Love Talkin'

Prologue

0:47 ─|──────── 3:26
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

Nafisa POV

WITH MY CHIN RESTING ON one knee and my other leg hanging off the edge of my chair, I gaze out the window lazily. The heavy rain fills my ears, sheets of water beating onto the roof only separated from me by a solid wooden desk and a large, wall-to-wall window. It's relaxing, although I would be able to enjoy it more if I felt peaceful. Waiting for a reply for a high-end job, hoping you'd be chosen out of hundreds of thousands of applicants while nothing makes you stand out...

Unlikely. Not impossible, but embarrassingly unlikely.

You see, my overconfidence is what caused me to apply as an apprentice to Ilyas Howll. The man who is a national enigma; a young genius in our time, who has garnered the type of attention that requires him to be followed by security and met by the President. When apprenticeship is a game of status and intelligence, and proving your worth to those who are students of great academic leaders, going for the biggest fish in the pond isn't the wisest decision, although it is the most popular.

"Are you actually going to wait all night?" Zara asks, breaking the silence as her gaze shifts from her phone screen to me.

I grab a random sweet from my desk and unwrap it, "Likely. I could fall asleep but I don't really want to."

"It's past 4am, Nafisa," she reprimands, stretching her arms above her head, getting all too comfortable in my mass of quilts, "You need to go to sleep."

I pop the unidentifiable candy into my mouth, the room too dim to discern the colour or flavour.

"I know, but I do not want to miss the call," I whine, feeling the small piece of sugar roll around my tongue. It's a cherry hardcandy, gross and sickly sweet, "God, this tastes like floor cleaner."

She makes a face, "Is it cherry? Those taste like straight gasoline."

"Mmhm. Am I overconfident in thinking that I'll get the job?"

Zara leans over to take a random candy, "Delusional, perhaps? Not overconfident."

"Wow, thanks. That's even worse."

"Eh, you'd hate if I lied."

"That I would."

I sigh deeply, my eyes tracing the rapidly falling rain.

"Perhaps, I am, after all, overconfident in my self-awareness," I murmur, sucking harshly on the almost bitterly artificial candy.

The stillness is cut by a shrill ringing, causing my shoulders to jolt as the space lights up from my bright phone screen. I squint, turning the brightness down to read the phone number.

333... My tired eyes immediately shoot open, staring pointedly at Zara who's now sitting up straight with alert eyes. She waves her hand rapidly to spur me into grabbing the phone,

"Hel... Hello? Asalaamu'alaikum?" My raspy voice doesn't hide the eagerness weaving through my tone.

"Wa'alaikumusalaam, my love," a familiar voice coos, "How have you been?"

Pulling my phone from my ear, I double-check the area code number to see that it actually reads 235.

"Alhamdulillaah. I just hallucinated a trio of threes," I say matter-of-factly, shaking my head at Zara who slouches in disappointment, "Other than that, peachy."

"Aw, poor baby. You thought it was the academy?" my eldest sister teases, "No, it's only me. I was just calling to tell you that I am visiting next week. I know it's late—or is it early?—over there, so I'll let you know the details later, inshaa'Allaah."

Zara takes another candy, mouthing I love tootsie rolls as she again takes a few more.

"Mhm. Talk to you then, Hidayah," I respond.

"Inshaa'Allaah. Good night-morning and asalaamu'alaikum. Also, get a mobile phone. Having to call you is driving me nuts."

"The idea of people texting me would drive me nuts, so... no, thanks. Wa'alaikumusalaam."

I hang up and place the sage green phone back onto the receiver, the tireless waiting consuming me once again. The glow of my laptop illuminates my reflection, a contrast to the brewing storm outside.

"Zara?"

She makes a random noise to show her attention.

"What are the chances of me being accepted?"

Barely waiting for my sentence to finish, she murmurs a quiet, "One-hundred percent."

"Lying's a sin," I frown, "You told me before that I was delusional, I only want to know how much."

"While I stand by what I said, I still think you'll get the job," she says simply, her eyes going from her smartphone to holding my gaze, "I believe you just might be that good."

"At? Good at what?"

She grins, "Good at getting what you want, whether or not it is what you deserve."

"Should I be flattered or offended?" I can't bring myself to frown yet I feel as if I want to chastise her so I settle for a blank stare.

"Nafisa, what else is there to be except grateful?"