Inevitable Flaw

Chapter 39: Gravity

A/N- Short update. 

In Islam, it is a sin to think you are superior to anyone, and it is a sin in Islam to think you are inferior to anyone - unknown

---

Adam -

My teeth grit as instinct. I tap on the dashboard while she proceeds, her back to me. She's lost weight again. Her coat swallows her frail body as she trudges on, shoulders a fragile victim to gravity. She habitually peers over her sides, climbing the flight with paranoia roaming around her, and then inside.

I glare at a stupid door until her lights die off. Then, its speeding through red lights while withholding bargained tolerance for the bathetic shit of this city.

My fault easily ignites as I flavor the cigarette.

I did this.

At dusk, the grave stupidity of my coming here unravels. And so I pack.

When a premature morning unhinges, I strangle the steering wheel towards another destination.

--

Aamirah -

"I haven't seem him yet," I murmur while mixing my omelet, the aesthetic not so appetizing.

I bite into my cheeks as Ayah frowns through the screen. She takes another swallow of her cereal before leaning into the camera lens.

"It's the guilt Aam, he's most probably decomposed from it," her eyebrows furrow. My sudden vast of openness is a subject of novelty for her.

"Maybe," I dart to the plate housing my sehri.

"So tell me more about the orientation," she gleams through mouthfuls, her mind focused on diverting my attention.

I talk to her until the Adhan plays, both of us congratulating the birth of a blessed month.

It feels a cloudy gray, being all alone for it.

Mama and I Skype a little over eternity, me forcing her to stop crying; It makes my symptoms worse.

We depart to an hour before my first day.

Pieces from last night drill its existence inconsiderately; Hugging knees, sobbing at empty walls.

I saw my father again; the nightmares. And then, running for miles from grey eyes.

It was a gut wrenching approach to madness. I slept for a second.

I inhale mama's comforting words before gulping in front of the massive glass. It appears mightier than yesterday, I am sure of it.

I tremble with my itinerary, forcing a smile for an identification picture to walking mindlessly in search of my locker. The amount of people is ridiculous enough that I miss the barbarian of my high school.

With eyes on alert, I set out maps to find my first period class. My smile gains muscle with each drill through all the friendly strangers.

"Ramadan Kareem."

I shut my lids before turning towards the familiar eyes, blue of glee.

"Thanks," I mutter.

"You need help finding your class?" Noah offers sincerely.

I stare at his desperate face and then at my shivering schedule.

A nod and he's already on his heels.

Everyone here is too nice.

"Here it is," he parades the lecture hall. I anxiously smile my appreciation.

"You'll do great," he encourages with a thumbs up.

He proceeds to roughly direct my two other classes. I am beyond thankful for his effort, even if it is redemption from potential awkward silence.

But among all, deep within my mind, I wary at his intentions.

"Drop by the Muslim association club at 6, we'll be happy for another addition ," he voices in haste.

Oh.

"Of course," I smile at his kind invitation, digesting his declaration as a Muslim.

It almost all makes sense now.

I walk into a room of endless seats and an overwhelming screen to the front. The foreign lot of individuals nerves me to a random chair. I wait with fear as the professor stands with boredom towards the first lecture on basic chemistry. Its a long three hours before I am pulled into another tedious realm of information I already knew. And then another.

I starve my way to the door before realizing Noah's words. With a hesitant walk to the room he mentioned, my heart skips antisocially.

I dreaded meeting new people, this being a major flaw.

I arrive to a brightly lit studio of sort, a group of girls smiling me in. I am quickly sweating anxious as I sit and wait in silence in front of people who are expecting me to speak.

"This is Safia, Ariana and I am Abella," a fairly tall and kind woman of obvious maturity speaks up, swording the thick air. She welcomes me in quick, already inviting me to social events.

It's weird, in a good way.

Noah shows up with a nod of appreciation before standing in front to speak about the coming activities they have planned. I stay silently observing their input, my speech betraying me.

Which, unfortunately, becomes of notice.

"Feel free to pitch in," Noah grins at me, quickly intimidating my impulses to the max.

I rub my hands over my knees and straighten up, adding more interest in my posture.

"When are we planning the Iftar dinner?" I mumble eventually, my intrigue of absolute honesty.

"The fifteenth Ramadan?" Noah studies everyone's faces and repeats with confidence when they all agree.

I nod and let them continue; relief oozing through every pore that I am done verbalizing.

When time reaches leisure, all three of the lovely girls ask for my number. I feel accomplished for making some genuine friends, especially it being the first day.

Noah and the other men towards the posterior of the meeting room voice their farewells before we exit. I allow myself to cough away Noah's gaze while I leave.

I am shown the prayer room and other Muslim resources; all bliss of blessing.

And then, I am sitting in an afghan restaurant with three new friends. In instant, I am bombarded with questions on my shoulder. I remain as vague as I can allow. They heart their concern before proceeding towards their lives. I learn that all of them already knew each other since freshman days last year, my place not as concrete anymore.

I submerge into the delicious food when the Adhan plans, warm conversation sliding around.

I don't feel so lonely anymore.

And just when old emotions have marginalized, I am stood by my apartment door staring ahead, unsure if my heart is beating or not. The smile from walking here has erased to a straight line.

There he is, in flesh.