Healing

05.

"What nail color," Ilaria asks.

It had been a week since I had been to the cafe for my interview. Today was Thursday which would make it the 5th time I would have to work at his cafe.

I hadn't seen him once every time I went, but Dua would be there occasionally and the work I had to do there was really nice. As he had promised, most of the people that came in were muslim and I had even made a new friend.

"CYRA," I hear Ilaria basically scream.

My head turns up automatically. "What?"

"I've asked you what color I should get for my nails 3 times now. What's got your mind so preoccupied?"

"I think you should get the second one you showed me. The design is trendy right now. And I have work today," I sigh.

"But I thought you liked your work?"

"I do. It's just that the owner is the guy that...um.... you remember the dude that was staring at me at the Masjid last week?"

"The day Omar Suleiman was giving a halaqa?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"Ya," I say as I look back down towards my hands.

"I mean at least have something nice to look at?"

"Ilaria you know I don't-"

"I know I know, lowering your gaze and all that," she says as she waves her hands. "So is he doing anything you don't like orrr...."

"I haven't seen him once since the interview last week so I'm dreading when he decides to show up."

"So then what's the problem?"

"I just don't get him. He seemed really respectful but he hangs out with those other boys so it just slightly irks me. Not that he seems like he'd do anything bad. I don't know how to explain it."

I didn't want to tell her the truth. Well, I had told her part of the truth. But not fully. It had happened the day I had landed in Paris with my family.

I hadn't known who he was then, but he was wearing black straight jeans and a baggy shirt with a long t-shirt underneath.

I had been thinking about how nice his outfit was when someone bumped into me which resulted in their coffee falling all over my clothes.

The man then went on to yell at me in french as if it was my fault that he had bumped into me. We were in the middle of the airport and it felt as if everyone had turned to look and stare.

I could do nothing so I simply said 'I don't understand what you're saying' and tried to get out of there.

However, for some odd reason my reaction had put a smile on his face. He was in the middle of saying something else, also in French, when someone (as I now know it was Omar) pushed the man away from me.

"Ta mère ne t'a-t-elle pas appris à traiter une dame," he said in a bitter voice. Omar looked down at the man who was easily 5 inches shorter than him.

The man had put his hands up and turned around to leave, leaving no room for any fight to happen.

"Are you alright?" he had asked me. His voice sounded oddly familiar. Nostalgic and comforting in a way.

Weird, I think to myself.

"I mean, other than my now coffee stained clothes I'm ok," I joked.

He gave me a once over and nodded. "First time here?"

"Yup. My family and I are all moving here."

"You'll like it here. Well- as long as you don't bump into more people like him. And," he gives me a once over. "Do you have a change of clothes or do you need me to buy you new ones."

"I have clothes in my carry on, but thank you so much," I say with a smile.

After that, he had left so I had been highly surprised when I had seen him at the Masjid. But I was also disappointed.

"I understand what you mean. It's just that feeling."

I nod. "If you're going to the Masjid tomorrow then maybe you'll see him."

"Maybe," I respond.

"Do you have his socials?"

"Oh my Allah. Why didn't I think of that?" I say as I whip out my phone and open Instagram and she does the same.

"What's his name?"

"Omar Malik," I respond.

She looks up at me and smiles. "His name is very..."

"Girl shut up," I laugh.

"Their doesn't seem to be any accounts here under his name," she comments.

"Hmm," I think. "Do you have any of his friends on here."

"I don't follow them but I know someone who does," she says as she goes onto a girls page and goes to a post he was tagged in.

I search it up on my phone and look through the following until I find an account that looked like it was his because of the pfp. He had put his phone above his head in the Facebook mom pose that had become quite popular and dua was right next to him doing a cute peace sign.

"I found it," I respond as I show her.

"It's private though," she says.

"And he's only following 8 people," I say.

"And he has only 8 followers," she looks up at me.

"But he also has 14 posts," I whine.

"Maybe get his instagram when you see him and tell him it's just so you can reach out if you need anything for work?"

"But he has my number. Besides, that would be slightly haram because their's no lowering of my gaze added into the equation."

"Bestie, if you ever need help call me. But it doesn't sound like anything serious is going to happen. He seems like a nice guy. Try to stop worrying and try to just look at the present."

I nod, knowing she's correct. I had always tried to see the better in people so the fact that I couldn't figure Omar out was really annoying to me.

"My nail appointment is in 30 minutes, so I have to go. I'll see you at our 9am tomorrow," she says as she gets off my bed to leave.

"Assalamu alaikum," I say.

"Walaikum assalam," she waves.

After she leaves, I put my phone on my nightstand.

I was extremely tired and had barely slept in the last few days from all the studying I had to do.

"Just a few minutes," I whisper to myself. "We'll get ready after that."

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do you think Ilaria will turn out to be a good friend? -->

word count: 1007

Date Posted: 02/12/2022