After Midnight

chapter TWO

The mansion is crowded by people of different kinds. Some wearing suits, some in jeans, and some in fancy glittery gowns that look a bit over board. Or maybe it is just me who thinks these are a bit too sparkly considering I only wear sweats. If it were to me, I’d be happy to rock a wedding in a night dress cotton shirt.

Aaila links her arm with mine. We both stand at the top of the staircase. I am too nervous to even look down, how many people are staring at me with their mouths hanging open. Maria’s daughter wears a scarf? Gasp. How could that be possible?

“They’re staring, aren’t they?” I whisper to Aaila who nods her head but a ghost of a smile touches her lips.

“They are. But you know who else is staring?”

I shook my head. Why was she so excited about this someone who was staring at me? People stared at me a lot, more than I could bare it. Did they not have their own lives and matters to delve deeper in? Or was I too pretty for them to think I was real?

“Look closer, silly,” Aaila nudges my arm. “Look between the depths of the crowd. Look for those eyes that are always looking for yours.”

Fire ignites inside me, growing with every movement of my eyes. I don’t know what it was, but something about him looking at me from some dark corner when I was the spotlight really did something to me. But I knew it was wrong, so I never left myself free for any moment, lest sinful thoughts invade my head. Right now, knowing he was somewhere I couldn’t see, yet Aaila could, is somehow bothersome.

And there he was.

Haaris Zander. Known as a player in Green High. He says it’s better to have a bad rep than living up to the expectations of people, because you better believe, people have HIGH ones. He is also very special to me. In so many ways. He knows that, and I wonder if that’s the reason he is so self-obsessed with himself. Everything about him is just extraordinary. But my parents don’t think so. To them, he is the boy I am not allowed to go near. A boy who is forbidden for me. So we keep our distance, and we do that because I don’t want him in any trouble because finals are just around the corner and he, along with my own self need to focus on school.

For now, at least.

Aaila and I both descend the stairs, the entire time me giving myself a little pep talk to not let my guard down. People are monsters, little Harry’s voice echoes through my mind. They look for your weakest spots and don’t think twice before poking something right there.

Harry was the nickname I gave him when we were little. When our parents were. . .well on friendly terms and not eager to bite each other’s head off.

From the corner of my eye, I saw my step-mother approaching us as we stood amongst the people. My eyes connect with Harry and if it were some other time, I would’ve gladly drowned in them without hesitation. But not right now. I couldn’t risk anything, so I immediately break our contact and brace myself for my Mother’s wrath.

“Aaila, will you please leave us alone for a bit?” she spits at Aaila but doesn’t break her gaze from my face.

You have to try harder than that to make me coward away.

“Of course, Mrs Aadil.”

“Is something wrong? I am here,” I wave an exaggerated arm at myself. “What else do you expect me to do?”

Her lips press together, displeasingly. She tucks a strand of her red hair behind her ear, and crosses her too thin arms. I try not to gag when her overly scented scent evades my poor nose. Too sweet, is all I can think of. “What are you wearing?” she deadpans, shooting me a look. “Do I have to stop your visits at that girls house as well?”

“You don’t threaten me,” I bare my teeth,” from seeing my best friend, unless you want trouble in this household.”

She gives me what could be called a glare. I bet her fake eyelashes would fall off any second. “We will talk about this stunt you pulled today later.” And with that, she storms away leaving me a bit out of place. I don’t want her putting restrictions on me now.

Aaila joins me a second later. “Don’t care what she says. You have to please God. Not her.”

“I know. That’s why we are going to get the heck away from here.”

She passes me a wink. “Are we going out with Mr. Zander?” Her warm brown eyes travel from my face and over my shoulder. A smile blossoms on her face. “Speak of the boy and the boy returns.”

I don’t waste any second before spinning around and admiring my man. He looks breathtakingly gorgeous in a blue suit with his dark brown hair gelled back to perfection. I like how his hair are short at the sides and long in the front. I like how he styles it. His hands are disappeared inside the pockets of his pants. My eyes lock with his gray ones and I am a goner.

I scan my surroundings, looking for anyone from my family who might be keeping an eye on me. They’re were none, so Aaila and I follow Harry in the back yard where there is just one guard patrolling the area, and the only one I like. He lets me sneak out sometimes, and I love him like my own father. He is easily above fifty, but due to keeping himself healthy he looks younger.

