The Essence of Noah (Muslim story)

Skype

It's fourteen degrees outside. At least that's what my phone's saying. The screen shines too brightly even on its lowest lighting setting in the darkness of my room, as I stare at the slowly moving clouds on the weather app. I don't remember the last time the temperature fell below twenty five degrees, but I welcome the cold- it's been too long.

Stretching under the sheets, I think about my day and what I have to get done and what I can post pone for another twenty four hours. I don't have a lecture until three, but I have to do my laundry- I'm running out of underwear- and I can literally see and smell dust everywhere in my apartment. I don't think I've vacuumed since moving in, with floorboards it's hard to tell if they're dirty or not, but the smell is quite the giveaway. I ruffle under the sheets again and rub the crust at the corners of my eyes before willing myself up.

Normally, I would shower and get dressed first thing on a weekday morning- a perk I picked up from mum, but lounging around in my pyjamas to do housework seems like a better option. I'll shower after I dust. I pass my fingers through hair and group it in a loose bun, with stubborn short curls instantly popping out here and there. I try flattening them out, but without bobby pins, it's a lost a battle. I make my bed, moving my laptop and books to the floor as I spread out the quilt and plump the pillows. As soon as I make it, the bed looks more inviting, but instead of crawling back under and sleeping till three, I place my laptop and books back on it and walk out.

Living on my own for the most part means there's no mess. The dishes are always done, no prayer mats left on the floor or flimsy outdated Women's Weekly and Better Homes and Garden's left on the coffee table, and most definitely no irritating squeaky toys scattered around the place. It's always tidy and quiet; the tidy I've gotten used to, not so much the latter.

~*~

I dust, I vacuum and I mop, and yet, despite inhaling the Glen 20 spray that I've used on every surface (soft and hard), the place doesn't look different and I feel that the only reason cleaning seemed justifiable this morning, was because of my procrastination. The only difference is, that there's no dust or gritty shoe prints on the floor, that for the record weren't even noticeable; you had to look really hard to even see it. Nonetheless, I tell myself that I've done well and that this is an achievement and that al nadafa min al-eman.

With the house all clean looking and smelling, I decide it's not fit that I be the only thing covered in sweat and dust particles and so I shower, and dress myself before gathering my books and laptop from my bed and carrying them to the rickety coffee table. I spread out the weight of the books on each side of the table to weigh down the table and stop the legs from shaking. It's not an ideal solution, but it works.

E-mails. They're the first things I check when I turn on my laptop. In fact, I never log out; I leave the tab open and refresh it every hour on the hour when I'm studying. To be honest, I don't know how long this current tab has been open for, but my best guess would be a few weeks at the very least. I click refresh and watch as my Outlook folder refreshes, taking it's time with the slow DSL connection. When it finally loads, I only have two e-mails from my tutorials; one about rescheduling and another serving as a reminder for our assignments to be submitted online as PDF's.

I open another tab just as a Skype notification appears from Evan.

'Hey'. He writes and sends.

'Hi'. I reply back before standing and heading back to my room for a scarf. I wrap it around my head once and tuck in loose curls here and there and tug it forward.

'Are you decent?' I can't help but laugh to myself as I type back a brief 'yes' and wait for him to call. Soon enough, the Skype ringtone sounds throughout my living space and once I accept, a pixelated Evan appears in, judging from the background, his bedroom.