AAHIL
I furiously type in my laptop as though it’s my Enemy No. 1. The whole building is empty and all the employees have long gone.
If someone were to ask when I leave for home, I would have no idea. I work till my hands stop functioning and my legs are sore.
Abdallah says I’m like a robot. I fear he might be right.
I particularly don’t want to go home today––yeah, the sun has risen––since it’s apparently my engagement.
If I hadn’t seen Amal yesterday, I probably wouldn’t have cared as much I do. I don’t want to ruin some innocent girl’s life but Mom is adamant.
I feel that familiar ache erupt in the muscles of my thighs. I continuously pound one fist on it, typing with the other hand.
Minutes and hours go by. I slam the laptop shut as I feel black dots appear in my vision. Blin
