Unintended Consequences (Act One) Completed

Chapter 17: Not what We Expected

Stepping off of the plane was like being punched in the face by heat and humidity. Despite the mildness of California weather the tropical heat and humidity of Malaysia was a surprise for me. I don't know what I was expecting, but this wasn't it. Despite wearing slacks and a button-down shirt, Rayyan seemed perfectly comfortable. Looking around, it was clear he was in his element.

He was from here.

I don't know why this never really occurred to me before, but it hit me hard as I noticed the people around me. He was one of them. I was the outsider. Only then did my warning bells begin to ring.

All during the flight, we'd been Mr. And Mrs. Zainuddin. We flirted and laughed, we napped on each other's shoulders. We laughed too loud at the in=flight movie. We did all of the things that you'd expect from any normal couple.

The excitement of escaping from Shooter and Gucci made all of the other things fade into the background for me. The fact that we were still, essentially strangers didn't matter. The fact that I was going abroad to meet my in-laws seemed unimportant. The fact that I would be alone in a strange land with only a stranger to depend on, didn't occur to me until I was passing through customs and the custom's officer stamped my passport.

"See, no problem," Rayyan said as I met up with him.

Baggage in tow, we made our way to the exits, each of us dreading whatever was coming next. Each for our own reasons. I was caught up in the trap of looking around as I passed through. There were so many things to see and my hand itched for a pen and paper to record just how the air at the Kuala Lumpur International Airport tasted.

For the record, it tasted like a thousand coming and goings, as sweet as it was bitter, as savory as it was spicy. It was ordered chaos and I hadn't even made it out of the airport.

Rayyan stopped abruptly and I nearly ran into him. His face clouded over as he stared straight ahead. His knuckles popped as he gripped the trolley with our luggage more tightly.

A woman in a long and flow black abayah with rich gold embroidery along the hem began walking toward us quickly. Her quick steps turned into a light jog as tears filled her eyes. I watched Rayyan for clues on how to react. He said nothing, remained perfectly still. His face a mask of indifference. Only his tightly clenched jaw and the white knuckles of his hand let on how he really felt.

It was obvious that this was his mother, and it was obvious that this tearful reunion was all one-sided. In that moment I felt sorry for her. Whatever problems they may have had through the years, it was obvious that she missed him very much. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheeks, blubbering the way all moms do. It was really heartbreaking. The whole time, Rayyan remained unmoved. She might as well have been kissing a mannequin.

When it became obvious that things were not going to improve I decided to step in and save us all.

"Mrs. Leong, I'm Unique," I offered my hand.

She paused long enough to scan me from head to toe, retreating from her son's personal space the way a discarded lover would. Her face was petulant but not without its grace. Her air of superiority was absolute. I probably didn't make the best impression. My hands were bandaged and my sweatpants and headwrap were rags compared to her elegant and stylish robes. She looked like a princess from a 19th century Briton's Arabian dream, her hair hidden away under the black shawl that she wore draped over the snug cap the covered her hair, ears, and neck. I'd seen this style a few times during the holidays at the mosque and always envied women who could make it work. Despite the obvious disparity between us, I didn't feel intimidated or even jealous. This woman, who had everything money could buy, lost her son. And now I had him.