BELONGING - BOOK 1

17. The Waiting Game

HASSAN

I woke up to my second alarm blaring in my ear, the screen flashing 7:00 AM. Ugh, already? I groggily reached over to silence it, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My head was still pounding from that extra-strong cappuccino I had last night while cramming for calculus.

I tossed off the covers and swung my legs over the side of the bed, my curly hair a tangled mess. I brushed it back with my fingers, a habit I'd developed over the years. My Somali mom's genes had gifted me with these unruly locks, which my siblings loved to tease me about.

My phone lay on the bed, next to my calculus notebook and calculator. I grabbed it to check the chat with Hanifa. Still no response, just "I'll think about it." This girl was tough to get. We were like, total rivals, competing for valedictorian and the top spot in our class.

But honestly, I wasn't even doing it for myself. It was all for Sir Dad. He wanted me to join the NDA after high school, but my real passions were basketball, football, and car design. I dreamed of creating sick rides, not fighting wars. I'd spent hours sketching cars and researching design schools, but that was a secret.

Time to get moving. I grabbed my leather belt and headed to the boys' quarter to wake up Ashraf and Ashfaq. Those two were always sleeping in, and I had to whip them into shape. 

As I swung open the door, I found Ashraf lounging on his bed, scribbling away in his notebook, wearing only his trousers and Oxford shirt. This kid was always like this – TV addict, book-phobe. Ten years old and still not getting it. Ashfaq, on the other hand, was glued to his PS, oblivious to the world.

I sighed, envying their carefree lives. They got to live normal, while I was stuck in overdrive. Ashfaq, six years younger, looked up at me with droopy eyes. I dragged him out of bed, tossed him into the shower, and got him semi-presentable.

With minutes ticking away, I sprinted to my room, showered, shaved, and threw on my uniform. Still drowsy, I craved another caffeine fix. As I sat on my bed, sipping a freshly brewed cappuccino, I reviewed my notes, devouring every word.

My friends thought I was a genius, that I didn't need to study. But they were wrong. Books held secrets to success. I was naturally gifted, but knowledge was power.

Glancing at my phone, I cursed under my breath – 8:15 AM. Now I'd have to rush to drop off Ashraf and Ashfaq at Ladela School. And, of course, Souraiya would expect me to drive her, too.

Just then, the door burst open, and Zara strode in, looking like a sleep-deprived zombie. Her dark blazer, sky-blue shirt, yellow tie, and hijab were perfectly in place, though. Glisten Academy's strict dress code wasn't messing around.

"Zara'u," I said with a smirk, using the nickname she despised. She shot me a warning glance, her eyes narrowing.

"What's wrong with you, Sultan?" she demanded, yanking my collar. Her voice was laced with frustration, her breath warm against my skin. "You ignore my texts, wave at me like a stranger at the picnic, and tell everyone we're just friends. What are we, exactly?"

I pushed her back, adopting my signature "Mr. Cool" vibe, though my mind raced. Her eyes flashed red, and I felt a pang of guilt.

"Are you okay?" I asked, breaking the silence.

Zara's face contorted. "That's all you can say? 'Are you okay'? Tell me, Sultan, are we still dating or not?" She stepped closer, her full, red lips inches from mine. Those lips always mesmerized me – like a blooming flower.

"We're done, har abada, forever," I declared, meeting her gaze.

The room froze. Then, scalding cappuccino splashed across my face. "Fu—!" I cursed, recoiling.