Hey girlies and guys :)
I created a new e-mail account for those who want to send e-mails or ask for advice or whatever the case may be. The e-mail is chicken.soup.q8@hotmail.com :)
Hope to hear from you!
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
The Grumpy Tag ;p
Tagged by 7aLeeB KaKaW ;***
1. Put a picture of any grumpy person.
2. Then Mention 3 things that are just abnormal.
- My mother's obsession with "fa5ama"
- Mit7ajbat + leggings
- Boys that haven't hit puberty yet (or probably don't even know what puberty is) hitting on girls old enough to be their mother. THIRD TIME THIS WEEK! WAI3!
3. Two things that irritate you.
- When people talk to me and ask me questions when they can see that I'm on the phone with someone else.
- When people barge into my room without knocking, and even when they see that I'm praying/getting dressed/busy with something, they still hang around!
4. One trigger to your anger.
- When akoon 7adddddi mishta6a for a 6al3a oo I spend hours getting ready and expecting the best, and two minutes before the event, the person cancels or yakser feeni in an equally distressing way.
5. Three people you can't live without.
- Mama ;* 7ayati Mama!
- Il-Semi ;*~
- Pigeon ;***
6. Two of people you don't want to see.
- Two crazy chicks that I was with in univ.. 7mdilla wishikir.. Their brains combined probably amount to 3/4 of an actual human being, so I gave them the benefit of the doubt and counted them as one person. Is that okay?
- The idiot who robbed Il-Semi :/ If I see your face I'll break it, I swear. 7alaya 7awajbich chinna a7ad rasem 3ala yabhitich with a Sharpie marker. And I'm not talking about the thin ones either. No, I'm talking about the ones they use for street tagging.
7. One of your favorite foods.
- Pizza, without a doubt. Pepperoni with pineapples willi ma ya3jeba yi6ig rasa bilferen ;p
8. Three of your favorite songs.
- 3abood 5owaja - A'6naytani Bil-Hajr ;********
- Lloyd - Girls All Around The World (Ft. Lil' Wayne) (If I don't hear this song at least once a day, I feel incomplete :* and Lloyd if you ever ever read this, I love you and I wanna be in your next video.)
- M7amed 3abdu - '3areeb Il-Dar
Tag only 5 people:
Whoever wants to do this. That means:
- You
- You
- You
- You
- You
1. Put a picture of any grumpy person.
2. Then Mention 3 things that are just abnormal.
- My mother's obsession with "fa5ama"
- Mit7ajbat + leggings
- Boys that haven't hit puberty yet (or probably don't even know what puberty is) hitting on girls old enough to be their mother. THIRD TIME THIS WEEK! WAI3!
3. Two things that irritate you.
- When people talk to me and ask me questions when they can see that I'm on the phone with someone else.
- When people barge into my room without knocking, and even when they see that I'm praying/getting dressed/busy with something, they still hang around!
4. One trigger to your anger.
- When akoon 7adddddi mishta6a for a 6al3a oo I spend hours getting ready and expecting the best, and two minutes before the event, the person cancels or yakser feeni in an equally distressing way.
5. Three people you can't live without.
- Mama ;* 7ayati Mama!
- Il-Semi ;*~
- Pigeon ;***
6. Two of people you don't want to see.
- Two crazy chicks that I was with in univ.. 7mdilla wishikir.. Their brains combined probably amount to 3/4 of an actual human being, so I gave them the benefit of the doubt and counted them as one person. Is that okay?
- The idiot who robbed Il-Semi :/ If I see your face I'll break it, I swear. 7alaya 7awajbich chinna a7ad rasem 3ala yabhitich with a Sharpie marker. And I'm not talking about the thin ones either. No, I'm talking about the ones they use for street tagging.
7. One of your favorite foods.
- Pizza, without a doubt. Pepperoni with pineapples willi ma ya3jeba yi6ig rasa bilferen ;p
8. Three of your favorite songs.
- 3abood 5owaja - A'6naytani Bil-Hajr ;********
- Lloyd - Girls All Around The World (Ft. Lil' Wayne) (If I don't hear this song at least once a day, I feel incomplete :* and Lloyd if you ever ever read this, I love you and I wanna be in your next video.)
- M7amed 3abdu - '3areeb Il-Dar
Tag only 5 people:
Whoever wants to do this. That means:
- You
- You
- You
- You
- You
Friday, February 13, 2009
Happy Valentine's Day!
♥♥Just wanted to wish everyone a happy Valentine's day oo inshallah today and all your days are filled with wreckless love and the best surprises ;* Thanks for making this blog a part of you.. I'm so grateful for all of you! Love you!!♥♥
And to my inspiration: May I never have to experience a day or night without you in my life. You'll always have me :* I love you more than words could ever tell. ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Year Of The Lover (Pt. 32)
Jawhara and Mbarak met at Caribou Coffee Free Zone, just as they had planned earlier. The stout Indian man behind the counter greeted them both with a big smile eating up his face. “Hello, Miss Jawhara; how are you?”
“Hi, Shaikh,” Jawhara smiled at him, and let her eyes scan the massive selection of cold and hot drinks.
“T3arfeen isma, ba3ad?” Mbarak asked, playfully wiggling his eyebrows at her.
“Barook, wai3,” Jawhara giggled at his absurd suggestive gesture, and proceeded to order a Spice Tea.
“No Turtle Mocha today?” Shaikh asked as he tapped in the order onto the touch-screen register.
“No,” Jawhara smiled, “Maybe tomorrow. Shino tabi Barooki?”
“White Mocha, please,” Mbarak ordered his drink and placed his hand on the small of Jawhara’s back. She looked up at him lovingly while he paid for the drinks, and as soon as they received their orders, they headed back to Mbarak’s car.
“That’s it?” Jawhara asked, confused. “We’re leaving?”
“Laaaa2!” he growled, taking a quick sip of his stinging hot White Mocha. “Fee my special spot around here; nig3ad hnak.”
“You’re cheating on Bnaider?” Jawhara raised an eyebrow.
“La, Bnaider il7ub – ma7ad yi9ik 3alaiha,” Mbarak smiled as he opened the passenger door for Jawhara.
“Wana?” Jawhara teased, looking up at his gorgeous face with a pout.
“Intay,” Mbarak began, pressing her head into his chest and kissing her soft hair, “Intay ilkil bilkil. Yalla 3umri, rikbay.”
Jawhara giggled and hoisted herself up into the high seat of Mbarak’s Silverado. Their drive was relatively quiet, and the car was enveloped in a comforting darkness because of the night sky and Mbarak’s heavily tinted windows. Jawhara sighed with a smile, staring out the window and then diverting her attention to Mbarak, who was tapping his fingers lightly against the steering wheel. Mbarak then turned the music up a little louder and mumbled, “Sim3ay, ehda2.”
3abadi Johar, one of Jawhara’s favorite musicians, twiddled and strummed his 3ood and let his deep voice fill the car’s speakers. “3eshagtik Gabl Ma Ashoofik, Oo Shiftik - 9irt Killi 7ilm.. Abi Rimshik Yi’3a6eeni Wabeek Agrab Min Anfaaasi!”
Jawhara kissed the back of Mbarak’s hand and tightened the grip of her fingers intertwined with his, and she sank back into the plush seat in pure bliss.
The road twisted and turned until they reached a quiet area of the Free Trade Zone; one without any coffee shops and restaurants, and without any offices either. An eerie collection of abandoned warehouse compartments huddled together in the cold lonely night, hoping that one day someone would come, fill them with products, and bring them back to life. The perfectly aligned blocks of brick-orange and forest-green boasted their company’s names in bright white paint, and Jawhara’s eyes flitted from one to the next, wondering if there was any company she recognized. To her dismay, she didn’t recognize any of the abbreviations.
Mbarak led her by the hand to the point where the pavement met the sea, and they looked down at the piled up boulders that supported the man-made land. After Jawhara brutally rejected the idea of sitting on the boulders for fear of being bitten by rats or stung by mites and mosquitoes, they resorted to sitting directly on the pavement, their legs propped up against the large rocks. The washed out tide, surprisingly, didn’t smell as bad as it did on the other side of the Free Trade Zone, and they embraced the pungent salty air by taking a deep breath, filling up their chest cavities with the air like it was a drug. They sat, bodies resting against one another, with nothing to illuminate their evening but a platinum full moon.
“Jawharti?” Mbarak asked softly, looking up from the point where their toes touched.
“3umri,” Jawhara replied, stroking her cheek against his burly upper arm.
“Are you happy? With me, I mean,” he asked, looking into her eyes.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” she shook her head lightly, a wistful smile painting her lips. She set the paper cup of tea on the damp pavement, and instantly, she longed for the warmth it brought to her palms. Instead, she crammed her hands into the small kangaroo pockets of her Juicy training suit.
“Madri, as2al. Aham shay innich mirta7a,” Mbarak affirmed, to himself mostly. ‘As long as I was making her happy, I won’t have to worry about a thing.’
“Mirta7a oo nu9,” she repeated, exhaling to the world the deep pleasure that has been settling in her heart. But, as always with Jawhara, curiosity got the best of her, and she was eager to find out why Mbarak would ask such a random question at a random time. “Inzain, I have a question.”
“Si2lay,” he smiled his million-dollar smile, the small mark of his dimples outlined by the moonlight.
