Chapter 13

alfway into the semester, I broke a promise I made to myself. I didn’t
see it coming. It all started when I texted Ahmad while heading back
to the rez from a study session with Ada and Sara. How are you feeling,
bae? His reply took longer than usual. In fact, I didn’t hear back from him
until after I prayed Maghrib. It was a phone call. “Hello?” I answered,
wearing a black abaya I’d changed into after taking a quick shower that
evening.
“Bae?” he cleared his throat.
“How are you feeling?” I asked. He’d been down with the flu that had
been going around. When we spoke earlier that morning, he’d been sure it
would pass in a few hours.
“Ugh. Still bad.”
“Have you taken your meds?”
“Not yet,” he answered, barely audible.
I sighed, “I’m coming over.”
“No, baby, it’s okay. I’ll take them later, I promise.”
“On my way.”
“Fa’iza, don’t worry about it. I don’t want you to get sick,” he mumbled
into the phone.
“I’m probably already sick. You’ve been drinking from my cup all
week,” I said, as I left my room and closed the door. We often found

ourselves sharing cutlery as we tasted each other’s food and drank from the
same straw. If he had the flu, there was a big chance that I also had one
coming.
I called for a taxi before getting into the elevator, and it was already
outside the residence by the time I got out of the main doors. I gave the
driver the address, and in no time, I was letting myself into the building
with my fob.
As I opened the door to his apartment, he came out of his room in his
black hoodie and slacks, looking surprised when he saw me. “Babe, I don’t
want you to fall sick,” he groaned. I shrugged as if to say, “too late for that
now,” and he engulfed me into a tight hug, burying his head in the nook of
my neck. I pulled away and looked at his face. The only tell-tale sign that
he wasn’t feeling great was that his eyes were a little reddened.
I looked at the unopened brown paper bags that laid untouched on the
kitchen island. “You haven’t eaten all day, have you?”
“I don’t have an appetite,” he walked to the living room and fell on the
couch. I shook my head and opened the bags, put the bowl of stir-fried rice
in the fridge and warmed up the bowl of chicken noodle soup in the
microwave. Then I got a glass of water and set them on the table next to his
medication.
“Bae,” I called out. When he didn’t answer, I walked towards the couch
and found him asleep, his left arm across his face.
I touched it lightly. “Bae?”
He stirred, “hmm?”
“You have to eat,” I gestured towards the dining table.
“Thanks, babe,” he smiled lazily at me, then stood up and walked to the
table. “Let’s eat.”

“I already had dinner,” I said, pulling the chair next to him and sitting
down. While he ate, I went through the bag that contained his medication.
They were all unopened.
When he was done, I moved them toward him, and he narrowed his
eyes. “I’m already better,” he started to say, trying to avoid taking the bright
blue tablets.
“Drink,” I said, giving him the tablet and some water, and he did just
that.
“Thanks for coming,” he said after a short while. I smiled at him, I
didn’t have to say it, but I knew he would do the same for me.
After we prayed Isha, he removed his hoodie and was now wearing a
white T-shirt. He looked considerably better. We were on the couch
watching a cooking show on The Food Network when he moved closer and
put his head on my thigh. I combed my fingers through his hair, and when I
glanced down at him 15 minutes later, his eyes were closed, and his chest
was heaving gently. He looked so peaceful. I didn’t want to wake him up,
so I turned down the sound of the television and watched the rest of the
show with subtitles. Thirty minutes later, he opened his eyes and looked up
at me. I was tapping away my phone. “What are you doing?” he asked
quietly.
“I’m calling a cab,” I wasn’t going to allow him to drive me back to the
rez in his current state. “How are you feeling?”
He inhaled as he stretched his neck to the side, “I feel better.” He looked
at the clock. It was a few minutes past nine.
“That’s good,” I said. I was glad to hear that.
“It’s late,” he sat up, his eyes settled on mine.
“Yeah, these shows take forever to get to the final challenge.”

