IN ANOTHER LIFE

Chapter 16: Noon, With Tea, Properly

Chapter 16: Noon, With Tea, Properly

Two years is 730 days. I counted. Then I stopped counting because counting made waiting slower.

Grade 11 finished. Summer after Grade 11, we turned 17.

That summer, Mr. Ibrahim did something that broke me in good way. He offered me job at his gas station. Three days a week, 4 PM to 8 PM, stocking shelves, cleaning pump handles.

"So you learn how hard work is, Daniel," he said, not smiling, but not angry. "And so you stop walking past my store to look at my daughter in library across street."

Library across street from his gas station. He knew.

I took job. He paid me $11 an hour. He never let me touch cash register, only shelves, but he taught me how to check oil, how to be polite to customers who are rude. On my third day, a customer yelled at me for not having his cigarette brand. Mr. Ibrahim came out, said, "You don't yell at my worker. He is like my son. You leave."

Like my son.

I went home and told my mom. She cried.

Aisha came to store sometimes after library, to buy water, when her father was there. We said "hey." Her father watched, but let us say "hey" longer now, like five seconds, not one.

On August 20th, Mr. Ibrahim left store for 10 minutes to pray at mosque. Aisha was at water fridge, alone with me for first time in more than one year.

"Daniel," she whispered, fast, "I got into early college program. Pre-med, for 12th grade, at community college. I can finish high school and college credits same time."

"That's amazing! Doctor dream!"

"But it's in Columbus," she said. "Ohio. Same city as Aunt Layla. Program pays. Baba says if I go, he will let me go because it's doctor. But it's Ohio."

Ohio again. Ticket again. But different.

"What will you do?" I asked.

"I told Baba if you can come to Ohio for college too, we can be boring together in Ohio. Same college. Same program. Two years waiting done soon, we will be 18 in January. Then noon, tea, properly, remember? If we both go Ohio, we can do noon tea there too."

My heart was loud like gas station pump.

"Will you come to Ohio with me, Daniel?"

I heard mosque door bell. Her father coming back.

"Yes," I whispered. "In this life and Ohio."

She smiled, took water, paid, said "hey" loud for her father to hear.

---

Senior year. Grade 12. Last year of boring.

We applied to Columbus State Community College, Early Pre-Med and Kinesiology for me because I like running.

We both got in. Letter came same day, October 10th.

Mrs. Fatima cried. My mom cried. Grandma Carter said, "Ohio is cold, but love is warmer."

Mr. Ibrahim called meeting. At their house, noon, with tea, properly. First proper meeting.

Me, my mom, Grandma, him, Mrs. Fatima, Aisha. No oak tree, no snow, no police. Just living room, tea that Mrs. Fatima made, and biscuits.

Mr. Ibrahim held both our acceptance letters.

"Daniel Carter," he said. "You worked at my store. You were boring for two years. You kept promises. You said 'hey' only. You did not write letters. You waited. My daughter waited too. Now you are 18 in three months. She is 18 in two months. You both go Ohio in August for college. So I have new promise, last promise."

We held breath.

"Promise four: In Ohio, you will still be boring until you finish first year of college. No house together. No baby. You study. You become doctor, you become... what you want to become, runner? Then after first year, you come to me again, noon, tea, and ask properly. And I will say yes. Because you earned it. Do you promise?"

I looked at Aisha. She wore blue hijab today, not red. Blue like future.

"I promise, sir. Promise four."

"Good. Now drink tea."

We drank tea. It was too hot and too sweet, but best tea in my life.

---

January 6th, two years after hug in bathroom.

We are 18.

Today, January 9th, two years anniversary of ticket tearing. We went to oak tree, but this time with parents, at noon, not 6 AM.

All of us: My mom, Mrs. Fatima, Mr. Ibrahim, Grandma Carter with cane, me, Aisha, Yusuf, and Officer Amir off-duty, because Mr. Ibrahim invited him, said "you tore ticket into smaller pieces, you are part of story."

We stood under oak tree. D + A still deepest, though tree now has 50 names. Ours first.

Mr. Ibrahim looked at tree, then at me, then at his daughter.

"Daniel, two years ago you promised on grandma's cross three things. You kept. Now you are man, not boy. So today, man to man, ask me properly what you wanted to ask two years ago."

My knees shook. Not from cold. January but no snow today, just cold sun.

I stepped forward with my mom beside me.

"Mr. Ibrahim, Mrs. Fatima," I said, voice cracking like 14-year-old again, "I love your daughter. In this life. Not another life. In this life. I will go to Ohio with her, study, be boring still one more year, become something good, and then I want to marry her. Properly. With your permission. At noon, with tea."

Silence.

Aisha crying, but this time loud, not quiet, because she can.

Mrs. Fatima holding my mom's hand tight.

Grandma Carter whispering prayer.

Mr. Ibrahim looked at me long time, then at oak tree, then at Officer Amir.

"Amir, you have handcuffs?" he said.

Everyone gasped.

Amir laughed, "I do, but why?"

"Because this boy stole my daughter's heart two years ago at 6 AM under my tree and I need to arrest him," Mr. Ibrahim said, then smiled big, first big smile I ever saw from him. "Just kidding. Joke. I learned joke from American TV."

We all laughed, shocked, crying.

Mr. Ibrahim took my hand, put Aisha's hand in my hand, father putting daughter's hand in boy's hand, properly.

"Yes," he said. "After one year college, yes. On Quran, yes. She stays with you. In this life, not another life."

Aisha hugged me, not two seconds, not ten seconds, long, in front of all parents, at noon, under D + A.

And this time, no police car called us. Because Officer Amir was already there, drinking tea from thermos Mrs. Fatima brought, saying, "Is everything okay here?"

And we all said, "Yes. Everything okay here."

And above us, oak tree with D + A carved forever, plus many new names, but ours deepest.

In another life, maybe easier, but in this life, we tried.

And in this life, trying was enough.

*THE END*

_Thank you for reading my first book. Two years of boring, two years of writing. I love you in this life. - Victory._