Unexpected love

THE FIRST MEETING

Chapter 1: 

I didn't expect much from the night. After my last heartbreak, I'd sworn off dating for a while, convinced that diving into anything too soon would only lead to more hurt. So, when Gemma called, practically begging me to meet Omar's best friend, I'd almost said no.

"Come on, just meet him," she urged, her voice pleading over the phone. "He's Omar's best friend, and I think you two will really hit it off. Besides, we're just going to a hookah lounge. It's not like you're committing to anything. Just a low-key night out."

With a sigh, I reluctantly agreed, not wanting to disappoint her. I reminded myself it wasn't a date—just a casual meet-up with friends. But as I drove to the lounge, I couldn't shake a flicker of nerves twisting in my stomach. I wasn't excited, exactly, but I couldn't deny a tiny spark of curiosity.

The lounge was tucked away on a quieter street, its exterior modest but inviting, strung with warm lights around the entrance. Inside, dim lighting cast a cozy glow over deep cushions and sleek tables. The rich, heady scent of flavored tobacco mixed with faint traces of mint and rosewood wrapped around me like a warm blanket.

I spotted Gemma waving me over, and as I walked toward them, I saw him—the man seated beside Omar. He was tall, tan-skinned, and had this calm, confident presence about him. His features were sharp, his jaw chiseled, but when he smiled, his whole expression softened in a way that made me stop in my tracks. It wasn't a showy grin like some of the guys I'd met before; it felt genuine, like he meant it.

Gemma gave me a mischievous grin as I joined the group. "Journee, this is Fahad," she said, and I noticed a subtle, knowing look in her eyes.

Fahad stood up as I approached, his gaze steady and warm. Before I could fully process what was happening, he leaned in close, brushing two soft kisses against my cheeks in greeting. My body froze for a moment, chills rushing through me from the unexpected closeness. I wasn't used to being greeted this way—by anyone, let alone a stranger—and it sent a shock through my senses. But it wasn't unpleasant. Not at all.

When he pulled back, he must have seen the surprise on my face because he let out a soft chuckle, his smile turning slightly sheepish. "I'm sorry if that was too forward," he said, his accent warm and melodic. "It's just how we greet people in my country."

My heart was still racing as I blinked, trying to steady myself. "No, it's fine. I just... wasn't expecting it."

I could still feel the slight warmth of his kisses lingering on my skin. As I took my seat beside Gemma, I realized my cheeks were flushed, and I couldn't quite shake the strange, fluttery feeling in my stomach. It's just a cultural thing, I told myself, but the butterflies didn't seem to care.

The lounge's cozy atmosphere only made everything feel more intimate. Soft music played in the background, blending with the low hum of conversation around us. Across the table, Omar and Gemma were already setting up a hookah pipe, smoke curling lazily into the air between them as they laughed and passed the mouthpiece back and forth.

I stole a few glances at Fahad as the night went on. There was something about him that drew me in—maybe it was the thoughtfulness in his tone, or the way his eyes sparkled with a hidden warmth whenever he laughed. He seemed different from anyone I'd met before, but I couldn't quite put my finger on why.

Eventually, my curiosity got the better of me. "So," I asked, leaning a little closer, "what's been the biggest culture shock for you since you got here?"

Fahad chuckled, his dark eyes gleaming as he met my gaze. "Besides the food?" he replied with a grin. "Probably the way people greet each other here." He gave me a playful look. "I'm used to more... personal greetings, as you saw earlier. It's just a part of our culture."

I felt my cheeks flush as I laughed, realizing he'd noticed my reaction. "Yeah, I noticed. It was...different."

"I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable," he added, his voice softening with genuine concern.

I quickly shook my head. "No, not at all. I just wasn't expecting it, that's all."

He nodded, seeming relieved. "I'm glad. In my country, it's a sign of respect and warmth. We're very expressive when it comes to greeting friends, family, and even new acquaintances."

"It's nice, though," I said softly. "People here could probably use a little more warmth."

He met my eyes, and we shared a quiet smile before Gemma and Omar's voices pulled us back into the group conversation. They were in full banter mode, trading playful insults and laughing at each other's expense. But as the laughter swirled around me, I found myself drawn back to Fahad. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the way he listened so intently to everyone, how his laugh came easily, and how he made a point to include me in the conversation. It was refreshing—he seemed so... present.

At one point, Omar turned to Fahad with a casual smile, then glanced over at me. "You know, Journee was telling me something the other day about her family," he said lightly, clearly hoping I'd continue. He paused, letting his gaze settle on me with a gentle nudge of encouragement.

Fahad's eyes softened with curiosity. "Oh, really?" he asked, turning to me. "I'd love to hear more about your family."

A smile crept onto my face as I thought of my brother. "I have a sister and a little brother that has autism," I said, my voice soft with affection. "He's the most amazing person I know. He sees the world in his own unique way, and it just makes everything... brighter."

Fahad's expression softened as he listened, his dark eyes focused and kind. "He sounds incredible," he said, his tone gentle.

"He really is," I replied. "It's not always easy, though. People don't always understand him. But he's taught me a lot, like how to be patient and how to see things from a different perspective."

Fahad was silent for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. Then, without a word, he stood up and extended his hand toward me. "Come with me," he said softly, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes.

A little surprised, I took his hand, feeling the warmth of his fingers as he led me out of the lounge and onto the quiet street. The night air was cool against my skin as we walked, our footsteps soft on the pavement. After a few minutes, we stopped in front of a small, quaint ice cream shop with a brightly painted sign. I glanced at him, puzzled. "What's this place?"

Fahad nodded toward the sign on the door. "This shop is run by adults with autism. I saw it on my way here and Googled it. I thought you might like it."

My heart swelled as I looked up at him, touched by the thoughtfulness behind his gesture. I hadn't expected him to listen so closely, to care about something so personal. It was a small thing, but it felt like everything.

As we stepped inside, a smile spread across my face. I realized I felt lighter, my heart racing again but in a different way. Maybe, just maybe, Fahad really was different.