“Spend the night.”
“What?”
“Spend the night,” he said again, quietly, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Um… no,” I paused tentatively. I couldn’t. How could I? “No, I can’t.”
“You can’t, or you don’t want to?” he asked.
Can’t, won’t – does it matter? I thought to myself. “Ahmad, you know I
can’t.”
“Why not?” he asked again, quietly. The cooking show was over now,
and ads were playing noiselessly in the background, the light from the
television shining on our faces.
“It’s not appropriate…”
“You don’t trust yourself to spend the night here?” he asked, “or you
don’t trust me?”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, getting up to leave.
“Fa’iza,” he was serious now. “The meds are making me drowsy; I can’t
drive you back, and I don’t want you in a cab alone at this time.”
“It’s not even a 5-minute ride,” I said, “I’ll call you as soon as I get
back, so you know I’m safe.”
“Please stay,” he pleaded.
I opened my mouth and closed it. I had never spent the night with him.
What if somebody found out? How would that look?
“I’ll drop you back in the morning,” he said. “You know you have
nothing to worry about.”
“I don’t have my pyjamas,” I said, although that was the least of my
concerns, “or my toothbrush.”
He answered almost immediately, “You can wear my shirt, and I’m sure
I have an extra toothbrush somewhere.”

I said nothing. I put my hand to my head and rubbed my eyebrows.
What can possibly go wrong? It’s Ahmad. He has never given me a reason
to be uncomfortable around him. Besides, I spend so much time in his
apartment already, I thought.
“What do you want me to say – that I’ll sleep on the couch?” he leaned
back into the couch and spread his arms out. “Is that what you would make
you comfortable?”
“Where’s the extra toothbrush?” I asked as I walked into the bedroom,
“it’s already way past my bedtime.”
He followed me. I felt my heart pounding away as I collected the new
toothbrush. “Help yourself,” he said, gesturing to the neat rows of shirts
hanging in his walk-in closet at the other end of the room. His phone started
buzzing and he muttered, “I’ve gotta take this,” as he walked towards the
living room.
I sighed, grateful for the privacy. I looked around the dimly lit bedroom
in the apartment with its black and brown decor. I’d been in here many
times, but it felt different this time. I was acutely conscious of the faint
scent of a Maison Francis Kurkdjian oud that enveloped me, the luxurious
soft feel of the carpet underneath my bare feet, the gentle hum of the air
conditioner, which was now the only audible sound in the room as I walked
to the dark, spacious closet. The motion sensor activated the ceiling lights
when I walked in, and multiple rows of perfectly folded white T-shirts
revealed themselves. Then the colored ones – mostly blues and blacks. His
silk ties and wristwatches were in a clear display unit just below them.
Above the T-shirts hung dress shirts. I grabbed one that looked bigger than
the rest. It was a long-sleeved white shirt with clear buttons and a stiff
collar, and I carried it into the bathroom, the quiet night air interrupted by

the sound of my brushing my teeth. When I was done, I took off my abaya
and wore the shirt over my bra and underwear and retied the scarf around
my head.
What if I toss and turn in my sleep, and my boobs peek out between the
buttons? I would die of embarrassment, I thought. What if I snore? It was
beginning to look like a long, sleepless night. I walked back into the empty
room, pulling the shirt down. But it could only stop mid-thigh. It was an
oversized shirt on me, and the sleeves went past my hands. I quickly got
into bed and under the covers, looking at the ceiling with my fingers
clasped over my chest.
Claire. I have to text her. Whenever she was not spending the night at
the rez, she always made sure to text me so that I wouldn’t worry. I got up
from the bed, got my phone, and began typing her the text. At my
guardians… That was a lie. I deleted it. Staying over at Ahmad’s, I started to
type but deleted it. Too much information. Not coming back tonight, see you
tomorrow. Sent.
I dropped my phone and walked back to bed. It’d been a long day and
when my head sank in the memory foam pillows, I could feel my eyes
closing. But somehow, I willed myself to stay awake. Some minutes later –
maybe 15 or 50 minutes (I’d lost track of time), I opened my eyes. The door
to the room was opening slowly. Ahmad walked in, typing absentmindedly
on his phone. Without looking up at the bed, he walked into the bathroom,
closed the door and a few seconds later, the shower was turned on. After
some minutes, he walked out with a white towel wrapped around his waist
and was drying his hair with another. The black ink of the upper chest tattoo
was now very visible. They were French words with Roman numerals
etched across. I held my breath. He looked good half-naked, I thought,