“Inta 7abait min gabel?” Jawhara asked, turning the tables. But to her surprise, Mbarak answered with ease.
“Ee; mako a7ad ma 7ab,” he replied quietly and rather quickly. His fingers traced the edges of the white plastic cover of his White Mocha. Before Jawhara could pry and ask any more questions, he explained everything briefly to her. “She was a good girl; we had a lot of problems though, and in the end I’d found out that she resorted to talking to other guys to make herself feel better.”
“How’d you find out?” Jawhara wondered. She couldn’t help but feel a ting of jealousy piercing her heart, but no Kuwaiti man was a tabula rasa, as her psychology professor had once put it. There was always some sort of disfigurement to the clean state, whether it was a tiny scratch on the surface or a deep gash that ate it’s way to the very core. Jawhara began to see herself as a miniscule perforation in the giant carving board that was Mbarak.
“He was my friend,” Mbarak sighed, staring out at the murky blotches of water.
“Ouch,” Jawhara sucked her breath, and instinctively leaned against his shoulder.
She wanted to be more than just a perforation. She didn’t want to be a painful slash across the gleaming slate – she wanted to be an intricate carving; one so beautiful and breathtaking that no one would dare try to destroy it’s presence on the slate or vandalize it. “I’m sorry.”
“3adi, 6af; that was a long time ago,” Mbarak brought his face close to Jawhara’s. His warm breath stroked her cheeks and she inhaled the sweet scent of White Mocha.
“You don’t think about her?” Jawhara refused to believe that that was the end of her. The Ex-Files always seemed to re-open when two people were in a perfect relationship – something always has to get in the way.
Mbarak shook his head. “Ana bes afaker feech. 5athaitay 3agli walla..”
Jawhara wanted more than anything to kiss him at that moment. The closeness of his face, the cool night air, the words he’d so swiftly spoken; it was all too perfect to pass up the chance. Just as if he was reading her thoughts, his eyes shifted back and forth rapidly to her eyes, then her lips, and back to her eyes again. Not knowing how to initiate anything without scaring Jawhara, Mbarak tipped his head closer to hers, and she responded by doing the same. Her eyes were fixated on his lips, which slowly began to part as he moved closer to hers. A funny sound escaped Jawhara’s throat, semi-ruining what could’ve been the perfect kiss.
“Shfeech?” Mbarak whispered, his warm breath cutting through the chilly air. She shyly shook her head and felt his move closer and closer to hers until his warm lips planted themselves onto her lips.
Jawhara took a deep breath and let all of her senses pause whatever they would normally feel and just enjoy the sensation of Mbarak’s lips and tongue. He parted Jawhara’s lips with slight pressure from his own and proceeded to let his tongue explore the tenderness of her mouth. A sweet coat of White Mocha lingered on his tongue, which Jawhara savored as it trailed across her tongue. Mbarak was so obviously hungry for this kiss that he had to restrain himself from letting go of his inhibitions and turning it into a sloppy kiss.
But it didn’t matter to Jawhara; the kiss was everything she’d wanted it to be. It reminded her of the softness she’d appreciate every time she’d run her butter knife through a packet of cream cheese, or when frosting a cupcake – moist, supple, and airy, but not too wet. Mbarak cupped her face in his cold hands, not wanting her to break free as his lips plunged deeper into hers. The steady rhythmic movements of their lips and tongues continued until a soft buzzing sound came from Jawhara’s pockets. The light of her mobile’s screen flashed, anxiously waiting for Jawhara to acknowledge it. She groaned with irritation, her lips still locked with Mbarak’s, until he withdrew them in a perfectly faded end to the most beautiful kiss Jawhara had ever experienced.
Ignoring her phone, Jawhara’s eyes stayed locked on Mbarak’s. He looked so love drugged that his eyes felt bleary and a goofy smile spread across his lips. “Di5t,” he stated, pulling her against his chest. Through his white Polo crest sweater, she could hear his heart beat wildly in her ear. He kissed the smooth line where her forehead met her hair. “You are so beautiful.”
“Hey, bes; asti7i,” Jawhara mumbled, hiding her blushing face deeper into Mbarak’s sweater.
“Ma n5ale9 min hal mista7a,” he joked, stroking her wavy hair.
Jawhara had almost forgotten about the missed call that waited eagerly to be recognized, and when she pulled out her mobile phone, a strange stream of numbers that she couldn’t identify boasted itself on the top of her missed calls list. “Who is this?” she asked herself, wondering if she should call back right then or wait till later.
“Call back later,” Mbarak replied, reading her thoughts. He wanted to spend every moment with her uninterrupted.
“Ee, I will,” Jawhara affirmed, stuffing her mobile back into her pocket. And with that, Mbarak and Jawhara sat and talked for a little over an hour, the love so thick in the air between them that anyone walking past could reach out and touch it. He discussed his favorite topic of all, cars, and though Jawhara usually couldn’t care less for that subject, she latched onto every word Mbarak spoke as if it were a religious sermon that would save her from hellfire. She, in return, told him about the crazy experiences she’d had while renting cars for fun. “Guys ma yin3a6oon wayh when they rent cars! T5ayal, 7aram; ra3i ilma7al ga3d yigool inna il-Lamborghini bes im2ajreenha once oo latshoof shimsaween feeha!”
“Oh yeah?” Mbarak chuckled, “Shimsaween feeha?”
“Il-mukayef is missing a slot, the leather seats are stained with God-knows-what, the shift dayman yi3alleg, the brake pads were so worn out, oo it was filthy! Allah yi3een illi yi2ajerha 3ugub those guys!” Jawhara counted the faults off her fingers, and with every problem she named, Mbarak nodded his head with such adoration – it was the most attractive thing ever seeing a girl as beautiful and feminine as Jawhara talk about cars.
The time passed all too quickly for their liking, but it was time for Jawhara to get home – as much as Mbarak loved to spend time with her, it would be selfish of him to keep her out at night. Even though it was only 9.30 PM, Mbarak felt more at ease knowing Jawhara wasn’t out in the streets at 10 PM or later. ‘All the freaks come out at night; Allah yahdeehum bas oo ye7fi’6 Jawharti,’ he thought to himself.
“Asayrich lai ilbeit?” he asked chivalrously, knowing that he would follow her home even if she declined.
“Illi yiray7ik, 7abeebi,” she smiled as his Silverado pulled up into the dark parking lot next to her SUV.
“5ala9 3ayal, rikbay sayartich wana al7egich lai ilbeit. Itha a7ad yi2atheech digeeli,” he smiled.
“Inshallah,” Jawhara nodded, and he picked up her hand and kissed it. After a long heartfelt embrace, Jawhara let herself out of Mbarak’s car and climbed into her own, thinking about the missed call she’d received earlier.
Jawhara pulled out her phone, her thumb hovering hesitantly over the ‘Send’ button – she was so used to ignoring unknown numbers, but something in her heart told her that she should call this number back. Without giving herself another moment to falter, she called the number back and waited nervously for someone to pick up and stop the nerve-wracking rings. After a few seconds, a kind womanly voice came through the other end of the line.
“Aloo?” the woman spoke. Judging by her voice, Jawhara could tell she was quite old and a little tired.
“Aloo,” Jawhara repeated, feeling a lot more relaxed that it was a woman speaking and not some random guy making prank calls.
“Mino, Jawhara?” the kind voice asked, hoping she didn’t get the wrong number.
“Ee na3am, mino ma3ay?” Jawhara inquired with a frown; to her knowledge, she didn’t know any older women besides her aunts, and they were all stored in her contact list.
“Wiyach Um A7med,” the woman replied.
A cold chill ran down Jawhara’s spine and she glanced at the car’s air condition to make sure it was turned off. Her eyes shot up at the rear-view mirror to make sure Mbarak was still behind her, and a sigh of relief escaped her lips when she saw his arms flailing this way and that – he was probably arguing with someone on the phone. “Hala walla, 5alti,” Jawhara tried not to be so dry when she spoke, but the mention of A7med or anything to do with him always left a bitter taste in her mouth, as if she’d bitten into a rancid piece of fruit. The taste and feeling were hard to shake, but Jawhara maintained her composure, gripping the steering wheel firmly as she made her way down the 2nd Ring Road.
“Shloonich, 7abeebti?” Um A7med asked, a hint of concern seeping through the cracks of her words. As soon as she’d said ‘7abeebti’, a thunderbolt of nostalgia crashed down onto Jawhara’s heart – she remembered all the times when A7med’s mother would use countless terms of endearment when addressing Jawhara. Jawhara was the daughter she never had.
“7mdilla, 5alti; intay shloonich?” Jawhara was anxious to get the formalities out of the way; it only made her heart ache.
“Ana walla mo zaina,” Um A7med sighed, the distress hanging itself over their conversation.
“Afa; laish 5alti? 3asa ma shar?” Jawhara asked, genuinely worried.
“Ana sam3a inna A7med im2atheech?” Um A7med asked unsurely. Jawhara’s eyes darted to the rear-view mirror every two seconds to make sure Mbarak was behind her. He was; and more than anything, Jawhara wished she could stop her car on the side of the road, climb into his car, and nestle herself in the safety of his arms. She felt sick to her stomach.
