The Cult of Romeo

II. Lurking in the Shadows

Act 1, Scene 2

My eyes fluttered open slowly. From the smell of fresh books and the soft sound of pages turning, I judged that I'd fallen asleep in the library, again. My limbs were so heavy that I could barely move them and my head span so wildly that I refused to open my eyes. It wasn't an odd occurrence for me to succumb to slumber wherever I was but it never left me any less confused and sore.

I once fell asleep on the piano while playing Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata to my Nana on her birthday. I'm not sure if she noticed the difference, though, my mum did have quite the shock when my face suddenly hit the keys with a loud and unsatisfying racket.

When I finally felt as though I could breathe normally again, I opened my eyes to the dim lighting of the school library. Looming bookcases that hid peering eyes canopied me in the corner and the window beside me beamed light from the grey sky outside. I noticed my neck had an uncomfortable crick when I lifted it to follow the table in front of me. A boy sat quietly in the seat opposite mine. 

He leant over the table and scribbled quickly in his notebook as writing littered not only the pages but his brown skin too. I saw from the rolled-up sleeves of his sweatshirt that the words travelled across his wrists and snaked up his forearms like long and incoherent tattoos. From the deep crease in his brow, I saw that Khaleel Rahim, the boy from last night, was lost in concentration; mumbling under his breath as he wrote erratically.

A travel mug sat directly in front of me and my fingers grazed the metal. It wasn't mine.

"Khaleel," I croaked and his head snapped up to meet my eyes.

I saw a slow grin travel up his lips as he greeted me cheerfully.

"Hello, Sleepy," he joked. "I promise stalking you was definitely not on the agenda for today. But, you see, I came to the library to get a book and saw you asleep. So, I ran to the kitchen, begged them to fill my mug and then I ran back hoping you were still asleep, which you were. So, yeah, that's your tea." He gestured to the mug.

My hand wrapped around the warmth and I saw his name printed on the side in curly letters.

"Thanks," I mumbled and took a sip. It was nice.

He waited a moment, watching me drink the tea and gauging my reaction. Then, he spoke, "So, my book?"

I didn't sigh, or roll my eyes, or throw a tantrum. Instead, I cocked my head to the side and stared at him. I watched as he breathed deeply, how he licked his pink lips and flicked his soft curls out of his eyes.

I placed my elbows on the table and set my face in the palm of my hands. There was a sense of openness in his body language - like he was daring me to read his thoughts. It wasn't arrogant or impolite, just confident and ready to show me everything.

"I know who you are," I declared. "You're Aabir Rahim's son, right?"

His brown eyes widened, only a fraction before they twinkled with amusement. Before bed, I'd done my research on the odd boy who'd snuck up on me in the kitchen last night and discovered some interesting facts. "Your father runs Portes Hotels, yes?"

"It was never a secret," he shrugged.

"Do you know that my father and his brothers aren't exactly your family's biggest fan? Well, specifically your father's biggest fan."

Khaleel clicked the pen in his hand over and over again. "Yes, well that would make sense. Considering that your family and mine are in competition for the best hotels. Still, that has nothing to do with me."

While he uttered those words, I almost believed him. His big brown eyes, wide with innocence, were easy to believe. But, I wasn't easily swayed.

"My dad wouldn't be happy to see me talking to you." I leant back in my seat as my eyes followed his over the mug and I drank in not only the tea but his expression too. Khaleel leant over the table slightly in a challenge, with his chest puffed out and eyes swimming with playfulness. Like a puppy who didn't quite know how small he was yet.