maybe even better than the Nate Archibald from Gossip Girl. His whole
chest was glistening with wetness he didn’t bother to dry off as he walked
further into the room, and I found myself looking at his chest and going
lower.
“Oh,” he said quietly, “I thought you were asleep already?” He suddenly
looked towards the bed. I shook my head. “The shower woke you up?” he
asked with a puzzled look on his face. “I didn’t know you were such a light
sleeper.” He went into the closet. I heard some rummaging, and then he
came out with a pair of black boxers on. It made me remember the day I
walked into his bedroom at his parent’s house when he was sleeping in his
boxers. Is that a regular thing? I thought as I watched him come closer to
the bed. He picked up two pillows from the bed and smiled. “Go back to
sleep, babe,” he said when he caught me looking at him and started walking
towards the door.
“Where are you going?” I blurted out despite myself.
“To the couch,” he said with a smile on his face. He started to open the
door.
“The couch is uncomfortable,” I twiddled my thumbs underneath the
covers. The black leather sectional in the living room was both stunning and
aesthetically pleasing, but comfort was not one of its strong points – at least
not for someone as tall as Ahmad. His neck would be badly cramped in a
couple of hours.
“It’s just for a night. I’ll be fine,” he was out of the door now, pulling it
to a close.
“Ahmad.” I heard myself call out.
“Yes?”
“The bed’s big enough… if you want.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with that?”
I don’t know, Maybe. “Yes,” I said, “as long as you keep to your side of
the bed.”
He chuckled and started walking back into the dimly lit room. I turned
over to my side, away from him, staring at the abstract art on the wall. He
threw the pillows back on the bed, and my heart began pounding loudly in
my ears as I felt the dip of the bed when he put his weight on it. I heard a
click as he switched off the bedside lamp, and we were soon engulfed in
darkness. “Goodnight, babe.”
“Na-night,” I replied, as I stared straight into the darkness.

* * *

I opened my eyes. It took a few seconds for them to adjust to the darkness,
and when they did, they settled on the brown wall decals and the artwork I
had fallen asleep looking at. I suddenly remembered that I was not in my
bed and felt my body stiffen in defense. The only light in the room was a
faint blue glow from a digital clock mounted on the wall. It was 2:59 am.
I’d been asleep for a little while. I threw the covers off of me and tip-toed to
the bathroom. Behind the closed doors, I thanked God for the faint glow of
the night light on the wall that came on in the restroom; it wasn’t bright
enough to wake Ahmad up, but it also helped me find my way around
without bumping into anything. I found my way to the toilet seat to pee, and
as I washed my hands afterwards, I looked up at the mirror. My scarf was
back in the bed, and my low ponytail was almost undone.

I turned off the faucet and made my way back into the room, the
coolness from the air conditioning urging me to hurry back under the
covers, and I did just that. I turned to my side and realized Ahmad was wide
awake – shirtless, one hand behind his head on propped-up pillows. That
body. I looked back at his face and could make out a half-smile in the
darkness.
“Sorry I woke you up,” I said as I pulled the covers up to my chest.
There was a lot of space between us, yet it seemed like the room was not
big enough for both of us.
“Don’t apologize, I haven’t been able to sleep.”
“Have you taken your midnight dose?” I asked, and he nodded in
response. “How do you feel?”
“I feel much better.”
“So, why can’t you sleep?” I asked.
“This is actually harder than I thought,” he sighed.
“What is?”
He closed his eyes and turned around to face the ceiling, lost in thought
as though he was considering his words. “Being this close to you and not
being able to touch you.”
Oh.
“Did that make you uncomfortable?” He asked, breaking the silence
after what felt like forever.
“What?”
“That you turn me on so much?”