“Ee, 5alti; i9ara7a athani,” Jawhara said after taking a giant gulp, frantic to push down the lump that was forming in her throat. It reminded her of her first sushi experience – everything she smelled didn’t appeal to her, the crispy seaweed left a harsh aftertaste in her mouth, and when she tried to swallow the chewy cucumber roll, it lodged itself happily in her throat, too far from her stomach and too far to upchuck back into her mouth.
Um A7med had continued to ramble about how disappointed she was in her son and that she thought she’d raised him sufficiently well enough so that he wouldn’t bother “banat ilnas”, but all Jawhara could think of was the former slap and the recent string of angry words A7med had hurled at her.
“Bes 7abait agoolich inni jiddan asfa 3ala illi 9ar oo aw3edich inna mara7 yitgarablich aw yi2atheech,” Um A7med’s words came pouring back into Jawhara’s ear.
An awkward silence filled the matter between them, and as soon as Jawhara was able to convince herself to swallow her pride, as well as the lump, she quietly said, “7a9al 5air, 5alti.”
The conversation came to a close with another round of formalities and “Don’t forget, you’re still my daughter wana a3izich wayid.”. All Jawhara could do was nod and crumple her lips to one side. Her eyes stayed glued to the rear-view mirror and she let the phone drop lifelessly into her lap, as if it had gathered all of it’s energy for that one phone call that meant to prickle Jawhara’s heart.
A comforting sensation of relief scooped Jawhara into it’s arms as she approached the backstreets that led to her house. Mbarak was still tailing behind her, smiling at her from ear to ear every time she stared at him through the rear-view mirror. Making sure the streets of the fireej were empty, Jawhara parked her car in the large brick driveway of her house and walked over to Mbarak’s window.
“7mdilla 3asalama,” he smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“Allah yisalmik; thanks for staying behind me,” Jawhara replied quickly. Her heart was about to beat itself up her ribcage and out of her mouth.
Sensing that her thoughts weren’t clear, Mbarak asked her what was wrong. “Did you call that number back?”
“Ee,” Jawhara nodded, blinking the cold air out of her eyes. “It was Um A7med.”
“Aha,” Mbarak pressed his lips together, apparently dissatisfied with Jawhara’s answer, as if she’d selected who the lucky caller would be.
“7aram; she’s nice,” Jawhara quickly interjected. “She was always nice. She just called to apologize.”
Jawhara’s kind-hearted nature was a wonder to Mbarak – he’s always heard of girls being sweet and naïve and going the extra mile for people they love, but this girl seemed to look past every single difference, and she always seemed to find a place for people in her pasture of a heart. “Allah la y’3ayer 3alaich,” Mbarak said softly, beaming at his special girl.
“Shyab?” Jawhara suppressed a chuckle. She peeked left and right just to make sure that no one was out in the street.
“Bes. Allah la y’3ayer 3alaich. Yalla, 7abeebti, dishay da5il. It’s cold oo mabi a7ad yishoofna,” Mbarak insisted, bending his head down to kiss Jawhara’s fingers that were clutching onto the windowpane. “Ana bamur ildiwaniya shway. Itha you need anything, call me.”
“Ok 3umri, thanks,” Jawhara smiled, and watched him drive off and out of the fireej.
Jawhara dragged her feet across the gravel and into the garden of her house. The old wooden garden swing sat lonely amidst the lush green grass, wishing that Jawhara, or anyone, would sit on it and revive the memories that were embedded in the shanks of wood. It then occurred to Jawhara that she hadn’t sat on the garden swing since her father passed away. He was her favorite companion for that event; his long legs rocked the wide swing back and forth while her short legs dangled happily in the brisk spring air.
“Inshallah lama titzawejain, you can take this swing to your new home,” Jawhara’s mother’s voice came from behind her. Jawhara whipped her body around to find her mother standing in the doorway.
She shimmied over to her mother and sank herself between her mother’s loving arms. “Inshallah,” Jawhara whispered.
“Ha, wain kintay?” Jawhara’s mother asked as they walked inside together.
“Just to get coffee with Mbarak,” Jawhara smiled at the mention of his name; she felt so comfortable being able to tell her mom about her whereabouts and not keep any secrets.
“Deeray balich la7ad yishoofkum together, mama; you know how people talk,” Jawhara’s mother advised as they sat down on the comfy couch in their dim living room. A silver tea tray was set on the coffee table with two empty mugs and a giant thermos of chai 7aleeb.
“Don’t worry, Mama. Uhwa wayid 7aree9 3ala halshay,” Jawhara assured her mother.
“Ee zain, ashwa,” Jawhara’s mother smiled and proceeded to fill the mugs with steaming hot milk tea. The dense aroma of cardamom and sweet milk curled into the air, diffusing itself into Jawhara’s nostrils and warming her heart. She stirred the tea lovingly, careful not to disturb the sugar lumps and let them dissolve at their own pace.
“3ala fikra, I got in touch with Um Mbarak,” Jawhara’s mother said with a gleeful grin, anxious to see Jawhara’s reaction.
+++++ 3abadi Johar - 3yoonik (Edhaa2 5aaa9 Jiddan ;**) +++++
“Hi, Shaikh,” Jawhara smiled at him, and let her eyes scan the massive selection of cold and hot drinks.
“T3arfeen isma, ba3ad?” Mbarak asked, playfully wiggling his eyebrows at her.
“Barook, wai3,” Jawhara giggled at his absurd suggestive gesture, and proceeded to order a Spice Tea.
“No Turtle Mocha today?” Shaikh asked as he tapped in the order onto the touch-screen register.
“No,” Jawhara smiled, “Maybe tomorrow. Shino tabi Barooki?”
“White Mocha, please,” Mbarak ordered his drink and placed his hand on the small of Jawhara’s back. She looked up at him lovingly while he paid for the drinks, and as soon as they received their orders, they headed back to Mbarak’s car.
“That’s it?” Jawhara asked, confused. “We’re leaving?”
“Laaaa2!” he growled, taking a quick sip of his stinging hot White Mocha. “Fee my special spot around here; nig3ad hnak.”
“You’re cheating on Bnaider?” Jawhara raised an eyebrow.
“La, Bnaider il7ub – ma7ad yi9ik 3alaiha,” Mbarak smiled as he opened the passenger door for Jawhara.
“Wana?” Jawhara teased, looking up at his gorgeous face with a pout.
“Intay,” Mbarak began, pressing her head into his chest and kissing her soft hair, “Intay ilkil bilkil. Yalla 3umri, rikbay.”
Jawhara giggled and hoisted herself up into the high seat of Mbarak’s Silverado. Their drive was relatively quiet, and the car was enveloped in a comforting darkness because of the night sky and Mbarak’s heavily tinted windows. Jawhara sighed with a smile, staring out the window and then diverting her attention to Mbarak, who was tapping his fingers lightly against the steering wheel. Mbarak then turned the music up a little louder and mumbled, “Sim3ay, ehda2.”
3abadi Johar, one of Jawhara’s favorite musicians, twiddled and strummed his 3ood and let his deep voice fill the car’s speakers. “3eshagtik Gabl Ma Ashoofik, Oo Shiftik - 9irt Killi 7ilm.. Abi Rimshik Yi’3a6eeni Wabeek Agrab Min Anfaaasi!”
Jawhara kissed the back of Mbarak’s hand and tightened the grip of her fingers intertwined with his, and she sank back into the plush seat in pure bliss.
The road twisted and turned until they reached a quiet area of the Free Trade Zone; one without any coffee shops and restaurants, and without any offices either. An eerie collection of abandoned warehouse compartments huddled together in the cold lonely night, hoping that one day someone would come, fill them with products, and bring them back to life. The perfectly aligned blocks of brick-orange and forest-green boasted their company’s names in bright white paint, and Jawhara’s eyes flitted from one to the next, wondering if there was any company she recognized. To her dismay, she didn’t recognize any of the abbreviations.
Mbarak led her by the hand to the point where the pavement met the sea, and they looked down at the piled up boulders that supported the man-made land. After Jawhara brutally rejected the idea of sitting on the boulders for fear of being bitten by rats or stung by mites and mosquitoes, they resorted to sitting directly on the pavement, their legs propped up against the large rocks. The washed out tide, surprisingly, didn’t smell as bad as it did on the other side of the Free Trade Zone, and they embraced the pungent salty air by taking a deep breath, filling up their chest cavities with the air like it was a drug. They sat, bodies resting against one another, with nothing to illuminate their evening but a platinum full moon.
“Jawharti?” Mbarak asked softly, looking up from the point where their toes touched.
“3umri,” Jawhara replied, stroking her cheek against his burly upper arm.
“Are you happy? With me, I mean,” he asked, looking into her eyes.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” she shook her head lightly, a wistful smile painting her lips. She set the paper cup of tea on the damp pavement, and instantly, she longed for the warmth it brought to her palms. Instead, she crammed her hands into the small kangaroo pockets of her Juicy training suit.
“Madri, as2al. Aham shay innich mirta7a,” Mbarak affirmed, to himself mostly. ‘As long as I was making her happy, I won’t have to worry about a thing.’
“Mirta7a oo nu9,” she repeated, exhaling to the world the deep pleasure that has been settling in her heart. But, as always with Jawhara, curiosity got the best of her, and she was eager to find out why Mbarak would ask such a random question at a random time. “Inzain, I have a question.”
