like a schoolkid and sitting beside me on the sofa.

"What?" Grandma shouted, poking her head out of the kitchen and staring at us in disbelief. "Really?"

"Moulana Ahmed's strict orders." Ali beamed, "That's why I came in with my poor old lovely hifz backpack. I really feel like a hifz boy now only that I got a bit old... and taller." He carressed his backpack affectionately.

"Where's Hafiz Abu Hurairah?" Osman asked, scrunching his eyebrows and looking around the room for his figure to pop up any minute.

"I don't know," I shrugged, glaring at my wrist watch. "I've been waiting for him for days but he's not tripping down the stairs yet." We were all dressed up in our hifz uniform, white thobes and navy blue turbans ready to go back to hifz since it was a strict order from Moulana Ahmed. However, Abu Hurairah had locked himself up in his room without a word forcing the whole gang to arrive at our house for his lateness.

"When it came to hifz, Abu Hurairah was always late." Ali grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. "I never understood... how he's early for everything except hifz class."

"He said he does it purposefully." I replied, rolling my eyes.

Osman looked at his phone when it had vibrated loudly calling for his attention, "Moulana Ahmed is getting annoyed. We're late because of Hafiz Abu Hurairah."

"Osman, why are you standing young man? Take a seat!" Grandma urged, coming in the living room with a tray full of freshly baked cookies.

"No, we're on the run right now. We only came for Hafiz Abu Hurairah." Osman denied politely standing beside the door and impatiently tapping his feet on the tiles.

"How's daddy, Ali?" Grandma asked with a grin. 

"Fine, alhamdulillah." Ali grinned, taking a cookie from the tray and munching on it. Ali's dad was Uncle Yusuf's best friend and according to grandma, his dad and Uncle Yusuf had always crashed in each other's places during the weekend. Grandpa had to yell at them to hush their voices down which would always end up in a sore throat. Until this day, Uncle Yusuf and his dad had this undeniable strong friendship bond that we all never understood. 

"Assalamu alaikum." A cheery female voice interrupted us all. A girl with a black hijab, black abaya and denim jacket had barged in the house and engulfed grandma in a tight hug.

"Amira." Both grandma and Ali echoed.

Grandma gave out an excited chuckle while Ali scowled with his arms crossed on top of each other. "Amira, what the heck are you doing here?" He narrowed his eyes, "Wait... who brought you here in the first place?"

Amira began laughing hysterically, "Bro, I was hiding in the back of your car the whole time."

Ali glowered, his cheeks turning redder by the minute. "Shut up, you weren't!"