HER CRUSH

Chapter21

Abdul
I reclined on my office couch, eyes closed, praying the day would unfold smoothly. My heart wasn't in my work.... not today. My girls were meeting for the first time, and I prayed it wouldn't turn into a battlefield. Girls can be complicated, massaging my beard as though the pressure would ease the storm building in my chest.

Sufyan dropped into the chair beside me, phone in hand. "Bro, you've been restless all morning. What's on your mind?"

I opened one eye, giving him a flat look. "You already know. The girls. They're meeting today. I just... I don't want them to fight over me."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Abdullah, wallahi you're living dangerously. Fire and ice in one place? You're either bold or mad."

I smiled faintly. "Madness is possible. I just want peace."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Neutral ground then. Don't bring them into your space, and don't go into theirs. A café would do."

I nodded. "Exactly what I was thinking."

By the time Zuhr prayers approached, my nerves were already frayed. We prayed together, Sufyan's calm voice grounding me. After salam, he squeezed my shoulder. "May Allah make it easy for you. And if not, at least let me record the drama."

I glared at him, though a laugh escaped.

When I reached home, I showered quickly and slipped into dark jeans and a sky-blue shirt. Casual, but decent. I sprayed perfume lightly, pocketed my wallet and keys, and whispered a prayer under my breath before stepping out.

Bufana Café was buzzing as usual, the soft hum of conversations mixing with the clinking of cups. I scanned the room until my eyes landed on Asma. I beamed with a broad smile.

"Asma!" I called, striding toward her.

She folded her arms, pretending to pout. "I should be mad at you."

I laughed, scratching my beard. "Should I beg for forgiveness?"

Her soft smile broke through her act, melting my heart.

"No way, boo. You're forgiven," she exclaim , shaking her head.

"You can't stay mad at me, can you?" I asked, sliding into the seat beside her and taking her hand gently.

She fidgeted, her fingers restless. "She's not here yet."

I tilted my head, studying her. "Why are you nervous?"

She avoided my gaze, staring at the menu. "Let's order."

I didn't press. Instead, I waved the waiter over. "Coffee for me."

"Asma, what about you?"

She ordered potato soufflé and an Oreo shake, her tone clipped.

The door opened and Zarah walked in. She was breathless, adjusting her scarf. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

I stood instantly, smiling. "Not at all. You're here, that's what matters."

Asma and Zarah exchanged a polite hug, though I noticed how stiff their shoulders were.

The waiter returned with our orders, placing them neatly on the table. As he was about to leave, I called out, "Wait! Zarah hasn't ordered yet."

She shook her head. "Just water, please."

I raised a brow. "Water only?"

She nodded, giving me a faint smile.

Asma, ever the hostess, pushed her plate slightly forward. "Try some of mine, Zarah."