“Si2lay,” he smiled his million-dollar smile, the small mark of his dimples outlined by the moonlight.
“Inta 7abait min gabel?” Jawhara asked, turning the tables. But to her surprise, Mbarak answered with ease.
“Ee; mako a7ad ma 7ab,” he replied quietly and rather quickly. His fingers traced the edges of the white plastic cover of his White Mocha. Before Jawhara could pry and ask any more questions, he explained everything briefly to her. “She was a good girl; we had a lot of problems though, and in the end I’d found out that she resorted to talking to other guys to make herself feel better.”
“How’d you find out?” Jawhara wondered. She couldn’t help but feel a ting of jealousy piercing her heart, but no Kuwaiti man was a tabula rasa, as her psychology professor had once put it. There was always some sort of disfigurement to the clean state, whether it was a tiny scratch on the surface or a deep gash that ate it’s way to the very core. Jawhara began to see herself as a miniscule perforation in the giant carving board that was Mbarak.
“He was my friend,” Mbarak sighed, staring out at the murky blotches of water.
“Ouch,” Jawhara sucked her breath, and instinctively leaned against his shoulder.
She wanted to be more than just a perforation. She didn’t want to be a painful slash across the gleaming slate – she wanted to be an intricate carving; one so beautiful and breathtaking that no one would dare try to destroy it’s presence on the slate or vandalize it. “I’m sorry.”
“3adi, 6af; that was a long time ago,” Mbarak brought his face close to Jawhara’s. His warm breath stroked her cheeks and she inhaled the sweet scent of White Mocha.
“You don’t think about her?” Jawhara refused to believe that that was the end of her. The Ex-Files always seemed to re-open when two people were in a perfect relationship – something always has to get in the way.
Mbarak shook his head. “Ana bes afaker feech. 5athaitay 3agli walla..”
Jawhara wanted more than anything to kiss him at that moment. The closeness of his face, the cool night air, the words he’d so swiftly spoken; it was all too perfect to pass up the chance. Just as if he was reading her thoughts, his eyes shifted back and forth rapidly to her eyes, then her lips, and back to her eyes again. Not knowing how to initiate anything without scaring Jawhara, Mbarak tipped his head closer to hers, and she responded by doing the same. Her eyes were fixated on his lips, which slowly began to part as he moved closer to hers. A funny sound escaped Jawhara’s throat, semi-ruining what could’ve been the perfect kiss.
“Shfeech?” Mbarak whispered, his warm breath cutting through the chilly air. She shyly shook her head and felt his move closer and closer to hers until his warm lips planted themselves onto her lips.
Jawhara took a deep breath and let all of her senses pause whatever they would normally feel and just enjoy the sensation of Mbarak’s lips and tongue. He parted Jawhara’s lips with slight pressure from his own and proceeded to let his tongue explore the tenderness of her mouth. A sweet coat of White Mocha lingered on his tongue, which Jawhara savored as it trailed across her tongue. Mbarak was so obviously hungry for this kiss that he had to restrain himself from letting go of his inhibitions and turning it into a sloppy kiss.
But it didn’t matter to Jawhara; the kiss was everything she’d wanted it to be. It reminded her of the softness she’d appreciate every time she’d run her butter knife through a packet of cream cheese, or when frosting a cupcake – moist, supple, and airy, but not too wet. Mbarak cupped her face in his cold hands, not wanting her to break free as his lips plunged deeper into hers. The steady rhythmic movements of their lips and tongues continued until a soft buzzing sound came from Jawhara’s pockets. The light of her mobile’s screen flashed, anxiously waiting for Jawhara to acknowledge it. She groaned with irritation, her lips still locked with Mbarak’s, until he withdrew them in a perfectly faded end to the most beautiful kiss Jawhara had ever experienced.
Ignoring her phone, Jawhara’s eyes stayed locked on Mbarak’s. He looked so love drugged that his eyes felt bleary and a goofy smile spread across his lips. “Di5t,” he stated, pulling her against his chest. Through his white Polo crest sweater, she could hear his heart beat wildly in her ear. He kissed the smooth line where her forehead met her hair. “You are so beautiful.”
“Hey, bes; asti7i,” Jawhara mumbled, hiding her blushing face deeper into Mbarak’s sweater.
“Ma n5ale9 min hal mista7a,” he joked, stroking her wavy hair.
Jawhara had almost forgotten about the missed call that waited eagerly to be recognized, and when she pulled out her mobile phone, a strange stream of numbers that she couldn’t identify boasted itself on the top of her missed calls list. “Who is this?” she asked herself, wondering if she should call back right then or wait till later.
“Call back later,” Mbarak replied, reading her thoughts. He wanted to spend every moment with her uninterrupted.
“Ee, I will,” Jawhara affirmed, stuffing her mobile back into her pocket. And with that, Mbarak and Jawhara sat and talked for a little over an hour, the love so thick in the air between them that anyone walking past could reach out and touch it. He discussed his favorite topic of all, cars, and though Jawhara usually couldn’t care less for that subject, she latched onto every word Mbarak spoke as if it were a religious sermon that would save her from hellfire. She, in return, told him about the crazy experiences she’d had while renting cars for fun. “Guys ma yin3a6oon wayh when they rent cars! T5ayal, 7aram; ra3i ilma7al ga3d yigool inna il-Lamborghini bes im2ajreenha once oo latshoof shimsaween feeha!”
“Oh yeah?” Mbarak chuckled, “Shimsaween feeha?”
“Il-mukayef is missing a slot, the leather seats are stained with God-knows-what, the shift dayman yi3alleg, the brake pads were so worn out, oo it was filthy! Allah yi3een illi yi2ajerha 3ugub those guys!” Jawhara counted the faults off her fingers, and with every problem she named, Mbarak nodded his head with such adoration – it was the most attractive thing ever seeing a girl as beautiful and feminine as Jawhara talk about cars.
The time passed all too quickly for their liking, but it was time for Jawhara to get home – as much as Mbarak loved to spend time with her, it would be selfish of him to keep her out at night. Even though it was only 9.30 PM, Mbarak felt more at ease knowing Jawhara wasn’t out in the streets at 10 PM or later. ‘All the freaks come out at night; Allah yahdeehum bas oo ye7fi’6 Jawharti,’ he thought to himself.
“Asayrich lai ilbeit?” he asked chivalrously, knowing that he would follow her home even if she declined.
“Illi yiray7ik, 7abeebi,” she smiled as his Silverado pulled up into the dark parking lot next to her SUV.
“5ala9 3ayal, rikbay sayartich wana al7egich lai ilbeit. Itha a7ad yi2atheech digeeli,” he smiled.
“Inshallah,” Jawhara nodded, and he picked up her hand and kissed it. After a long heartfelt embrace, Jawhara let herself out of Mbarak’s car and climbed into her own, thinking about the missed call she’d received earlier.
Jawhara pulled out her phone, her thumb hovering hesitantly over the ‘Send’ button – she was so used to ignoring unknown numbers, but something in her heart told her that she should call this number back. Without giving herself another moment to falter, she called the number back and waited nervously for someone to pick up and stop the nerve-wracking rings. After a few seconds, a kind womanly voice came through the other end of the line.
“Aloo?” the woman spoke. Judging by her voice, Jawhara could tell she was quite old and a little tired.
“Aloo,” Jawhara repeated, feeling a lot more relaxed that it was a woman speaking and not some random guy making prank calls.
“Mino, Jawhara?” the kind voice asked, hoping she didn’t get the wrong number.
“Ee na3am, mino ma3ay?” Jawhara inquired with a frown; to her knowledge, she didn’t know any older women besides her aunts, and they were all stored in her contact list.
“Wiyach Um A7med,” the woman replied.
A cold chill ran down Jawhara’s spine and she glanced at the car’s air condition to make sure it was turned off. Her eyes shot up at the rear-view mirror to make sure Mbarak was still behind her, and a sigh of relief escaped her lips when she saw his arms flailing this way and that – he was probably arguing with someone on the phone. “Hala walla, 5alti,” Jawhara tried not to be so dry when she spoke, but the mention of A7med or anything to do with him always left a bitter taste in her mouth, as if she’d bitten into a rancid piece of fruit. The taste and feeling were hard to shake, but Jawhara maintained her composure, gripping the steering wheel firmly as she made her way down the 2nd Ring Road.
“Shloonich, 7abeebti?” Um A7med asked, a hint of concern seeping through the cracks of her words. As soon as she’d said ‘7abeebti’, a thunderbolt of nostalgia crashed down onto Jawhara’s heart – she remembered all the times when A7med’s mother would use countless terms of endearment when addressing Jawhara. Jawhara was the daughter she never had.
“7mdilla, 5alti; intay shloonich?” Jawhara was anxious to get the formalities out of the way; it only made her heart ache.
“Ana walla mo zaina,” Um A7med sighed, the distress hanging itself over their conversation.
“Afa; laish 5alti? 3asa ma shar?” Jawhara asked, genuinely worried.
“Ana sam3a inna A7med im2atheech?” Um A7med asked unsurely. Jawhara’s eyes darted to the rear-view mirror every two seconds to make sure Mbarak was behind her. He was; and more than anything, Jawhara wished she could stop her car on the side of the road, climb into his car, and nestle herself in the safety of his arms. She felt sick to her stomach.
