Beautiful

Chapter 1

ASWAD
The girl wasn't dancing like the others. Instead, she was sat in a corner, knees hunched up, her head bent over the book on her lap. Her Arabic dress, which was blue with diamonds carefully sewn on, was glittering in the dark. The wedding hall was dimly lit, and loud Arabic music boomed out of the speakers. You wouldn't think these were Muslims.
I took a sip of my drink and continued watching the mysterious girl. The book seemed to fascinate and entertain her more than this wedding did. I didn't blame her. I was sick and tired of women coming up to me with their daughters asking if I was single.
Suddenly, the girl lifted her head, as if she sensed I was staring at her, and what I saw next made me take a step back and nearly spill my drink.
Her eyes.
Bright blue they were, and they dazzlingly stood out in the dark room. She blinked and her gaze shifted to me. She looked at me for a split second before lowering her gaze.
I was still awe. Never had I seen such beautiful eyes. They adorned her high cheekbones and perfect thick eyebrows beautifully. I felt a strange emotion bubbling up inside me. This girl had surprised me. She was by far the most beautiful girl in this room. Yet she wasn't showing it off. This intrigued me and shocked me. It takes a certain amount of courage and self-discipline to preserve your beauty.
I saw a man who seemed to be in his forties walking up to her. I guessed he was her father, and by the way he was walking, he looked slightly drunk. This was a common sight. Some Arab families weren't practising, and alcohol was a regular activity for them.
I saw the girl's face, as if she was trying to conceal the pain she carried. However, I spotted it, and I immediately crossed over to where she was sitting on the floor. I don't know what made me do it. My gut feeling just told me that something was going to happen.
I was a few steps away, but they didn't sense my presence. I, on the other hand, heard what the man was saying to this young beautiful girl:
"What are you doing here with your book? Come and join the party!"
To this, the girl didn't answer, presumably out of fear. I knew eavesdropping was bad, but I didn't want to step into a situation when it wasn't necessary. The days when I would get into stupid reckless fights were over.
"Answer me!"
I could sense that things were going to rapidly escalate, so I decided to intervene. "Excuse me, but this man is asking for you."
The man glared at me, as if trying to decipher who I was. I wasn't part of the Asfour family.
"Who are you?"
"Jamal's mate. I was invited by his family." This wasn't a lie. Jamal, one of my very good friends, was talking about this wedding his family were attending. I accepted the proposal of me going. It wasn't a big deal. In Arab weddings, everyone and anyone gets invited, wether you're related or not.
The man grunted and walked of to wherever it is my finger had pointed to. He would soon find out that I was lying, but hopefully his drunken state will momentarily make him forget about his daughter.
I squatted down on the floor in order to meet the girl's eyes. Her head was lowered so I couldn't really make out what her facial expression was. It's when a tear dropped on the floor that I realised she was crying.
Anger washed over me like a tide. My muscles tensed and so did my jaw.
Why would somebody want to destroy something so pure and innocent?
I took a deep breath and tried to calm my anger. I didn't want to scare her.
"What's your name?" I asked gently. She slowly looked up until her tear-stained eyes met mine. "Esma." She whispered.
Esma. The name tasted like honey on my tongue. It was a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.
"Was that your dad?" I asked.
"No, my uncle." The flow of tears seemed to have decreased and she wiped her red eyes with the back of her hand. "Are you an Asmari?" She asked, referring to the bride's family.
"No, I'm not related to the Asmari nor the Asfour. Jamal's my mate. Jamal Asfour, I don't know if you know him."
"Oh, he's probably my dad's sister's niece's grandfather's daughter!" A melodic laugh emitted out of her mouth, immediately lightening the mood up. Her smile bought light to the dimly lit room, and the world.
I chuckled and said, "I'm Aswad, by the way."
She smiled and lowered her gaze, "Nice name."
We stayed like this for a while. Esma sitting cross legged and me a reasonable distance away from her. It was silence, but a nice silence. It wasn't awkward or anything. It was strangely magnificent.
"I told them not to put music and to separate the men and women. And not to put alcohol. But they didn't listen." Esma broke the silence with her soft voice, "they never do."
"Why don't they listen to you?"
She looked at me with this unfathomable look before turning her gaze away from me and saying, "I'm an orphan. What on Earth could I possibly bring to society that won't be stupid and worthless?"
I frowned, "I don't believe that. The fact that you're an orphan does not define wether you're stupid or worthwhile. Being an orphan isn't a tragedy. At least, if you tell yourself it isn't. Tell yourself that your parents are happy wherever they are. This world is too sad and destroyable. Allah has preserved them from suffering."
I saw her eyes glaze up and a small smile appeared on her face. Her eyes held this unmistakable twinkle in her eyes. "Thank you. I've never thought of it this way." She whispered softly.
I opened my mouth to respond when a loud crashing sound interrupted me.
My gaze swiftly turned to find out what was happening. I stood up and that's when I heard women shrieking.
A fight.
There was a fight between one man and several others. There was a lot of disgruntled shouting. Suddenly, the lights went off and that's when everybody panicked. The shrieks from the women grew louder and I knew I had to do something.
I grabbed my phone from my pocket and switched the torch on. I turned to Esma, the light illuminating my face, and said, "Follow me."
She nodded, doubt filling her eyes.
I started weaving my way through the crowd of men. They had stopped fighting, in fact they had started dancing, despite the fact that they was no light and no music. The women, on the other hand, had become responsible and had started evacuating out of the premises. This was one hell of a wedding.
I turned around to see if Esma was still following me, and alhamdulilAllah, she was. Her head was lowered and she seemed to be avoiding all human recognisation.
"Yo, bro! Where were you? 'Been looking for you everywhere." Jamal appeared and playfully punched my shoulder. I grinned and said, "I was always here."
"Can we move, please? My great-auntie has spotted me. She's been wanting me to marry her nephew for the past 3 years and so far, I've achieved. But I won't if we don't get out of here now." Esma whispered over my shoulder. I chuckled and so did Jamal. Esma's eyes landed on him and she joked in her low and soft voice, "Oh! You must be my dad's sister's niece's grandfather's daughter! Nice to finally meet you."
Upon hearing this, Jamal burst laughing. And trust me, when Jamal laughs, it's a very comical sigh. His eyes teared up and he clutched his stomach while shaking uncontrollably.
Esma, on the other hand, chuckled softly before whispering, "Yallah. My great-auntie's approaching. She walks very fast for her age, you know."

