Muslim Tomboy?...Impossible

Ms Tomboy And The One-Legged Chicken

#NotEdited

Zeeniya

Nayal who was making jokes about cafeteria's pizza which tasted more like modelling clay, was on on the verge of passing out. All the colour from his face drained like rainwater, leaving a pale look behind. His hazel orbs twitched in horror or shock I guess with his lips parted a little. All of a sudden, a fountain of water sprang from his mouth, wetting his shirt in the process.

I interrogated my brain on why it was observing Nayal with every possible detail but it was unable to produce a satisfactory answer.

"I can't believe there is a girl who can tolerate someone like you." I chuckled clicking the latest file on the laptop. There was nothing better than annoying him.

A cyclone of thoughts were swirling around me. To me, it seemed a little weird knowing that he has a wife, even Adam never mentioned it. I vaguely remember him telling that he was a transfer from some university near Stafford. But I'm sure there was nothing about a wife. I quickly masked my surprise with a smirk, fiddling with the drawstring of one of Zayd's high school hoodie I was wearing.

Nayal's expression changed like one of Ben 10's aliens from shocked to angry, the only possible reason was my remark which I surely didn't regret saying.

His eyebrows shot up from his phone, nostrils flared up, eyes burning with a hint of frustration with raw anger. The only thing which I didn't want to notice but unfortunately I did because the female hormones were kicking in was to notice his abs thought the wet white shirt.
But in my opinion (not my female hormone's) the shirt would have dried in a seconds seeing the heat of anger radiating from his body.

I stood up from the carpeted floor which surely left my butt sore. Nayal exchanged a few glances between his phone and me, then like a stomped out of the room, his phone dangling between his shoulder and ear. I could clearly hear him shouted like a desi aunty. My pity to the person on the other side.

Just as I was about to evaesdrop on Nayal, Zayd carelessly strolled in with a bag slung over his shoulder. His clothes were creased, hair messed up in all direction and huge dark bags under his eyes.

"Assalam o alikum." A glint appeared in his eyes seeing me. I wonder why.

"Walikum Assalam." He spread his body on the sofa, resting his dead-fish smelly feet on the coffee table, knocking down a few of my pencils.

"Watch out,monkey!"

"Shut up. I'm tired." He whined like a two year old. But honestly his voice was the pure evidence of his tiredness.

"Dekha! Doctor banna bachon ka khel nhi ha!" I mocked him, laughing along.

"For the first time in the history you said the right thing. It seriously isn't. My God Zeen! The hospital suck every possible piece of energy." Zayd went along, narrating about his day but my mind drifted towards Nayal who I guess was still on the phone. His silhouette visible through the living room window,  opening in the garden. He seemed to be pacing back and forth, his hands occasionally wandering in the mob of chocolate brown hair.

"Are you even listening to me?" Zayd popped his head up.

"Honestly? No." I sealed my lips in a thin line, shaking my head.

"You are worse than Omar." He stood up, taking the stairs to his room.

"By the way where is Omar?" I questioned.

"Where do you find people after they are engaged to a hyperactive gal?"

I laughed at his reply and made my way towards the garden.