“Ee, 5alti; i9ara7a athani,” Jawhara said after taking a giant gulp, frantic to push down the lump that was forming in her throat. It reminded her of her first sushi experience – everything she smelled didn’t appeal to her, the crispy seaweed left a harsh aftertaste in her mouth, and when she tried to swallow the chewy cucumber roll, it lodged itself happily in her throat, too far from her stomach and too far to upchuck back into her mouth.
Um A7med had continued to ramble about how disappointed she was in her son and that she thought she’d raised him sufficiently well enough so that he wouldn’t bother “banat ilnas”, but all Jawhara could think of was the former slap and the recent string of angry words A7med had hurled at her.
“Bes 7abait agoolich inni jiddan asfa 3ala illi 9ar oo aw3edich inna mara7 yitgarablich aw yi2atheech,” Um A7med’s words came pouring back into Jawhara’s ear.
An awkward silence filled the matter between them, and as soon as Jawhara was able to convince herself to swallow her pride, as well as the lump, she quietly said, “7a9al 5air, 5alti.”
The conversation came to a close with another round of formalities and “Don’t forget, you’re still my daughter wana a3izich wayid.”. All Jawhara could do was nod and crumple her lips to one side. Her eyes stayed glued to the rear-view mirror and she let the phone drop lifelessly into her lap, as if it had gathered all of it’s energy for that one phone call that meant to prickle Jawhara’s heart.
A comforting sensation of relief scooped Jawhara into it’s arms as she approached the backstreets that led to her house. Mbarak was still tailing behind her, smiling at her from ear to ear every time she stared at him through the rear-view mirror. Making sure the streets of the fireej were empty, Jawhara parked her car in the large brick driveway of her house and walked over to Mbarak’s window.
“7mdilla 3asalama,” he smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“Allah yisalmik; thanks for staying behind me,” Jawhara replied quickly. Her heart was about to beat itself up her ribcage and out of her mouth.
Sensing that her thoughts weren’t clear, Mbarak asked her what was wrong. “Did you call that number back?”
“Ee,” Jawhara nodded, blinking the cold air out of her eyes. “It was Um A7med.”
“Aha,” Mbarak pressed his lips together, apparently dissatisfied with Jawhara’s answer, as if she’d selected who the lucky caller would be.
“7aram; she’s nice,” Jawhara quickly interjected. “She was always nice. She just called to apologize.”
Jawhara’s kind-hearted nature was a wonder to Mbarak – he’s always heard of girls being sweet and naïve and going the extra mile for people they love, but this girl seemed to look past every single difference, and she always seemed to find a place for people in her pasture of a heart. “Allah la y’3ayer 3alaich,” Mbarak said softly, beaming at his special girl.
“Shyab?” Jawhara suppressed a chuckle. She peeked left and right just to make sure that no one was out in the street.
“Bes. Allah la y’3ayer 3alaich. Yalla, 7abeebti, dishay da5il. It’s cold oo mabi a7ad yishoofna,” Mbarak insisted, bending his head down to kiss Jawhara’s fingers that were clutching onto the windowpane. “Ana bamur ildiwaniya shway. Itha you need anything, call me.”
“Ok 3umri, thanks,” Jawhara smiled, and watched him drive off and out of the fireej.
Jawhara dragged her feet across the gravel and into the garden of her house. The old wooden garden swing sat lonely amidst the lush green grass, wishing that Jawhara, or anyone, would sit on it and revive the memories that were embedded in the shanks of wood. It then occurred to Jawhara that she hadn’t sat on the garden swing since her father passed away. He was her favorite companion for that event; his long legs rocked the wide swing back and forth while her short legs dangled happily in the brisk spring air.
“Inshallah lama titzawejain, you can take this swing to your new home,” Jawhara’s mother’s voice came from behind her. Jawhara whipped her body around to find her mother standing in the doorway.
She shimmied over to her mother and sank herself between her mother’s loving arms. “Inshallah,” Jawhara whispered.
“Ha, wain kintay?” Jawhara’s mother asked as they walked inside together.
“Just to get coffee with Mbarak,” Jawhara smiled at the mention of his name; she felt so comfortable being able to tell her mom about her whereabouts and not keep any secrets.
“Deeray balich la7ad yishoofkum together, mama; you know how people talk,” Jawhara’s mother advised as they sat down on the comfy couch in their dim living room. A silver tea tray was set on the coffee table with two empty mugs and a giant thermos of chai 7aleeb.
“Don’t worry, Mama. Uhwa wayid 7aree9 3ala halshay,” Jawhara assured her mother.
“Ee zain, ashwa,” Jawhara’s mother smiled and proceeded to fill the mugs with steaming hot milk tea. The dense aroma of cardamom and sweet milk curled into the air, diffusing itself into Jawhara’s nostrils and warming her heart. She stirred the tea lovingly, careful not to disturb the sugar lumps and let them dissolve at their own pace.
“3ala fikra, I got in touch with Um Mbarak,” Jawhara’s mother said with a gleeful grin, anxious to see Jawhara’s reaction.
+++++ 3abadi Johar - 3yoonik (Edhaa2 5aaa9 Jiddan ;**) +++++
Sunday, February 8, 2009
25 Random Things
1. i hate mushrooms. hate hate hate mushrooms. and fage3 :(
2. everytime it rains i look for the rainbow.
3. theres nothing i love more than being in my car - driving, singing, eating, relaxing. my car is the bestest ;*
4. i feel incomplete without my chai 7aleeb breakfast every morning.. i never get sick of it.
5. i can never leave the house without earrings, even though i'm going to the baqala.
6. if i ever lost my iPod i'd probably kill myself. i organized every single song/artist/album with the album covers and it took me AGES. i'd hate to do it all over again..
7. 7 is one of my lucky numbers.
8. if a song reminds me of someone/something that i lost, i have a very hard time listening to it again, which sucks because i miss listening to 3abdu and a lot of 5aleeji songs..
9. i am a potato addict.
10. i had a prophecy about fringe being back this season and no one believed me until they all went shopping ;p teehee!
11. i think Kuwaiti men are the manliest/sexiest/most attractive men bidinya. i don't understand how people are attracted to anyone else.. they just have this thing about them :) ya 7ilookum shababna!
12. i make up words to describe things and pretty soon everyone i know starts saying them. its soooo funny!
13. i adore elephants and pearls
14. i love to talk! i don't understand people who don't like to talk. but i know when to shut up ;)
15. i wish i was a little taller than i am..
16. when i'm depressed/feeling low, i go out and buy lingerie and/or sexy bras and undies because they make me feel better.. i have the biggest collection of lingerie and one day i am gonna make my husband a very very happy man ;P
17. i love to color and make my own cards
18. i have a very impressive sticker collection hehehe :P
19. my mom thinks i'm a kid because i will never stop buying disney princess stuff.
20. i own crocs and they're loaded with jibbitz, but i'm too embarrassed to wear them.
21. i get soooo annoyed when people smoke around me (especially when i've just done my hair), but strangely enough, i love the smell of cigarettes & cologne and i think its so sexy when guys smoke..
22. i can never play soccer because i'm afraid of the ball.
23. i don't really like coffee, i just drink it because i like driving out to get it :P
24. i do butt exercises every night before i go to sleep :P
25. people always tell me i'm 7anna, bes walla ma a7is ib nafsi :( i don't think i'm 7anna at all. :)
2. everytime it rains i look for the rainbow.
3. theres nothing i love more than being in my car - driving, singing, eating, relaxing. my car is the bestest ;*
4. i feel incomplete without my chai 7aleeb breakfast every morning.. i never get sick of it.
5. i can never leave the house without earrings, even though i'm going to the baqala.
6. if i ever lost my iPod i'd probably kill myself. i organized every single song/artist/album with the album covers and it took me AGES. i'd hate to do it all over again..
7. 7 is one of my lucky numbers.
8. if a song reminds me of someone/something that i lost, i have a very hard time listening to it again, which sucks because i miss listening to 3abdu and a lot of 5aleeji songs..
9. i am a potato addict.
10. i had a prophecy about fringe being back this season and no one believed me until they all went shopping ;p teehee!
11. i think Kuwaiti men are the manliest/sexiest/most attractive men bidinya. i don't understand how people are attracted to anyone else.. they just have this thing about them :) ya 7ilookum shababna!
12. i make up words to describe things and pretty soon everyone i know starts saying them. its soooo funny!
13. i adore elephants and pearls
14. i love to talk! i don't understand people who don't like to talk. but i know when to shut up ;)
15. i wish i was a little taller than i am..
16. when i'm depressed/feeling low, i go out and buy lingerie and/or sexy bras and undies because they make me feel better.. i have the biggest collection of lingerie and one day i am gonna make my husband a very very happy man ;P
17. i love to color and make my own cards
18. i have a very impressive sticker collection hehehe :P
19. my mom thinks i'm a kid because i will never stop buying disney princess stuff.
20. i own crocs and they're loaded with jibbitz, but i'm too embarrassed to wear them.
21. i get soooo annoyed when people smoke around me (especially when i've just done my hair), but strangely enough, i love the smell of cigarettes & cologne and i think its so sexy when guys smoke..
22. i can never play soccer because i'm afraid of the ball.