Once we were outside the wedding hall, far away from Esma's great-auntie, it was then that I asked the question that was gnawing away at my side.
"How old are you, Esma?"
She looked at me for a split second before lowering her long black eyelashes, "I'm 15."
Ya Allah.
Such maturity at a young age shocked me, and I momentarily lost my train of thoughts.
At the age of 15, my behaviour nowhere near resembled hers. I was a loose cannon back then. I didn't do what I was told, I got into useless fights and hung with the wrong crowd.
"What school do you go to?" This time the question was from Jamal, and I could see that he held a particular interest for this young modest women.
"Winston Hall College." She answered as she wrapped a long brown shawl around her shoulders.
Even I had heard of Winston Hall College, yet I didn't live near the school at all. Winston Hall College was the type of school where teenagers rejected by society attended. Winston Hall was filled with delinquents. Saying that this school was bad would be an understatement. It was horrid.
I nodded my head, but I couldn't stop the troubled expression appearing on my face. I didn't think a person so pure like Esma Asfour should attend a school so bad like Winston Hall. It is a miracle she hasn't been influenced by these crackheads yet, I thought angrily.
"What about you?" She asked, interrupting my rapid train of thoughts.
"Oh, I'm 18, and in university."
This suddenly perked her interest, for a twinkle appeared in her aquamarine eyes.
"Really?" She whispered. I nodded and grinned, "Studying for a Maths degree."
To this however, she threw back her head and a groan escaped.
I chuckled and asked gently, "Don't you like Maths?"
She looked at me and answered, "I can't stand it. My teacher thinks I'm good at it, but for what reason, I don't understand."
"I'm sure your teacher is right."
"Yeah," she laughed sarcastically, "wait till you see my maths homework."
The last sentence made my smile widen, because that meant I'd be seeing more of Esma Asfour.
And I couldn't wait.