The Flying Dreams

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The only thing about the metro that made me annoyed was the crowd. We had to stand in a long queue of girls to check out and when I tried to complain, Shifa said, "You should be grateful that I had two passes, else you'll have to stand even in a longer line." And I guess, she was right. I saw the line on the token counter and suddenly felt more than grateful that Shifa, for some reason had two entry passes. The metro station was not much different than some railway stations, just a tad bit nicer in interior design and that was all. And yes, of course, people here wore fancier clothes and even fancier hairstyles. Shifa led me through the token check-out point and took my hand in hers without asking and began explaining why she needed to hold my hand, "Wahab would kill me if I lost you in here."

I didn't reply to her, instead made a comment on the crowd and long lines of people.

"You shouldn't worry about the rush; your classes will likely start before the crowd gets here. You can take my spare pass, but we'll have to check the balance in it."

Did she have any idea how uncomfortable I felt at that moment? Probably not, she couldn't possibly have any notion how much her soft and warm hand holding mine distracted me from her voice and how the conversation I overheard tickled my mind. She kept talking. I lost track after a while and worried that my lack of focus would show on my face, and she would know what I was thinking. So, I made a noise in the back of my throat and with a single sneak trick, took out my hand from her grasp. Bringing my now free hand to my head, I fiddled with my hijab. Beside me, Shifa chuckled.

"Hijab. It never knows how to stay in its place, does it?"

I might have imagined it, but her words almost sounded full of contempt, and I wondered why.

I smiled or at least tried to but it was getting harder to smile in her presence. She talked to a girl as I did with Wahab, or my engaged cousins did to their fiancés. How could I forget that? But she seemed too carefree and unlike anyone indulging in an act of sin. If what I thought of was true, then Wahab had sent me to live with a sinner. Islam strictly prohibited homosexuality, no wonder she didn't dress or talk in the appropriate manner. I now knew why I hadn't seen her pray even once. Her previous comment on my hijab did manage to take my attention, though. I cocked my head aside and looked at her, how did she know? She didn't wear hijab and seemed to have lost all sense of propriety. My eyes looked at her attire; her white shirt and blue jeans made me scoff; however, it was her hair, coming about her chin that compelled me to ask, "How would you know?"

I felt a slight nudge on my side and Shifa moved a little away to let the stranger pass who was trying to move through. She kept her silence this time and didn't make any effort to talk again. The ride was spent in an uncomfortable stillness. I didn't know if it was a good thing or bad as something in my mind kept whispering, what I asked was wrong. I should not have asked her about the hijab. If she felt confident enough to make such a comment, that only meant one thing—she did know how it feels to wear a hijab. How could I forget her mother's means of conduct? Besides what did it matter to me or to anyone else for that matter whom she talked to and in what manner? Certainly not me. I had no right to ask her what I did. I had no right to judge her for a private conversation between her and her friend, if anything I should be judging myself for eavesdropping on her. But my mother's voice was stronger in my head. I did have the right to judge her for continuously committing a sin.

I tried to make small talk but all I got from her was an annoyed look and more silence. Shifa didn't get a seat for the rest of the ride after she offered her seat to an elderly-looking woman with a heavy tote bag. I sat with her backpack on my lap, and she stood in front of me, holding the rail on the roof of the metro. And at last, about thirty minutes or so, we reached our destination, Shifa tapped my shoulder and inclined her chin. I nodded and tried to walk toward the gate, elbowing my way to it. And then I felt it. A hand on my lower back, almost on top of my hips. My heartbeat increased and suddenly I wanted to cry but my mind kept me at ease. There were so many people trying to get to the gate, it could be an accident, I thought but the hand touching me put some more force and I couldn't look back to see who it was. My eyes watered and my heart felt like it might burst out of my chest. This had happened to me before and I knew I was being groped but this time not by a family member but a total stranger who probably hadn't even seen my face. I knew I couldn't take it and would have started to weep right there in the middle of the crowd but then, the hand was gone. I didn't hear it but felt it, Shifa's hand came about my arm and held my wrist. I saw her look back through the black window of the metro gates, and I knew she was looking at the man who had thought it would be alright to touch someone without their permission. Do people not understand why some girls wore hijab or burqa? I guess, my grandmother was wrong when she said, boys wouldn't even look at girls if only girls have the sense to dress properly.

With my shaky breath, I didn't turn my head toward her but said, "Thank you."

Shifa didn't reply but her grip on my wrist tightened, and I saw her taking a step back and standing directly behind me. Putting me at a distance from each and every other passenger in the queue to get out on the next station. I eavesdropped on her private conversation, thought bad about her, almost ratted her out to her cousin, tried to keep my distance from her after hearing her talk to another girl in the same manner a boyfriend might to his girlfriend. Judged her for almost everything she did. And yet. And yet, there she was. The hand was gone from my body, but a tear still spilled. Not for the reason, one might expect. Shifa's body lowered behind me and her voice in my ear tried to calm me down, a slight tone of panic in her words, "It's okay, Adia. Don't cry, please."

Stupid Shifa. Stupid Shifa telling me not to cry only made me cry more but...also smile.

"You're stupid, Shifa."

She must have opened her mouth to retort as I felt her breath on my ear but then the gates opened and I stepped out, Shifa did after me but her grip on my wrist hadn't loosened and for it, I was grateful.