23. i don't really like coffee, i just drink it because i like driving out to get it :P
24. i do butt exercises every night before i go to sleep :P
25. people always tell me i'm 7anna, bes walla ma a7is ib nafsi :( i don't think i'm 7anna at all. :)
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Year Of The Lover (Pt. 31)
“Reem,” Jawhara repeated as if she was a baby learning to speak for the first time. “As in Reem bint 5alti Huda?”
“Yeah; I got your number from your mom,” Reem spoke uneasily; she knew exactly what Jawhara thought of her, and for once she didn’t blame her. She, too, would be enraged if some girl went out of her way to steal her boyfriend. “I hope that’s not a problem?”
“La, la; not at all!” Jawhara plastered the fakest smile she could conjure on her face and mentally began to scream. “Shloonich?”
“Tamam, walla,” Reem felt a little more at ease when she heard Jawhara’s tone of voice change. “Intay sha5barich?”
‘Good going with the formalities, you Venus Fly Trap,’ Jawhara thought to herself, and continued her brief exchange of small talk with Reem. “Is there anything in particular you needed?”
“Actually,” Reem huffed, trying to calm her nerves; her mother would kill her if she knew what she was about to ask. “I was wondering if you wanted to go shopping tomorrow or something.”
Jawhara was completely taken aback by Reem’s request – this was Reem the archenemy, Reem the nemesis. When did this nice streak decide to come up? Should Jawhara be suspicious or just appreciate Reem’s genuine niceness? Was it even really genuine? Jawhara stammered, collecting her thoughts and trying to come up with a feasible excuse as to why she wouldn’t be able to go shopping with Reem, but her brain failed her, as always. “Umm. What time?”
“Madri,” Reem replied, a hint of excitement in her voice. “Whenever you want!”
“Ah, ok,” Jawhara fought the urge to sound rude. It was so funny how as soon as she’d accepted Reem’s invitation, a wonderful excuse concerning an interview at the bank popped up in Jawhara’s head – a little too late. “Sounds good.”
“5osh,” Reem said elatedly. It had been a long time since she’d gone shopping, and even longer since she’d been shopping with a friend. Sure it was too soon to call Jawhara a real friend, but any female company that didn’t include her mother made her feel hopeful. After she’d hung up the phone from Jawhara, Reem glanced at herself in the mirror. Looking herself over more than once, she decided that she deserved to have a friend and stop trying to live up to her mother’s expectations.
Jawhara flipped through an old Marie-Claire magazine, skimming over the bright glossy pages and realizing how much fashion had changed over the past two years – everything that was considered trendy and clean-cut had moved over to make room for bright tights and leggings, avant garde jackets and wacky hair-dos. Jawhara picked up her wavy auburn tresses and twisted them into a bun, securing it by practically knotting her hair. A loose strand of hair freed itself from the tight bun, and in less than five seconds, her immaculate bun had unfurled into the honey-brown mass it had been earlier. Frustrated, she tried to twist her bun again, but her mobile’s alarm went off, signaling that it was time to wake Mbarak up from his slumber. She took a long last glance at a choppy shoulder-length hairdo that one of the magazine models was sporting before she slapped the magazine shut and picked up her mobile.
Jawhara excitedly dialed Mbarak’s number, and the soft mumble that was his voice was music to her ears. “Mmmm,” Mbarak groaned, shifting his knees underneath his ratty blanket.
“Mmmm inta,” Jawhara giggled softly, “Goom 7abeebi, yalla.”
“Kani bagoom,” he almost whispered, amazing Jawhara at the way men found it so easy to fall asleep so fast.
“Yalla, goom oo digli,” Jawhara stated, ready to hang up the phone.
“Laaaaaaa2,” Mbarak’s voice stopped her, “5aleech.”
“Wain, Barook? Goom ‘3assil oo 9a79e7,” Jawhara almost blushed when she thought about how embarrassing it would be for her to stay on the phone while Mbarak did his business. A7med had never kept her on the phone for longer than 15 seconds when he’d just woken up, but here was Mbarak willing to go about his business while Jawhara listened. He sweetly insisted, and Jawhara couldn’t refuse. First, she heard the sound of the babbling tap water and the frequent splish-splash his hands made. Then, the clunking of his toothbrush against the plastic toothbrush holder, followed by the melodic swishing of the toothbrush bristles moving around his pearly dentures.
Jawhara listened quietly, waiting for the little bit of conversation that would distract her from hearing all of the unnecessary noises, and the worst one yet to come. “I hope you’re not planning on using the toilet while I’m still on the phone?”
Mbarak’s sheepish giggle echoed against the pale blue tiles of his bathroom walls. “Too late for that!”
Jawhara gasped. “Mbarak! Hey!”
“Ee shino; shda3wa, sina 3ala ma a’3asel eedi?” he chuckled as he washed his hands, for real this time.
“Shdaraniii,” Jawhara lowered her head, her face turning a million shades of pink. “Inzain, yalla; go eat lunch oo lama t5ale9, call me.”
“La2,” Mbarak tutted, drying his hands quickly and walking back out into his room.
“Laish la2, ba3ad?” Jawhara laughed nervously, “Yalla 3ad, Barook, baby. Bat’3ada wiya ummi.”
Mbarak smiled and blew her a kiss through the phone. “I’m kidding, 7abeebti. T’3aday oo digeeli. 3awafi.”
“Allah yi3afeek, baby. By the way, Reem called me,” Jawhara threw in the last comment quickly as if it would go unnoticed, but Mbarak’s hand towel stopped mid-face, the blood rushing to his ears.
“Oo shtabi, ballah?” Mbarak whipped the hand towel from off his face, ensuring that Jawhara heard the disgust in his voice.
“She.. She wanted to go out tomorrow,” Jawhara managed to say after pursing her lips several times. She began to explain the sequence of Reem’s phone call to Mbarak’s soft unsteady breaths.
“Mmm,” Mbarak mumbled, obviously annoyed. “You really think that something good will come out of this girl?”
“Mo 3an something good.. Bes madri, kserat 5a6ri,” Jawhara crinkled her brow, as if she was looking at a litter of orphaned puppies.
“Hathi wa7da ma takser il5a6er. Maynoona mithil umha,” Mbarak retorted, half-laughing at Jawhara’s naivety. “You’re too nice for your own good.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jawhara asked, feeling a little embarrassed.
“Madri, 7abeebti, ya3ni you’re just too nice for your own good,” Mbarak repeated.
The sound of Mbarak saying ‘7abeebti’ eased Jawhara’s tension up; it made her feel like he wasn’t too angry with her.
“Well, 7abeebi,” Jawhara tried polishing his apple, “If you don’t want me to go out with her, then I won’t.”
“Jawharti, ana ma giltlich la ti6le3een wiyaha. Kaifich; if you want to go out with her, go ahead. But don’t be surprised by anything she does. That’s all I’m saying.” Mbarak felt a little uneasy giving Jawhara the green light to go out with that crazy girl, but if it meant being any different than the over-bearing lunatic A7med, he was all for it. “Just let me know shga3d yi9eer wiyach – if you notice anything suspicious, aw itha itsawi 7arakat bay5a.”
“Barook, I’m going out with a girl, not an ape,” Jawhara frowned impatiently, hearing her mother calling for lunch.
“Walla lo 6al3a wiya ape, abrak,” Mbarak laughed, and Jawhara giggled and excused herself for lunch.
Fajer and Wahab caught their breaths after a long fit of hysterical laughter; Wahab had pulled out a giant sea cucumber while explaining their purpose of existence to Fajer, and without any preamble the sea cucumber began wriggling and squirming in Wahab’s palm, spraying Fajer and Wahab with it’s sticky salty fluid.
“Waiiii3!” Fajer had screamed while running away from the sea cucumber’s self-defense attack, and Wahab had devilishly chased her, aiming the liquid attack at Fajer’s bare neck. “Wahab!!!”
Their shrieks echoed through the narrow shoreline with the acoustics of the faint raindrops. Fajer’s legs pounded against the moist sand, trying to escape Wahab’s crazy attack. Wahab had thrown the sea cucumber back into the water a long time ago and was chasing Fajer empty-handedly, but she hadn’t realized this until he gained on her and practically threw herself against her back. “9idtich!”
Fajer’s blood-curling scream almost left Wahab deaf in his left ear, and he repeatedly tried to inform her that he’d thrown it away. Her screams and his pleas turned into an uproar of laughter, and they laughed until their stomachs ached, until Fajer couldn’t hold herself upright, and until tiny tears sat in the happy slits that were Wahab’s eyes.
“You are gonna pay!” Fajer shook a limp finger at Wahab, stifling her breath and propping one arm against his shoulder for support.
“Pay, ha?” Wahab menaced, and with one giant swoop, he scooped Fajer into his arms and carried her a-la-Honeymooners. A surprised cry escaped her lips and Wahab gently shushed her. He nuzzled her forehead and gave her wet brow a kiss; a kiss that was a couple of seconds longer than it should’ve been. He tasted the sweet saltiness that had nestled on her forehead and inhaled the fresh scent of shampoo that lingered in her hair. Fajer let herself down from Wahab’s arms and they stood in front of the wide ocean, their bodies grazing one another like willow branches in a light breeze.
“Fajoorti,” Wahab said softly, his warm breath numbing the skin between her eyebrows.
