How did I fall so deeply in love with someone in such a short amount of time? I’ve known him for a whole year, but spending this past week together, like this, away from the office, in each other’s space daily? It’s been different. I know all these juicy little bits about him now that I didn’t know before. Sitting next to him on the big porch swing, I think he feels the shift too. It can’t just be me? Can it?
Since that first day we arrived, this thing has been building, brewing, filling up the space between us like invisible Polly filler. He hasn’t said anything. I hope he’ll make the first move, but I’m unsure if he will. The man is terrified of offending me. Or am I reading into his actions? After the debacle with Ashraf, I’ve been wary of acting on my feelings for anyone.
Ashraf was my best friends cousin and she encouraged me to go after him. I did. Aggressively so. And he brushed me off. Aggressively so. A year and a half later I still doubt whether I can trust the part of myself that thought that he liked me.
A desolate sigh escapes my lips. He notices, lifting his eyebrow in question.
“Nothing.” I wave my hand in the air vaguely. “It’s nothing.”
I can say that now, but I was devastated when Ashraf didn’t make a move. I kept oscillating between believing he liked me and believing he didn’t. It was a rollercoaster of my own making and I didn’t know how to get off. I just kept buying tickets to that going-nowhere ride. Until the braai at Shamielah’s house where he showed me, in no uncertain terms, that he wasn’t interested by making out with a girl he just met. I don’t mean the polite stealing kisses or holding hands when no one is looking. Nope. We could all see the way his tongue was stroking hers and his hands roamed over her body like no one was around. How do I know that I’m right this time? That Luke has feelings for me that is more than being friends?
Hands tucked safely under my thighs there’s no danger of me reaching for his. A storm of insecurities swirl in my head. Maybe what I feel is just me? Maybe what’s coming from him is alarm because he doesn’t have any kind of emotion for me?
I jolt up from the swing. “I’m gonna get me a water. You want one?”
He shakes his head and before he can say anything else I escape to the communal kitchen. My long black pleated skirt swishes around my legs as my black ankle boots beats a rhythmic tic while I make my escape. The sound makes me wrap the little black jersey I’m wearing over my polo-neck a little tighter. Keeping the thoughts inside me from running rampant in my head.
We’re here at this little cottage hotel with our department for a seminar. Luke and I are helping our team leader with his presentation this week. We’re both doing our Masters through work and part of that is supporting our boss as his assistants. Although we’re around each other daily, our desks are right next to each other, we share coffee breaks, lunchbreaks and he walks me to my car before leaving. It’s never been like this. We’ve never been in crisis and calm like this. Away from the office.
It’s kinda like we moved in together. Obviously in a halaal way, I’d never! We have our own rooms, but meet for breakfast in the small conference room they allocated to the assistants to work from. We make sure the presentation slides are correct and updated with any new information. We’ve been preparing the information packs and for most of that we sit side by side, adding what’s needed into the folders. In a comfortable silence. Occasionally something funny would catch our eye and we’d look at each and laugh. We work effortlessly well together.
When he started working at the office a year ago, he made sure to ask me how to pronounce my name. It was sweet. That he made the effort to find me to make sure that he was saying it correctly. I think he likes the way its sounds in his mouth. He repeats it often enough when we hang out. I like that he likes to say my name.
I hear a whisper of it and something I can’t make out from behind me. I turn to find him in the doorway, hands in his black pant pockets, head slightly bent, looking at me from under the hoods of his eyes.
“What was that? Did you change your mind about the cooldrink.”
I’m standing in front of the open fridge because I never intended to get a drink, I just needed to get away from him. I needed to cool down.
He continues to stare. Him not saying anything makes my heart speed up. I’m trying to keep the smile on my face and not look away, but it’s hard remaining still under his direct perusal.
He pushes away from the doorway, hands still in his pockets and stalks toward me. His black sketchers are silent on the tiled floor he’s crossing. I track his stealthy gait as he moves closer and closer. My smile is slowly replaced with alarm as he continues to stare at me intensely. I hold onto the door of the fridge tighter and close my lips to lessen the panting. He stops in front of me, leaving some distance between us. It might as well not exist.
His collar bone under his sweater catches my eyes and holds it hostage. I can’t bring myself to look at his face. I see his one hand come out of his pants pocket and reach towards me. The panic of not knowing what he’s going to do pulls my eyes to his. I’m transfixed. Captured. Glued. Held in place by the way he’s looking at me. Just as his hand almost reaches my face, our boss’s voice intrudes on the moment.
“Hey guys, thanks for today. It went off without a hitch.”
I freeze as Luke reaches past me to grab a water. He leans in a little closer than needed before moving to sit on one of the chairs at the table. I turn to the fridge and take a second to get hold of myself. I grab a water and move to sit opposite him as the boss gestures for me to join them. Ahmed plops himself next to Luke. He starts asking about the set up for the next day. This is our routine before retiring for the night. It’s why Luke and I are waiting together.
