The Perfect Girl

4

"So she paints on a smile, Holds it there for a while,"

He was just sitting there, leaning back, one arm draped over the back of the couch and the other propping up his phone.

And I didn't really care.

He was just a boy at the time, and not a particularly attractive one either. There was nothing especially significant about the moment, either. It was not the first time I'd seen him. The boy I'd caught sight of was the son of a family friend. I'd known him for years, or know of him for years.

But I cannot help but think, in retrospect, that it probably should have been significant, because it was the last time I saw him before something extremely significant did happen.

This was a fact, however, that I had no way of knowing at the time.

All I knew was that this was a boy who was named Khalid, the son of my father's friend, Uncle Ishaaq and my mother's friend, Aunty Lina, and the brother of my friend, Jana. The boy who once, when I was very young, I'd had an embarrassing crush on.

I hadn't even spoken to him past a simple "as salaamu alaikum" in at least two years. There just hadn't been a reason to, and I think a part of me was scared of what kind of feelings doing so would awaken.

But I was okay.

I didn't feel the need to flinch away from him, or make sure I didn't look at him too long or to encourage him to look at me. I just hoped he wouldn't notice how rude I was being by not greeting him and walked away as fast as I could.

Yeah, I was okay.

***

I spent a lot of time alone, at least that first day.

There was an arcade at the hotel, and even though the games were mediocre and there were no prizes I particularly wanted to buy and the tokens were much too expensive, I wasted my money there for no apparent reason.

I liked having something simple to do with my hands as an audiobook played in my ear.

I was really picky with which books I read, but even pickier with the audiobooks I read. It wasn't even really about which book I listened to, but more about who it was that read it. Some books that I had loved reading had audiobooks that were absolutely unbearable to listen to because whoever read it either sounded like a robot or was one.

The book I was listening to now was read by this girl with a soft, sweet voice that was both pleasant and engrossing. I observed, with a smile, that her imitation of a boy was much nicer than any voice of an actual boy I'd ever heard.

The guys around me had an irritating tendency to talk without the slightest bit of emphasis, as though enunciation made them less of a man or something. It annoyed me, especially because it just made them sound like idiots.

I'd been there for a while when I felt a hand tap my shoulder and heard a voice say, "As salaamu alaikum."

I turned quickly, startled, and was relieved to see Shuayb and not some stranger.

"Shuayb! You scared the life out of me!" I exclaimed, taking a breath to steady myself, "And wa alaikum us salaam."

"Sorry," he grinned, "Mum's calling you."

"Why?"

"Dinner."

"It's like, nowhere close to dinner time," I furrowed my eyebrows.

"Uncle Ishaaq and his family are coming over, she wants your help." he replied.

Damn it.

"Okay, I'm coming."

I dumped the rest of my tokens into my purse and followed Shuayb out.

"I don't see why you and your brother couldn't help her," I grumbled as we stepped into the elevator, "God. I have to do everything around here."

"Excuse me," Shuayb protested, "That's so rude. We have been helping, and you and I both know that we're gonna have to clean everything up after cause Ami will be tired."

This was true, but not true enough. He and I both knew he didn't know nearly enough about cleaning and he would end up drying the millions of dishes that I would be forced to wash myself because of his lack of skill.

"Larkaa," I muttered, (boys), "They think they do so much."

"What was that?" Shuayb challenged.

"Nothing." I mumbled.

"That's what I thought."