Beautiful Things (A Muslim Love Story)

Chapter Twelve: Exposed

It's that moment when everything just crashes. Everything you've worked for, everything you have just breaks apart. And suddenly it's all over. You're on the road to misery and whatever you do, there's just no turning back.

-Excerpt from Asiyah's mom

It was a hazy Sunday morning, the last of Summer break and I was making breakfast for myself and Emma, who was supposed to arrive shortly from hanging out with her friends, including Peter (yes, he's okay:)

All of a sudden someone knocked on the door. Smiling, I grabbed a silver robe and a grey scarf to cover my silver satin pajamas. There's a big red doorbell beside our door. It's fat and shiny and red, you can't miss it. It has some sort of power that lures human fingers toward it. Plus, it has a catchy chime that lasts for six seconds. Only one person would decide to skip it and knock.

"Hi," I smiled, opening the front door. "Are you okay?"

Adam was standing there, his face a mix of serious and worry and desperation and frustration. 

"No."

I stopped smiling.

"Okay. So, um, what's up?"

"We need to talk."

"Okay," I sighed leaning against the side of the door. "Shoot."

"Here?"

"Adam, I'm in my pajamas," I huffed.

"Okay. Um..." he paused.

"Bye then," I turned and almost slammed the door, but he stopped me.

"Okay, I'll get to the point," he told me. "I don't think we should be friends anymore."

An unbearable silence rose between us and filled our lungs like smoke. For a minute we just stared at each other. Then, being the one to always break the silence, I laughed.

"Adam, you crack me up sometimes. Out of all the funny things you've said to me, this was the funniest."

He didn't smile.

So I didn't.

"No, Asiyah, I'm serious."

He was so serious I couldn't laugh. His serious look scared me, and part of me wanted to slam the door and hide.

I put my hands on my hips.

"Why?" I inquired.

"Why what?"

"Why.. why what?" I asked, confused. "Really Adam. You really know how to make someone mad."

I angrily turned away and was about to slam the door shut, when Adam went,

"I don't want us to be friends because I know what you did in eighth grade."

I stopped for a minute then spun around.

"Who told you?" I roared.

"Asiyah-"

"No!" I exclaimed. "That was supposed to be a secret! Only one person would know........ no. No, it's not true." I started to laugh. "She would never tell. No, no, no."

"Yes, Asiyah," Adam said. "Gowaria told me that you kissed a guy in Junior high."

I gasped and backed into the door. I put my hands on my mouth and fought back tears.

"She promised," I growled. "She promised that she would never, ever tell, even if someone put a gun to her head!"

"Well, she did, Asiyah! And she did it to protect you!"

"Protect me?" I asked. "PROTECT ME? Spilling her guts about me is PROTECTING me? I don't need protecting! I prayed to God to forgive me! I wore the headscarf full time even though I still hadn't hit proper puberty! I changed, Adam!"

"I know-"

"And the guy I kissed? He felt as bad as I did! He became as religious as me. In fact, I saw him on Facebook a few weeks ago, and all he posts is Islamic lectures and beautiful Quran recitations. He went to Hajj once and Umrah thrice, and he even got married! He got married really early, but at least now he can kiss till his heart's content! It was good for him!"

"Listen."

"Who are you?" I yelled, my eyes tearing up.

"I'm sorry Asiyah. We're not friends anymore."

And with that he left.

I slammed the door, then put my back against it. I slowly crept down till I was siting on the floor, then cried because I had no friends.

I lost Almas, Adam, and Gowaria. Gowaria! How dare she tell Adam! Then it hit me. This was Gowaria's "plan" to get Adam away from me! Why?

I would never talk to her again. Maybe if Almas and I made up, we could be friends. But not Gowaria. And not Adam, because he wouldn't forgive me.

Tears were streaming down my face. I needed a friend! Yet I had none.

......................................................................................

Nothing is perfect. Some things are worse than others. Take me, for example, f**king screw up. I always think that everything in life will turn out amazing, but in reality everything blows up when I;m around. We hate ourselves so much, yet that's all we care about. And we think of others as so much better than ourselves, yet they are treated ever so harshly.

-Excerpt from Adam's mind

I don't know who to hate right now, me or Asiyah. We both seem equal. I hate myself for being myself, a screw up. And Asiyah, well, I'm pretty ticked off, but I could never hate her.

Just then I heard the front door swing open then slam shut, followed by a man's laugh and a girly giggle. I sighed deeply and started to run my hands through my hair, then stopped. Asiyah always told me not to do it.

Omar and his hot fiancee walked in.

"Hey, Adam, why are you looking down like that?" Omar's fiancee, Uzma asked.

She leaned over and kinda hugged me. I smelled a nice flower fragrance but didn't care.

"Hey, Uzma, stop," Omar grumbled.

"What?" she smiled. "He's younger than me, it's okay."

Uzma was really pretty in her Banana Republic dress but I didn't care.

"Hey, Adam, Uzma and I are doing some wedding planning, and we're stuck on cake," Omar told me.

"I want a long cake, he wants wide," she sighed. "Your brother doesn't get weddings."

"I'd get long," I mumbled.

"Ha! Even Adam wants it."

"Hey when are you guys getting married?" I asked. 

"Hmmm..... probably in a few months."

"Around your last year of Darius, which is starting in a few days," Omar hinted.

Oh no, not that. That was the last thing I wanted to remember.

"Adam, Omar and I will be in the kitchen, kay?" Uzma blurted. "Come catch us if you need us."

She grabbed Omar's arm, and I thought, she doesn't even love him. She likes him because he's hot, and vise versa.

I heard more laughs and giggles, and soon my parents were home with Anisa.

Uzma hugged my family (well except Omar) before leaving. Then she blew an air kiss and was gone. 

And even Anisa was nine years old and entering grade four, and hugged her and held on to her anyways, as I loved her more than anything.

And nothing would change that.