Again Shauqina

Chapter 3: Enter Isaac

The tutorial room was abuzz that day.

Well, the girls were, to be exact.

That day was the first day Isaac would report to school. Isaac the Elusive. Isaac the Mysterious. Isaac, the conqueror of ladies' hearts. Pfft! Big deal. I remembered thinking what was so great about Isaac except for the fact that his fame had superseded his arrival in college.

'Did you know he is half Chinese and half British?' I almost yawned. Who didn't? Since the first day of being in that tutorial class, that was all I have been hearing.

'Did you know his father is a businessman? He owns his own multi-national shipping company! He surely must be filthy rich!'

'You didn't know? There is a swimming pool in his house here! I heard there is even a security guard!'

'Bet you didn't know that...his mother ran away with another man...yes sir! Left him all alone with his father...he was just four, mind you! And he is a bit of a Romeo, so ladies, guard this well!' Wilma would add for the umpteenth time, pointing to her heart.

And for the umpteenth time too, I would have pretended to be half asleep from the drone of meaningless information shared countless of times. To say I was not the slightest curious would made me look like an angel, which I was not. I was curious alright and often wondered to myself whether this Isaac would really leave up to his 'reputation'.

Ask, and you shall be answered—and answered me God did in a most dramatic way.

It was our first Literature lesson and Miss Jeanette, a most becoming young Eurasian teacher with Farrah Fawcett's long, wavy tresses and legs to die for was explaining about metaphysical poets when Isaac strode into the room, all late and all apologetic. Time seemed to stand still. It was not because he was tall. In the college uniform, he could easily have passed as a university student. It was not because of his dark brown hair—swept back, neat and straight with a stubborn wisp on the forehead. It was definitely not his eyes—they were the colour of warm caramel, with darker, golden flecks that one could drown in. No. Isaac's eyes were his own. Despite his smile, there was an edge to his deep voice, a hard glint in those browns. I shuddered when I thought he gave me a cursory glance and that glance turned into a glint and the glint into a look short of contempt. It was a brief look, a brief expression, a brief feeling I had. Brief but painfully real.

'I'm sorry for being late, Miss Jeanette,' he said, bowing slightly or was it stooping slightly—his eyes locking squarely into Miss Jeanette's dark, big ones. She gave a nervous smile and pointed to nowhere in the room.

'Uh...hum...please be seated. Alright. Where were we? Ah...yes...metaphysical poet. John Donne.'

'Thank you, Ma'am.'

To be frank, it was not his looks that silenced me.

It was not his voice, although deep, was also musical and mesmerised me.

It was not all these in him that reminded me of you, Zak.

It was certainly not his confident smile which was so different from your own shy smile.

It was his name.

He smiled grimly as Miss Jeanette, before letting him sit down, asked him to introduce himself first.

'My name is Isaac Williams. But please, just call me Zack.'

Zack. Zak.

If there were a hole in the cement floor, I would have gladly hidden there. How cruel Fate was! How Fate seemed to taunt me, to make fun of me! Here I was, every waking moment of my life, I have tried to forget you, Zak—to continue with life, to be grateful to Allah for this breath He has given. How I always remind myself that this life, which He still gives me, is a bridge to do goodness before I meet Him for eternity. How could you, Zak be here in this place, a place that you had so adamantly hated and tried to stop me from going? A place where you had thought that I, your 'girl' would forget about her madrasah's origins. I went pale and to stop my hands from shaking, I held onto my chair's armrest. Was Fate mocking me? I could almost hear Fate's voice barking at me, 'Snap out of it, Eza! Live your life!'

For that life was about to crash and break into pieces around me.

I was about to break into pieces myself.

To my horror, my eyes were starting to tear as Isaac made his way to an empty seat opposite of mine, his eyes again looking disdainfully down at mine. No! Please, Ya Allah! Not here. Not in this class. Not in front of everyone. Not ever. Please...I took in a huge, long breath and when Miss Jeanette asked for a volunteer to read the poem, without thinking, my hand shot up and I immediately regretted it. I had wanted to remain inconspicuous. Before I could protest that I was suffering from a sudden Involuntary Muscle Disorder, Miss Jeanette was gushing happily, 'Thank you! Ah! Hafeza, right? Go ahead! It's all yours!'

I was thankful that I did not have to stand up to recite the poem. I was holding onto the table's age as I started reading. The poem was about a lost love. I did not know what got into me but I was soon lost in the beauty of the words, the imagery and the angst as described. I did not realise that the world around me had broken into silence and silence greeted me when I finished reading it.

'That was just, breathless! Hafeza, brilliant! I can see you have a natural talent in reciting—just fantabulous! If I didn't know it, I would have thought you had experienced such feelings, girl—but of course not, right?' raved Miss Jeanette and then she broke into a nervous chuckle, peering at me and wanting me to agree with her.

I went very red in the face.

The lesson ended and it was break time. As I made my way out to the door, I almost tripped on Isaac's long legs. He looked up and our eyes met momentarily. It was a stony glare all right but this time, I was suddenly filled with anger. The nerve of him! How rude! I did not even know him! He just came and he did not know me as well! I returned his glare. If he was expecting an apology, he was looking up at the wrong person. He sullenly pulled in his legs but managed a forced smile at the others behind me.

I can see that Isaac and I were going to get along just fine.