I try to focus on what Ahmed is saying. He’s giving me instructions on what to have ready tomorrow. I put my phone on record because I think it’s a good idea since I can’t get this ringing sound out of my ears. I’m honing in on looking at Ahmed and nodding where I think it’s appropriate. But all I see is Luke out of the corner of my eye. Watching me. With that same expression of earlier.
I shouldn’t like him. My parents are going to have a fit if I tell them I like Luke. The istinjaa jokes are going to be loaded and ready. How do explain that he’s kind, he’s considerate and that’s what makes him hot? I allow myself one quick glance and our eyes lock. His eyes flit to my lips as lick them, suddenly feeling so parched. I break his hold on me and open my water to take a long drink. Putting the bottle down on the table, Luke’s light brown eyes have darkened on me. I gulp. There’s no mistaking that look.
Ahmed stands and I’m grateful I thought of recording this because I have no idea what he just said. He waves at us over his shoulder, tired in each step he’s taking out of the room.
Luke stands and I jump up from the chair too. He moves around the table. I take a small step back.
He says, “Is this one sided?”
I should say no.
“I need to know if you feel this too?”
The obstacles to us even thinking about being together is going to be so vast. Despite all of that, I nod.
The tips of our shoes almost touch as he steps closer still.
He reaches for my elbow. He’s watching me closely to see my reaction. I’m sure he doesn’t miss the way my lips part and the breath leaves me in a short burst. He slides his fingers down until my wrist, but stops before he touches my skin. My body is aflame. My heart is throbbing in my chest.
He clears his throat. “Can I have you fathers number Habibi?”
I blink at him in disbelief. “You know what that means?”
He nods. A small smile on his beautiful lips.
“I know a lot more than that.” He takes a shaky breath and admits. “My step father is Moroccan. I’ve been Muslim since I was 12.”
I blink at him. Repeatedly. He’s watching me. Waiting for my reaction.
I think back on our time here. I thought he was eating the halaal food with me because he didn’t want me to eat alone. He’s the only other person I know here. When I’d leave to make salaah, I didn’t think about what he was doing, but he always walked me to my room. I thought he was being considerate and wanted me to be safe in a new environment.
I swallow. “Why didn’t you say anything?” I always thought he was one of those white boys who like to hang out with the coloured boys and he knew the lingo.
He scoffs. “What was I going to say? How does a person just bring that up in casual conversation?”
I frown and hit him lightly on his arm with my free hand. “You could have found some way Luke. Here I am stressing my ass off about liking you. Thinking about ways to tell my parents about you.”
My hand flies to my mouth. Did I just say that out loud? I did. I just admitted that out loud.
A slow smile spreads across his face. His hand moves from my wrist to threads his fingers through mine.
“I have feelings for you too Thuwayba.”
I blink at him. He’s still there. Surely this is a dream. A hallucination.
The tops of his cheeks are going pink. “See, I couldn’t come right out and say that I’m Muslim and the reason I’m telling you is because I want to marry you.”
My mouth must be on the floor because he did not just say that.
“What?”
“You heard me.” He doesn’t move and neither do I. “Marry me Thuwayba. I don’t want to date you. Being here these past week, hasn’t it been good? We get along. I respect you. I admire your work ethic. We share the same values. And I make you laugh.”
A snort bursts out of me. I stand there nervously chuckling at this man who makes me feel safe and comforted.
He raises his eyebrows and smiles. As if to say, see?
A replay of every minute we’ve spent together over the past year and especially this past week, flashes in my mind. I do love him. He makes me feel seen.
I breath out my acceptance of his proposal. “Yes.”
He smiles and squeezes my hand tightly.
“Send me your fathers number. I’ll call him right now.”
I bite my lip, thinking of my daddy’s reaction, knowing we are here alone together. Well, not alone, but a little alone.
I joke. “Are you prepared to get married tonight?”
He leans even closer. Serious as ever. “Yes.”
Goddamit. I pull my hand out of his, I like it too much, and step back.
“Why don’t we call my daddy together. But I’m warning you, he’s going to show up here tomorrow morning first thing.” I think I’m repeating myself to give him a chance to rethink this next part. Once I call my daddy, there’s no turning back. I reach for my phone on the table. Its still recording.
“I’m ready to be yours. Let him come.”
Ohmygod. Instead of stopping the recording, I lift dazed eyes to his.
“Thuwayba?”
“Mhmm?” Is this what a heart attack feels like. I can’t feel my body and my head is ringing.
“Call you father Habibi.”
I do and I watch this man lay out his intentions on the phone all while he looks me in the eye, promising me a life filled with this kind of overwhelming safe love. Showing up as the man I’ve come to love.