Mr. Haroon smiles upon seeing me. Then his eyes fall on Harry who is just behind us and a frown makes its way on his forehead.

“Seriously? There’s a party going on in there. You kids go back or else you, along with I will be in trouble,” he says, shooting us all a look.

“Yes, and that’s why it’s good to sneak out,” Harry speaks up, stepping to my right. I try not to glance over at him. “Aabi’s family is busy in attending them. Perfect opportunity for us.”

Mr. Haroon doesn’t look happy about this at all. “You think at some point they aren’t going to look for their daughter?”

Aaila groans. “MR. HAROON. PLEASE LET US GO. WE WILL GET YOUR WIFE HER FAVORITE LOTIONS.”

I give him a puppy dog face. “Please? We will be back before midnight.” What I am trying to tell him is that I will be back before his shift and he could easily sleep at night.

He scratches the back of his neck. Contemplating. Thinking. Wondering. He wants to let us go, but he is not sure. Finally. Finally, he looks at Harry and gives him narrowed eyes and a fatherly sternness is lacing his words when he says: “Take care of my daughters, you silly boy.”

I clamp my lips tightly to surpass the smile threatening to break away. Harry doesn’t like when Mr. Haroon calls him ‘silly’. Although I know Harry is just messing around. He loves Mr. Haroon. We all do.

Mr. Haroon moves back and beckons with his hands for us to shoo away fast, lest someone sees us here and suspiciousness awakes inside my family’s heart. I grab Aaila’s hand and we both sprint outside towards the black Range Rover parked a few houses down the street. We run. Full on sprint and I don’t wait to see if Harry is behind or not. I know he is. While Aaila and I laugh as we slow to a jog, I am still aware of that boy behind us. Prolly watching me. Yes. He does that for most of the part and it makes me want to punch him and love him at the same time.  

We pant as we climb inside the back seat and Harry appears behind the wheel. I try not to look his way for too long.

“How many of them are there?” he questions, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror. Darn. I was looking at him. Again.

“No idea,” Aaila—thank God—replies for me. I know it’s happening more and more. I think about him too much. When is sleep, he is on my mind. When I am bored, his face flashes through my eyes. It’s wrong. I know it’s so wrong yet I cannot help myself.

Aaila nudges her shoulder with mine. I turn to look at her. She raises a brow, and whispers, “Where are you lost?”

I keep my reply short because Harry is definitely listening. “Will tell you later.” Should I tell Aaila about all this? How I can’t not stop thinking about Harry? Perhaps she will  be able to put some sense into me so I better be focusing on studies and not marrying this boy. Forbidden, I may add.

I shake my head, rather violently, so I can have a clear head before taking the class.

The three of us have been holding these lectures for the past few months about women empowerment. What it means to be a woman and have a say in the matters of the world. The most important thing to know is, that women’s rights don’t mean they can wear short shorts and tank tops and reveal themselves the world, instead, they have to keep the rules of Islam in their mind in order to be known as free respectable women.

The drive to Harry’s secret apartment is about ten minutes from my house. Secret, because nobody knows about it. He bought it just for this purpose: so we could help the girls going through some serious issues, and give them advice. They all know about me, how my step-mother is and her lame parties. I give them examples from my everyday life, although it had been tough for me in the past, it gets better later.

The car comes to a halt outside the building. I hop out of the car, followed by Aaila and Harry. I draw in a deep breath. What if someone back home got a hint I wasn’t at home? And more importantly, what if they knew Harry wasn’t there either, and same with Aaila? That thought makes me shudder, so I quickly follow my friends inside the building. Warm air collides with my chilled face, instantly making me feel better. The lights have been turned to the beautiful yellow that illuminates the room better than how those white lights do.

Harry grins at us two girls. “So, what is it then? Elevators or the stairs?”

A groan. “Stop torturing us, Harris. What do you get out of dragging us four stories up? I told you already that I have no urge to get cramps in my legs,” whines Aaila. She glares at him. Mischief dances in Harry’s eyes.

“Elevator it is then.”

