Lies Twist The Way We Think

Chapter 21 - Aisha, the queen of fashion

"Stop, stop! Everybody, get away from her!" The words are a shock, but the tone is familiar and humorous.

The brother-sister styling team that Alisa hired is trying to convince me into trying on something that is apparently a dress when I hear her. I let out a scream and drop the fabric, running towards my door. "Oh my god!"

"Camille." Aisha hugs me tightly and doesn't seem to want to let me go. "Camille."

I press my eyes together because I'm close to crying. Only now I realise how alone I've felt. Avery is exploring Hawthorne House with Xander or Jameson and always excited to tell me what she has experienced, and Libby... despite our talk, she shows this distance towards me that I cannot close, no matter what I do.

But she's here. Aisha is here.

"Hayati, what are they doing to you?" Her eyes wander over my body with a disapproving frown. I'm wearing a different outfit that was picked out for me, but it feels wrong.

I frown. "What? What did I do?"

"Not you. Them." Aisha stares towards my stylists who are discussing something. They pretend not to hear her, and we pretend they aren't there. She hugs me again and kisses me on the cheek. "God, I've missed you so."

I close my eyes and smile. "I missed you more." There are so many things I want to tell her. I pull away and study her face, her chocolate eyes and her brown skin that is glowing golden in the sunlight. She's wearing a long, black dress and a beige hijab that compliments her eyes.

"Alright. Let's get started." She claps and turns to the stylists who seem quite pissed off that I left them waiting. They've been in my room all morning with what appeared to be the entire inventory of Saks Fifth Avenue.

"Now wait, young lady. What are you doing?" The man of six foot asks with a strained voice. His sister, the female stylist, has been quiet almost the entire time.

"The real question is: What are you doing?" She has bent down and picked up the "dress" I was analysing earlier. "You stylists are no use. Let me style Camille and see how she puts the sun to shame."

Without waiting for an answer, my strong-willed best friend walks towards the seemingly endless garderobe the siblings have brought with them and starts mumbling to herself. "No orange, no yellow, no cream..." Aisha is flipping towards fabrics and clothes. "Hey, you!" She then calls for the man who hurries towards her with a sour expression. "Do you have more pieces in this colour?" Aisha holds up a fabric in dark red.

The stylists seem to be developing a migraine. "Well, we should continue meanwhile. Casual options?" he asks his sister, pained. She disappears and reappears with three more outfits, which she adds to the first three. These are with the colours Aisha is currently picking out. Black leggings, a red blouse, and a white cardigan. A lacy sea-green shirt and darker green pants join the floral monstrosity from earlier, an oversized cashmere sweater and torn jeans are hung beside the leather skirt.

"Classic. Natural. Preppy with an edge." The woman reiterates my options desperately.

"I have philosophical objections to colored pants," I say. "So that one's out."

Aisha returns just then and her arms are packed with more clothes than I have ever had in my wardrobe. Dresses, pants, tops and blouses in colours that she hand picked for me. Her eyes are sparkling when she drops them. "Listen. I know what looks good on her," she explains to the stylists who seem too angered yet intimidated by her to say anything. Or maybe by me. I can't tell.

"You're quite impressive for your five foot nothing," I tell her quietly as she arranges the clothes into outfits on my bed.

"Oh, shut up," she hisses back and we both giggle.