Closer To You

𝟒. 𝐇𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐙𝐚𝐡𝐫𝐚 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞

As I make my way home, I feel my head pounding. Afifa's words won't leave my mind. On top of that, I have received three pieces of homework from my subject teachers and was just notified of a progress test in my psychology lesson next week.

This weekend will be a busy one.

Today has been a mentally gruelling day, and I am ready to begin my Jummah (Friday) activities to recharge. Typically, this includes reading Surah Al-Kahf (The Cave), cleaning up the house a bit, and giving Sadqah (charity). I already cleaned myself in the morning before school, and I read dhuhr (noon prayer) in the prayer room with Afifa at lunchtime. When these activities are complete, I usually feel happy and fulfilled, as if I can survive another week.

[Surah Al-Kahf is the 18th chapter of the Quran. It is said that if anyone recites Surah Al-Kahf on a Friday, which Muslims regard as a blessed day, then the light will shine brightly on that person till the next Friday]

As I approach the front door to my house, my eyes cascade through the driveway. Autumn leaves scatter the plane, overgrown weeds are visible between my mother's plants and garden furniture is carelessly toppled over. The winds have been intense today, indicating that the furniture should be placed away in the shed. There was a time when this garden was fit to rival top celebrity gardens. You know, those gardens that are worked on by a dozen professional gardeners who are always on duty? There's never a misplaced leaf. Everything's perfect...

Our garden used to be like that too...all handled by my mother.

And now that she's gone, the world can see the impact.

Sighing, I drop my backpack on the pebbled driveway. I pick two chairs under my arms and heave them to the shed adjacent to the house, slightly wobbling as the wind blows heavily again.  I hear the scrape of the remaining chairs flying across the driveway. I squint my eyes at the sky.

"Really?" I say.

"Weather's acting up today, isn't it?"

I gaze confusingly at the clear sky. The sky can't talk.

I hear a muffled laugh, followed by, "Right behind you." The humoured voice makes me turn around.

Hassan's familiar face is staring at me. His cheeks are stretched into a half smile, so one side of his lip is upturned. Like me, he has a backpack on his shoulder and seems to be on his way back from school. But what is he doing here?

I take some small steps forward. I turn to look at my house's front door. It is shut. But my Dad is inside.

"What are you doing here? Did you get lost again?" I question.

He scrunches his nose as if he has tasted something sour. "No, I didn't get lost again."

Oh. I raise my eyebrow. That still doesn't answer the question of why he is here.

"Actually..." he scratches the back of his neck, seeming nervous. "I followed you here."

I stare blankly at him. My Dad, the person I respect most in this world, is inside the house, and this person, this boy, is saying that he followed me home. If what he is saying is true, he's crossing all limits.

But I'll give him the benefit of the doubt.

I nod my head slowly, "Can I ask why?"

He looks at me wide-eyed. Again, what is with his wide-eyed stare? It's as if he's always constantly alarmed.

He says nothing for a few seconds, but then he quietly speaks, "To be honest, my parents told me to look out for a girl called Zahra Hussain when I came to Kingston Sixth Form. The moment we met, I didn't know your name, but when Mrs Carter gave your name while she was giving us that lecture, I realised you were what my parents were talking about, Zahra."