I hide my smile. As soon as we get inside, the nerves finally start kicking in. I feel sweat dampen my armpits, gross, I know, but thanks to the deodorant that keeps me smelling fresh despite the nervous sweating. I rub my arms to dissolve some of the chills and goosebumps and Aaila notices this. She gives me a big smile, the one that really helps me out sometimes. I give her a forced one in return. I know she knows that.

There are approximately twenty girls inside the apartment, sitting on the fuzzy carpet in the living room. Some are from our own school, and some from our neighborhood. We don’t usually hold these lectures at midnight, but because of the party going on in my house, I couldn’t get out beforehand.

They all stand up and greet us.

I sigh.

Harry understands the meaning to my sigh and addresses the girls. “You don’t have to stand up to greet us. We aren’t someone greater than you all, so kindly sit down.”

Oh, how much I am grateful for that. He does thinks like that a lot of times for me.

“I apologize that today’s lecture had to be held so late and on such a short notice of time.” I have switched to my professional voice. They all hear me attentively and no soul whispers. “I am so glad that each one of you could make it.” How, I don’t ask. “Please sit down.” I smile. They all smile back. Warmth floods my heart.

Aaila goes to sit down next to the girls. Harry grabs a bar stool and puts it a little further away from them. Sits. Looks me over, then lowers his eyes, something I never asked him to do, but he knows I get a little uncomfortable around him. It’s not any boy; just him alone. I wonder why. I could never find out the answer to this query of mine.

And can we talk about the fact how he didn’t once make a compliment about my scarf? He acts like I have been wearing this for as long as he can remember. Like there’s nothing new or unusual about it. Like he knew I’d do that and he was just waiting.

Anyway.

“SO.” I blow out a huge breath. “Any incidents that happened?”

A hand rises up.

“Yes, Eliza?” I smile. She is a black American Muslim woman. She straightens her back and I see something in her eyes that seems familiar. I have seen that looks somewhere else as well.

“My Dad wants to kick me out of the house because he got to know about this.” She motions around the room. “I don’t know how to cope with it. You make me want to stand up for myself, but I can’t do that to my Dad. I can’t be mean to him.”

I stare into her eyes. I see it. Anger. I see anger in her eyes. I’ve seen it in my own ones when I look at myself in the mirror a heartbeat longer. It’s there in me when I don’t like things my step-Mom says. Which is almost all the time.

“You never have to be mean,” I say. “Being mean with others will avail you nothing but resentment. Be polite with others. Be patient. Tell him all the reasons why you want to be here.”

“He doesn’t want to hear me out!” she loses it. “He won’t listen to me because technically I am ‘young’ and don’t know what I am doing in my life.”

Tell me about it. I’ve gotten that talk from my parents more than any teenager can bear. I did. I bore it everyday and still do now. The best part about it that I just have to bear it till high school ends in two months. Then, I will get married.

My eyes automatically shoot to Harry. He is not looking at me. I wish he were. I wish he were not. My head has turned in this tangled mess of thoughts. I want a thing. I don’t want it. Yet I still want it.

What is wrong with me?

“That happens to me all the time. Nobody from home wants to listen to me. They think every teenager is the same. I don’t believe them,” I sigh. I fix my scarf, tucking a fallen strand or two back inside the perimeters of the cloth covering my head. Looks like I have to get used to constantly fix my scarf. “Neither should you.”

She nods her head and slumps her shoulders in defeat. I feel bad for her. If I wanted, I could rush to her house and put some sense into his respectable father. She isn’t doing anything bad. She’s just trying to fight this isolation that she feels. This anxiety that attacks her when she is around boys. She is not confident. I want her to fight her way out of the shyness and grab onto braveness.

So this continues for another thirty minutes. I tell them about many things: how to fight off controlling men, husbands, etc. of course, the best way they could get help is from the Holy Quran, and putting their trust in Allah (God). They need to push all the negative thoughts out of their minds and stand tall.

Stand tall. All girls should stand tall. But standing tall doesn’t mean what they think it means. There’s a reason why our Lord Allah SWT has given us some rules and laws.

Which reminds me of this beautiful verse from the Book of Allah:

O Prophet, tell your wives and your daughters and the women of the believers to bring down over themselves [part] of their outer garments. That is more suitable that they will be known and not be abused. And ever is Allah Forgiving and Merciful. –Al Ahzab, 33:59