ECHOES OF DEFIANCE

chapter 2

It's Monday, the first day of school. I haven’t stepped out of my apartment since that fateful encounter with Zain—the snobbish Zain. For three days now, I’ve kept to myself, only peeking outside to take out the trash, ordering food from a nearby halal restaurant. But today, I have no choice but to go out. It's time to handle my registration at SNU—Seoul National University, Korea’s number one university. I know better than to slack. I’m here to study entrepreneurship, and I can't afford any delays.

After a quick breakfast, I took a long, refreshing shower and recited a Juz’ of the Holy Qur’an. I make it a daily habit to recite a Juz’, completing the Qur’an every month. Feeling at peace, I headed to my wardrobe, selecting an olive-colored abaya, a white jersey veil, and a pair of sneakers. My crossbody bag hung neatly on the closet door, waiting for me. I love my veils—especially my whites. I have about thirty, all in different shades of white, perfectly complementing my darker abayas. There’s just something about the way they brighten my brown skin.

Satisfied with my appearance, I gathered my essentials and headed out. My apartment is only a two-minute walk to SNU, so I opted to walk instead of taking a taxi. The crisp autumn air brushed against my face as I strolled to the campus, a mix of excitement and anxiety bubbling in my chest.

The registration process was smoother than I expected. After spending a year learning Hangul through K-dramas and Duolingo, I found the language easier than I anticipated. In the cafeteria, I spotted a Turkish girl sitting alone. She wore a hijab, and I felt an immediate connection. I introduced myself, and soon we were chatting like old friends. Her name was Özge, and she was a freshman like me, though she lived on campus. We exchanged numbers, and after some more lighthearted conversation, I excused myself.

On my way back, I decided to stop by a Turkish café to grab some toast. As I waited for my order, I noticed a familiar figure on a power bike. Even with the helmet on, I recognized him immediately. Zain. Our eyes met for a brief moment as he pulled into my building’s parking lot. The intensity in his gaze sent a shiver down my spine, and I quickly looked away. I collected my parcel from the reception, trying to brush off the unsettling feeling that came with seeing him again.

As I rode the elevator up to my apartment, my phone rang. "Assalamu alaikum, Mom," I greeted her warmly.

"Ina yini?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern. "You sound tired. How’s school?"

"A bit," I replied, a small smile playing on my lips. "I just got back to my apartment."

"Alright then, take care. We’ll talk later."

I hung up, only for my phone to ring again. This time, it was Ya Usman, my older cousin who always felt like a brother to me. After exchanging pleasantries, he started asking about my experience in Korea and how school was going. We chatted comfortably until I remembered something.

"Ya Usman, I saw your snobbish friend today," I said, rolling my eyes.

He laughed heartily. "Zain? So it was SNU after all! After all that hiding, you’ve found his secret lair!"

"If I had known, I wouldn't have come here. Who wants the same alma mater as him?" I pouted, even though I knew he couldn’t see me.

"Hana, rigima. What's your issue with Zain?" he teased. "He’s a nice guy. You two just can’t seem to get along since we were kids."

"He’s a snob," I retorted. "He thinks he’s better than everyone else."

"And he thinks you’re arrogant." Ya Usman chuckled. "You two have been at each other's throats for as long as I can remember."

"Well, I am only arrogant to people who think they’re the center of the universe," I shot back.

"Allah ya shirya ku," he said between chuckles. We both laughed, and the conversation shifted to lighter topics.

Seven weeks passed, and I found myself growing accustomed to life in Korea. The food, the people, and even the pop culture felt like a new, exciting adventure. Özge had introduced me to one of her friends, Ha Young, a Korean student who had taken us under her wing. Every weekend, she’d show us around Seoul, and we were slowly discovering the city’s hidden gems.

One Saturday morning, I decided to stay in and do some deep cleaning. As I tidied the kitchen island, I heard a knock at the door. Özge and Ha Young weren’t coming over, so I wondered who it could be. I opened the door and was greeted by a surprise—Mom, Amma, and Ya Usman. My heart swelled with happiness, and I quickly hugged them all.

"Ya Usman, what’s wrong with Amma? Why does she look so pale?" I asked, concern filling my voice.

Mom responded before Ya Usman could. "It’s her stomach again. We’ll be seeing a doctor here."

My heart sank. Even though the tumor had been removed, Amma still suffered from stomach issues. We spent the rest of the day chatting before they headed to their hotel, and I accompanied them. As we walked back, a familiar honk made me glance back. There he was—Zain—on his power bike. He greeted Ya Usman, but his eyes barely glanced my way. I didn’t care. I said goodbye to Ya Usman and made my way back to my apartment.

The day of Amma's doctor’s appointment, I arrived at the hotel early, and there he was, standing by his car. Zain looked as arrogant as ever, leaning against his Tesla, his face set in that perpetual mask of indifference. His wealth and status always made people suspicious of him—how could a 21-year-old afford a Tesla in a foreign country? But that wasn’t any of my concern.

“What’s he doing here?” I mumbled to myself as I approached the entrance. Just as I was about to pass him, he made that annoying "tsk" sound, a habit of his whenever he referred to me. I ignored him, but my chest tightened when I heard his voice.

"Hana," he called out, the sound of my name from his lips sending an unexpected jolt through me.

I refused to acknowledge him and marched straight to the elevator. He followed silently, his presence suffocating. We stood in awkward silence as I pressed the button for the sixth floor, where Amma and Mom were waiting. Just before we reached our destination, his voice broke the silence.

"I don’t have Usman’s contact. Could you let them know I’m here? I’ll take them to Samsangdong, if they don’t mind."

I didn’t respond. Instead, I knocked on the door, feeling a strange weight settle in my chest.

Later, as we sat together in the hotel room, Mom started talking about my cousin Falmata's upcoming wedding. I listened, trying to push away my worries about Amma’s health. Zain was in the room, speaking casually with Mom and Amma. I greeted him briefly, but it was clear I had no interest in conversing with him.

When it was time to return to my apartment, Ya Usman, exhausted, asked Zain to drive me back. I didn’t want to go with him, but I couldn’t refuse in front of Mom or Amma. Reluctantly, I followed him to his car, but once we reached the entrance, I began walking on my own.

"Farhana," he called out, and this time, he used my full name. It was the first time I had ever heard him call me by name, not his usual "tsk."

I stopped, my breath catching as I turned to face him. His dark eyes locked with mine, a hint of something unfamiliar flickering within them. His gaze was intense, unwavering.

"What?" I snapped, trying to sound unaffected.

"Let me take you. We live in the same place."

I furrowed my brows. "What do you mean we live in the same place?"

"Let me show you." He opened the car door, his voice surprisingly soft. "Your brother asked me to take you home. I can’t leave you here."

This was the longest conversation we’d had in our entire lives. With a sigh, I got into the car. We drove in silence, the tension thick between us. When we arrived at my building, we entered the elevator, and he pressed the button for the penthouse.

When the doors opened, he turned to me. "This is my home. Would you like to come in?"

I shook my head firmly. "No."

I pressed the button for the 19th floor, the floor just below the penthouse—my floor. The doors closed, leaving us in the charged silence of our unspoken history.