Chapter 4 – Lines and Crossings
1182 Words
It had been a week since Reina's birthday, and though life quickly slid back into its usual rhythm–work, buses, barely-there lunch breaks--something about that night lingered like perfume on her skin.
She hadn't thought much about Samir after their encounter at Al Qasr Blanc. Sure, he was handsome, unexpectedly charming, and very much a walking definition of “Habibi fine,” but Reina was used to people showing interest and disappearing just as quickly. Men like that? They didn't usually stick around.
So when her phone rang earlier in the week from an unsaved number, she let it go. Twice.
Now, as she wrapped bracelets for a wealthy Emirati customer, her phone buzzed again in her apron pocket. She stole a glance–the same number.
With a sigh and a flicker of curiosity, she picked up and pressed it to her ear.
“Hello?”
A pause. Then that voice. Baritone, smooth, a little amused.
“Do you know who this is?”
She frowned. “No… should I?”
“It’s Samir,” he said.
Her eyes widened slightly. “Oh…hey! How are you?”
“Better now,” he said, tone light. “I called earlier in the week, but got ghosted.”
She winced. “Ugh. I’m really sorry. It totally slipped my mind, and I don’t usually pick up random numbers.”
He chuckled softly. “That’s fair. I just thought I’d check in. Maybe see if you want to hang out later?”
Reina glanced at the clock–5:02 p.m. The store was bustling, and her feet already ached from standing since morning.
“I’m not so sure,” she said, moving behind the counter. “I’m at work, and I’ve got a lot to finish.”
“When do you get off?”
“6:30,” she replied, shifting her weight.
“That’s not bad,” he said. “Are you done for the day after that?”
“Hopefully. But I gotta catch the bus, on Saturdays, they only come once an hour, unlike weekdays.”
A beat of silence. She could imagine him trying to process the inconvenience.
“Right… bus schedules. Got it.”
She smiled faintly. Of course he couldn’t relate.
“I gotta go now,” she added. “Really, I’m swamped.”
“Alright. Talk soon?”
“Sure. Bye.”
“Bye, Reina.”
She hung up, shoving the phone back in her pocket and diving into the remaining tasks with a strange buzz in her chest.
By 6:24 p.m., she was mentally clocked out. Her lunch had been reduced to two bites of a croissant and a gulp of water, and all she wanted was to get on that bus and curl into a blanket like a burrito.
She stepped outside and didn’t even notice the sleek Porsche 911 Turbo S parked in the drive-thru.
But the tinted window rolled down slowly, and she heard it.
“Reina.”
She turned sharply, blinking as her eyes met his.
Samir.
He was leaning slightly across the passenger side, still wearing that tailored ease like it was second skin. The evening sun bounced off his watch, platinum again, because of course and Reina’s stomach did a small flip.
“Hey…” she said cautiously. “Did you come to buy something?”
“Not exactly,” he said, stepping out. “I came to pick you up.”
Her brows rose. “Wait, what?”
“Not a coincidence,” he added, answering the question in her eyes.
“Samir… no. No, no, no.” She shook her head, lowering her voice. “You can’t just show up at my workplace like that. It’s not… proper.”
He smiled, eyes trailing to her neat box braids. “You look perfect in braids.”
Reina’s heart stuttered. She fought the blush creeping up her neck and responded stiffly, “Thank you…but still. People will talk.”
He leaned against the door casually. “And now we care what people say? Really, Reina?”
She huffed, but the fight was waning fast. The ache in her calves, the dizzy emptiness in her stomach, and his grin, it was all too much.
He opened the door.
“Hop in.”
Against every rational part of her brain, she did.
She sat gingerly in the plush leather seat. The cabin smelled like oud and luxury, the dashboard gleamed with backlit elegance, and the ceiling sparkled like stars. She looked around and whispered, “Nice car…”
He didn’t respond to the compliment. Instead, he turned to her with a grin.
“So… what kind of music are you into?”
“Spanish music and Afrobeats,” she replied, settling in.
“Afrobeats?” he glanced over. “Anyone in particular?”
“Rema,” she said instantly. “I love Rema.”
“Ah, I’ve heard some of his stuff—nice jams.”
He tapped his phone screen, and soon the warm, dreamy beats of “Bout U” filled the car. Reina smiled, her foot tapping involuntarily.
They arrived at a Spanish restaurant tucked into a luxurious corner of Jumeirah. Reina’s eyes lit up the second they walked in–-the scent of home, roasted peppers, warm spices, olive oil.
Samir guided her to the VIP section without hesitation. He pulled out her chair before taking his own.
“Gentleman,” she muttered, half-joking.
“Always,” he replied.
A waitress approached. Reina ordered Pimientos de Padrón, missing the taste of green peppers with sea salt. Samir went with Gazpacho, curious to try something new.
While waiting, they talked.
About music. Work. Childhood places. She told him about the seaside town in Spain where she grew up. He talked about his grandfather who built their family company from scratch.
The food came. It was divine.
After dinner, he led her to the bar-pool area, dimly lit with lanterns and soft Arabic jazz humming in the background. She sat on a cushioned lounge chair, sipping hibiscus tea, while he leaned forward on his elbows beside her.
“I like you,” he said, eyes honest. “And I’d like to take things seriously.”
Reina's breath caught. The words hit her unexpectedly, like a wave. A man like him; direct, grounded, successful, saying that to her?
She blinked, looking away. “I think I should go,” she said softly.
He looked surprised. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No, not at all. I just… I have something to do.”
“Alright,” he said gently.
The drive home was silent.
No Rema. No teasing. Just the sound of tires on the road and something unspoken in the air.
When they reached her apartment building, she unbuckled her seatbelt slowly.
“Thank you,” she said.
He nodded. “Goodnight, Reina.”
She stepped out and walked away, never turning back, even though he waited until she was completely out of sight.
- Writer
