VULNERABLE

SNEAKING OUT AND SOUP

ABIDAT

I hadn’t seen Armaan for two days. Two. Whole. Days. I tried to focus on school, on my test, but every thought seemed to drift back to him. Each minute felt like an hour, and each hour like a day. I was getting restless, the kind of restless that makes you want to pace back and forth in a room, but there’s no room to pace in, and no point to it anyway. The memory of his pained expression when they were mending his leg haunted me. His screams, the way his grip tightened painfully on my hand, and the way he had fainted afterward—it all played on a loop in my mind.

On the first day, Laila visited me. I was still sick, my body weak and feverish, but I couldn’t help but appreciate her concern. She brought soup from Mama and told me to rest. I couldn’t shake off the image of Armaan in pain, though, and the fever only made it worse. School the next day didn’t help my condition either. The rumor mill had kicked into overdrive, and the latest story? Apparently, Armaan and that “pretty fatso”—what was her name again?—were dating. I couldn’t even bring myself to be angry. I was too drained. All I could think was, "How do people come up with this nonsense?" I almost wished the rumor was true, just so I could confront him about it. The thought made me laugh, though it was a tired, almost delirious kind of laugh.

But today, things were different. Today, I wasn’t in school. I had snuck out. I could feel my heart racing as I sat in the back of an Uber, Laila by my side, staring at her phone. The driver was silent, thankfully not the chatty type. I was thankful for Laila, too. She had been the mastermind behind this little escapade. She found Armaan’s address, tracked down his condition—a mild sprain—and assured me he’d be fine in 1 to 3 weeks. But that was too long. Way too long.

On my lap was a box of Dairy Milk chocolates, which Laila had learned was his favorite, and a small pack of cheese balls. I’d also convinced Mama to let me bring along some of her famous pepper soup, though I had to beg and plead for that one. Mama didn’t want me out of the house at all, still fretting over my fever. But I couldn’t stay away. I had to see him.

I sighed, glancing at Laila, who seemed lost in whatever she was doing on her phone. I was grateful to her, really. Without her help, I’d still be lying in bed, worrying endlessly about Armaan. Now, at least, I was doing something. The driver suddenly announced our arrival, pulling me from my thoughts.

“We’re here,” he said, glancing at us through the rearview mirror.

Laila was the first to respond. She quickly pocketed her phone and nudged me. “You ready?”

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure if I was. My hands were clammy, and my heart felt like it was about to leap out of my chest. I paid the driver before getting out, my eyes immediately taking in the house before us. House wasn’t the right word for it. It was a mansion, no doubt. It looked strangely familiar, though I couldn’t quite place it. The exterior was a mix of gold and cream, with wide, imposing doors that made me feel even smaller than usual.

Laila noticed my hesitation and raised an eyebrow. “What’s up? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I shook my head, laughing it off. “It’s just…this house. It looks familiar.”

“Maybe you’ve passed by it before,” she suggested with a shrug. “Armaan’s family is pretty well off, I guess.”

"Pretty well off" was an understatement. I knew Armaan came from a wealthy family, but I hadn’t expected this. The place was massive, with perfectly manicured lawns and a driveway that could fit several cars. The gold and cream theme extended throughout, giving it a regal, almost intimidating appearance.

We approached the door, and I hesitated again. Laila, however, didn’t seem fazed. She rang the bell confidently, and within seconds, a maid appeared, smiling politely at us.

“Good afternoon,” she greeted, stepping aside to let us in. “Please, follow me.”

The inside of the house was even more stunning than the outside. Gold-colored lights hung from the ceiling, illuminating the space with a warm glow. The walls were adorned with a mix of gold and mahogany accents, and the faint smell of turaren wuta and lemon lingered in the air. I couldn’t help but notice the intricate details—the polished wooden floors, the grand staircase, the artwork that decorated the walls. Everything was immaculate.

The maid led us through the house, up several flights of stairs. “The house has ten bedrooms,” she mentioned casually as we ascended, probwbky noticing our heavy breaths by now. I exchanged a look with Laila, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing. On the fourth floor, the decor changed slightly. Instead of the dominant gold and mahogany, there was a touch of silver—on the railings, the light fixtures, even the carpet. Laila glanced around and whispered, “Silver must be his favorite color.”

The maid finally stopped at a door and knocked softly. A faint “Come in” came from the other side, and my heart skipped a beat. Laila entered first, greeting Armaan cheerfully. I hesitated, my hand on the doorframe, before taking a deep breath and stepping inside.

Armaan was lying on his bed, his sprained ankle propped up and wrapped in an elastic bandage. His hair was tousled, and he looked bored out of his mind. But when he saw me, a smile broke across his face, and I couldn’t help but smile back, wider than I’d intended.

“As-salamu alaykum, Armaan,” I greeted him in Arabic, hoping to mask the nervousness in my voice.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Wa alaykum as-salam, Abidat. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I didn’t expect to be here either,” I admitted, walking over to his bed and setting the box of chocolates on his lap. “But, you know, I couldn’t resist. And I heard you like Dairy Milk?”

He chuckled, picking up a chocolate and unwrapping it. “Guilty as charged.” He popped it into his mouth, savoring it like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

We talked for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes. We discussed school—how boring it was without him, how the teachers were piling on the assignments. I made a few jokes about our classmates, which had him laughing so hard I thought he might hurt himself again. It was the kind of laughter that made my chest feel light, like everything was right in the world, even if just for a moment.

At one point, I caught him looking at me, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual. My cheeks warmed, but I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the conversation. I handed him the cheese balls, and he immediately tore into them, grinning from ear to ear. I couldn’t help but laugh at how enthusiastic he was, and he shot me a playful glare.

“Hey, don’t judge,” he said, his mouth full of cheese balls. “These are the best.”

“I’m not judging,” I said, holding up my hands defensively. “I’m just enjoying the show.”

Time flew by, and before I knew it, Laila was nudging me, reminding me that we had to go. My heart sank a little at the thought of leaving, but I knew we had to get back before we were missed. I stood up reluctantly, realizing only then that Armaan and I had been holding hands the entire time. I quickly let go, feeling my cheeks heat up again.

“Thanks for coming,” Armaan said, his voice soft. “It really means a lot.”

“Of course,” I replied, trying to sound casual even though my heart was racing. “Get well soon, okay?”

He smiled, and for a moment, I didn’t want to leave. But I forced myself to step back, giving him a small wave before heading for the door. Laila followed, and as we left his room, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed between us.

We made it back to school just in time. As the driver took us home, exhaustion finally caught up with me. My head throbbed, and I could feel sleep pulling me under.

and unlike the past few days I let it.

~~~~

Clap for me my people I have ascended.

Yep so now that I have updated I feel better.

I may now sleep, I'm so happy for the reads and I hope to finish this book and not leave you hanging.