“Hala 7abeebi,” Fajer replied, getting chills up and down her spine. It was then she realized that it was the first time she’d called Wahab ‘7abeebi’.
“Ya 7ilo hal kilma minnich,” Wahab smiled and tucked a wavy tendril of hair behind Fajer’s ear. His lips were then perilously close to hers, and Fajer closed her eyes in pure bliss, capturing every moment with the rest of her awakened senses.
“Fajoora,” he repeated, relishing the sound of her name when it was soft-spoken against the distant crashing of the tide.
“Hala Wahabi,” she smiled, the wind pushing her body a little too close against his.
“You’re exactly what I need,” Wahab said, and without any awkward introductions or movements, he did what he’d meant to do earlier while they were eating their chicken nuggets and French fries; what he’d meant to do while he was checking on the healing process of her mosquito-bitten eyelid.
He kissed her lips ardently and with such fervor that Fajer gasped mid-kiss, her thoughts slowly processing what was happening. His moist lips caressed Fajer’s unsuspecting lips, and when she finally got over the initial shock of having her first kiss in a long time, Fajer kissed back. It seemed like forever, and though there was no tongue action involved, the tingles that stretched from Fajer’s spinal cord to the end of every nerve in her body made her knees buckle so much that she had to hold onto the crook of Wahab’s neck to keep her steady.
Wahab’s lips broke free of Fajer’s lips, and he immediately inched closer to kiss the smooth point of her nose, her closed eyelid, her forehead, and finally the crown of her head. “7abeebti,” he sighed breathlessly.
Fajer threw herself into his arms and they stood locked in their passionate embrace, like a soldier who had just come home from war and his yearning wife. The scent of Wahab’s cologne mixed with the acrid salty air became Fajer’s biggest comfort, letting her forget about all the painful memories without her parents, all of the unpleasant moments she’d experience with 6alal, and all sense of time and being. She practically melted in his arms, and for the first time in a long time, Wahab experienced the soothing comfort of knowing that someone cared for him. With his arms still wrapped around Fajer, he spoke softly into her ear, “I love these motherly hugs of yours.”
Fajer gently pulled back and looked him in the eye, furrowing her brow. “Do you kiss your mother this way, too?”
Wahab laughed out loud and pulled her into his chest tighter than before. “Walla innich 7abeebti!”
They walked back to where Wahab’s Lexus jeep flaunted itself on the sandbar for everyone to see, and quickly climbed in and made their way back to the city. By the time it was 5.30 PM, Fajer was back in her car, frantically dialing Jawhara’s number, eager to tell her about every single detail of every event that had happened in the past 5 hours.
“Intay wainich??” Jawhara cried, excited to hear her friend’s familiar voice. As crazy as it seemed, Jawhara had missed Fajer even though she was gone for a few hours – she wasn’t used to being away from her.
“Oh my God, Jawhara. I have SO much to tell you, it’s not even funny,” Fajer began, turning her steering wheel carefully and guiding her car around the small Surra roundabout.
“I have so much to tell YOU!” Jawhara exclaimed, bouncing up and down in her seat on the couch.
“Wainich?” They both asked at the exact same time with the same tone of voice. The girls giggled at their telepathic friendship until Jawhara piped up, “Ta3alay 3indi.”
“No, you ta3alay 3indi; I need to shower!” Fajer chuckled, remembering the horrible sea cucumber attack.
“Wee, wee, wee! Intaw shimsaween!?” Jawhara laughed, swatting Joori’s hand away from the remote control. Dora the Explorer was playing on DVD and Joori had made it a point for Jawhara to learn the little bits of Spanish vocabulary with her, but as soon as Jawhara saw Fajer calling her, she’d muted and paused the television set.
“I’ll tell you everything bes ta3alay!” Fajer pleaded, turning into Qur6uba’s long winding streets.
“Rabena yostor!” Jawhara said as Fajer had earlier that day, wringing her hands for the full effect. “5al t5ale9ni Dora the Explorer wayeelich 3ala6ool.”
“Lat6awleen,” Fajer said, the anticipation in her voice. When they hung up, Fajer sank her back into the soft leather seats of her BMW and exhaled loudly, musing over the events of her special afternoon. She ran her tongue over her lips, tasting a hint of Wahab and quietly wishing she didn’t have to shower the remnants of her date away.
Fajer stood under the relaxing hot shower and let the water pound against her hair, face, and body. The steam swept against her chest and shoulders, picking up the fumes of Wahab’s cologne and magnifying it with every swift billow. Fajer inhaled the last of his cologne, wishing she could capture it in her nose and lungs forever, so that whenever she wanted to smell him, all she had to do was exhale a little. At her feet, small clusters of sand had trickled down from her smooth legs, and with her toes, Fajer touched the wet grains of sand lovingly before the water washed them down the drain. When all traces of her date had disappeared, Fajer disappointedly scrubbed her limbs and her torso, and lathered her hair with her favorite shampoo, Garnier Fructis.
A knock on the bathroom door snapped Fajer back to reality, and Jawhara’s muffled voice came through the wooden door, “Ma 9arat shower!”
“Almost done, babe!” Fajer called back, quickly rinsing off the mound of bubbles nestling in her hair. She stepped out of the shower and wrapped her giant pink robe around her body and twisted her hair into a towel. As soon as she walked into her room and saw Jawhara, Fajer rushed over and gave her a huge hug.
“Someone’s happy,” Jawhara grinned, nodding her head at Fajer.
Fajer grabbed a couple of cotton buds from her vanity table and began swabbing her ears. “Jooj, it was AMAZING,” Fajer began, and told her about every single detail of her date with Wahab, start to almost-finish. Jawhara ooh-ed and aww-ed with every event, and was elated to see the joy that had consumed her best friend once again. “Inzain bagoolich shay bes la tiz3eleen,” Fajer said, getting up to grab her comb from her vanity table.
“Goolay,” Jawhara drawled with a raised eyebrow, expecting the worst.
“We kissed. Well, he kissed me first, actually, but we kissed. It wasn’t the whole French kiss thing; it was a lip-to-lip kiss, but it was long and it was soft, and it was PERFECT. Jawhara, if every girl in this country experienced a kiss like this, I think the world would be a better place.”
Jawhara’s jaw dropped at Fajer’s babbling, partly because she’s never seen Fajer speak this fast or with this much thrill. She wasn’t mad at all; her shoulders slouched because of the fuzzy feeling that was settling in her stomach. Finally, love was in the air for both of them.
“I’m not mad,” Jawhara stood up and gave Fajer a long hug. “Why would I be mad?”
“Because it felt like it was too soon. But I know if I’d stopped him or moved away, I would probably never get the chance to kiss him on the seashore under the rain again. I swear, Jojo, it was like something out of ‘The Notebook’ or a movie equally as good,” Fajer smiled to herself and bit her lower lip.
“Well, I’m happy for you. As long as you’re comfortable and happy with the way your relationship is going, then I’m behind you every step of the way. You just have to keep in mind that Wahab and 6alal are two different people. Don’t apply what you went through with 6alal to what you’re going through with Wahab. It’s a fresh start,” Jawhara smiled.
“Walla a7ibich,” Fajer grinned, reaching out for another hug. “Inzain, tell me; intay sh3indich?”
“Well,” Jawhara began. She sat on Fajer’s bed as Fajer pranced around the room in a tank top and short shorts, looking for her lotions and face creams and body spray. “I got a call today. You’ll never guess from who.”
“Who?” Fajer asked, rubbing her lotion-filled hands up and down her legs.
“Reem,” Jawhara said abruptly, and Fajer’s hands stopped mid-leg.
“O-kaaay,” Fajer smirked, peering up through her wet strands of hair, “Shtabi hathi?”
“Well,” Jawhara nervously ran her tongue along her lower set of teeth and tried to smile. “We’re going shopping with her tomorrow. Supposedly. I don’t know. Pray that she forgets?” Jawhara rambled.
Fajer snapped the lid of her bottled lotion shut, the sound vibrating in the silence that filled the room. “Are you insane??”
“Fajoor, I didn’t know what to say! She got my number from my mom, te5ayelay! And she called me oo she was being all nice and stuff! Madri, ya3ni I felt bad! I tried to think of several excuses bes none of them seemed sufficient enough. Shasawi? I’m sorry,” Jawhara pouted, hoping that her friend would reconsider her stance.
“And what does Mr. Mbarak have to say about this?” Fajer asked with a hand on her hip, her weight shifted on one leg.
“He thought I was crazy, too. But he kinda gave in towards the end,” Jawhara chewed on her lower lip, painstakingly waiting for a positive reaction from Fajer.
Fajer stared at Jawhara for what seemed like forever, until she broke her stare with a huff. “Fine. But only because I owe you and I love you.”
“Way,” Jawhara sighed, “Ashwa. I thought you were gonna kill me.”
“I AM gonna kill you. I’m gonna kill you if this shopping expedition turns out to be a total flop,” Fajer warned, wagging her hair comb at Jawhara.
“We’ll make the best of it. And besides, il-soog killa sales. At least there’s an up side to it,” Jawhara tried to console Fajer.
“Killa 5alajeen,” Fajer laughed, tossing her hair back and giving it several more brushes.
“Speaking of 5alajeen,” Jawhara began, “I’m supposed to see Mbarak in an hour, for an hour. Look at what I’m wearing. Mara7 yamdeeni abadel.”
“You look golden,” Fajer nodded in appreciation at Jawhara’s selection of clothing. Jawhara was sporting a peachy pink Juicy Couture training set with the golden crown embellishments, tucked into her trusty brown Uggs, and giant pearl studs. Her hair, usually straight and let down, crowned her head with a mass of honey brown waves.
“But I wore training the last time he saw me,” Jawhara frowned.
“Weren’t you the one who said ‘Illi yabeenna, yabeenna be5yasna’?” Fajer smiled.
“True..,” Jawhara smiled. “Speak of the devil; he’s calling.” She picked up her ringing mobile and answered, getting the directions of where they’ll be meeting from Mbarak.
After she hung up, she told Fajer that they were set to meet at Caribou Coffee in the Free Zone in 30 minutes.
“Isn’t he a little early?” Fajer asked, a little upset that she and Jawhara’s meeting time had been cut short.
“Yam3awda, early wala inna yit2a5ar 3alay,” Jawhara raised her eyebrows and picked up her oversized Contromedia bag. “Tabeen shay?”
“Salamtich, babe,” Fajer smiled as she kissed her friend on the cheek. “Let me know what goes on.”
“Akeed – awal ib awal!” Jawhara smiled and waved to her friend before she raced down the winding stairs and out the door.
“Yeah; I got your number from your mom,” Reem spoke uneasily; she knew exactly what Jawhara thought of her, and for once she didn’t blame her. She, too, would be enraged if some girl went out of her way to steal her boyfriend. “I hope that’s not a problem?”
“La, la; not at all!” Jawhara plastered the fakest smile she could conjure on her face and mentally began to scream. “Shloonich?”
“Tamam, walla,” Reem felt a little more at ease when she heard Jawhara’s tone of voice change. “Intay sha5barich?”
‘Good going with the formalities, you Venus Fly Trap,’ Jawhara thought to herself, and continued her brief exchange of small talk with Reem. “Is there anything in particular you needed?”
“Actually,” Reem huffed, trying to calm her nerves; her mother would kill her if she knew what she was about to ask. “I was wondering if you wanted to go shopping tomorrow or something.”
Jawhara was completely taken aback by Reem’s request – this was Reem the archenemy, Reem the nemesis. When did this nice streak decide to come up? Should Jawhara be suspicious or just appreciate Reem’s genuine niceness? Was it even really genuine? Jawhara stammered, collecting her thoughts and trying to come up with a feasible excuse as to why she wouldn’t be able to go shopping with Reem, but her brain failed her, as always. “Umm. What time?”
“Madri,” Reem replied, a hint of excitement in her voice. “Whenever you want!”
“Ah, ok,” Jawhara fought the urge to sound rude. It was so funny how as soon as she’d accepted Reem’s invitation, a wonderful excuse concerning an interview at the bank popped up in Jawhara’s head – a little too late. “Sounds good.”
“5osh,” Reem said elatedly. It had been a long time since she’d gone shopping, and even longer since she’d been shopping with a friend. Sure it was too soon to call Jawhara a real friend, but any female company that didn’t include her mother made her feel hopeful. After she’d hung up the phone from Jawhara, Reem glanced at herself in the mirror. Looking herself over more than once, she decided that she deserved to have a friend and stop trying to live up to her mother’s expectations.
Jawhara flipped through an old Marie-Claire magazine, skimming over the bright glossy pages and realizing how much fashion had changed over the past two years – everything that was considered trendy and clean-cut had moved over to make room for bright tights and leggings, avant garde jackets and wacky hair-dos. Jawhara picked up her wavy auburn tresses and twisted them into a bun, securing it by practically knotting her hair. A loose strand of hair freed itself from the tight bun, and in less than five seconds, her immaculate bun had unfurled into the honey-brown mass it had been earlier. Frustrated, she tried to twist her bun again, but her mobile’s alarm went off, signaling that it was time to wake Mbarak up from his slumber. She took a long last glance at a choppy shoulder-length hairdo that one of the magazine models was sporting before she slapped the magazine shut and picked up her mobile.
Jawhara excitedly dialed Mbarak’s number, and the soft mumble that was his voice was music to her ears. “Mmmm,” Mbarak groaned, shifting his knees underneath his ratty blanket.
“Mmmm inta,” Jawhara giggled softly, “Goom 7abeebi, yalla.”
“Kani bagoom,” he almost whispered, amazing Jawhara at the way men found it so easy to fall asleep so fast.
“Yalla, goom oo digli,” Jawhara stated, ready to hang up the phone.
“Laaaaaaa2,” Mbarak’s voice stopped her, “5aleech.”
“Wain, Barook? Goom ‘3assil oo 9a79e7,” Jawhara almost blushed when she thought about how embarrassing it would be for her to stay on the phone while Mbarak did his business. A7med had never kept her on the phone for longer than 15 seconds when he’d just woken up, but here was Mbarak willing to go about his business while Jawhara listened. He sweetly insisted, and Jawhara couldn’t refuse. First, she heard the sound of the babbling tap water and the frequent splish-splash his hands made. Then, the clunking of his toothbrush against the plastic toothbrush holder, followed by the melodic swishing of the toothbrush bristles moving around his pearly dentures.
Jawhara listened quietly, waiting for the little bit of conversation that would distract her from hearing all of the unnecessary noises, and the worst one yet to come. “I hope you’re not planning on using the toilet while I’m still on the phone?”
Mbarak’s sheepish giggle echoed against the pale blue tiles of his bathroom walls. “Too late for that!”
Jawhara gasped. “Mbarak! Hey!”
“Ee shino; shda3wa, sina 3ala ma a’3asel eedi?” he chuckled as he washed his hands, for real this time.
“Shdaraniii,” Jawhara lowered her head, her face turning a million shades of pink. “Inzain, yalla; go eat lunch oo lama t5ale9, call me.”
“La2,” Mbarak tutted, drying his hands quickly and walking back out into his room.
“Laish la2, ba3ad?” Jawhara laughed nervously, “Yalla 3ad, Barook, baby. Bat’3ada wiya ummi.”
Mbarak smiled and blew her a kiss through the phone. “I’m kidding, 7abeebti. T’3aday oo digeeli. 3awafi.”
“Allah yi3afeek, baby. By the way, Reem called me,” Jawhara threw in the last comment quickly as if it would go unnoticed, but Mbarak’s hand towel stopped mid-face, the blood rushing to his ears.
“Oo shtabi, ballah?” Mbarak whipped the hand towel from off his face, ensuring that Jawhara heard the disgust in his voice.
“She.. She wanted to go out tomorrow,” Jawhara managed to say after pursing her lips several times. She began to explain the sequence of Reem’s phone call to Mbarak’s soft unsteady breaths.
“Mmm,” Mbarak mumbled, obviously annoyed. “You really think that something good will come out of this girl?”
“Mo 3an something good.. Bes madri, kserat 5a6ri,” Jawhara crinkled her brow, as if she was looking at a litter of orphaned puppies.
“Hathi wa7da ma takser il5a6er. Maynoona mithil umha,” Mbarak retorted, half-laughing at Jawhara’s naivety. “You’re too nice for your own good.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jawhara asked, feeling a little embarrassed.
“Madri, 7abeebti, ya3ni you’re just too nice for your own good,” Mbarak repeated.
The sound of Mbarak saying ‘7abeebti’ eased Jawhara’s tension up; it made her feel like he wasn’t too angry with her.
“Well, 7abeebi,” Jawhara tried polishing his apple, “If you don’t want me to go out with her, then I won’t.”
“Jawharti, ana ma giltlich la ti6le3een wiyaha. Kaifich; if you want to go out with her, go ahead. But don’t be surprised by anything she does. That’s all I’m saying.” Mbarak felt a little uneasy giving Jawhara the green light to go out with that crazy girl, but if it meant being any different than the over-bearing lunatic A7med, he was all for it. “Just let me know shga3d yi9eer wiyach – if you notice anything suspicious, aw itha itsawi 7arakat bay5a.”
“Barook, I’m going out with a girl, not an ape,” Jawhara frowned impatiently, hearing her mother calling for lunch.
“Walla lo 6al3a wiya ape, abrak,” Mbarak laughed, and Jawhara giggled and excused herself for lunch.
Fajer and Wahab caught their breaths after a long fit of hysterical laughter; Wahab had pulled out a giant sea cucumber while explaining their purpose of existence to Fajer, and without any preamble the sea cucumber began wriggling and squirming in Wahab’s palm, spraying Fajer and Wahab with it’s sticky salty fluid.
“Waiiii3!” Fajer had screamed while running away from the sea cucumber’s self-defense attack, and Wahab had devilishly chased her, aiming the liquid attack at Fajer’s bare neck. “Wahab!!!”
Their shrieks echoed through the narrow shoreline with the acoustics of the faint raindrops. Fajer’s legs pounded against the moist sand, trying to escape Wahab’s crazy attack. Wahab had thrown the sea cucumber back into the water a long time ago and was chasing Fajer empty-handedly, but she hadn’t realized this until he gained on her and practically threw herself against her back. “9idtich!”
Fajer’s blood-curling scream almost left Wahab deaf in his left ear, and he repeatedly tried to inform her that he’d thrown it away. Her screams and his pleas turned into an uproar of laughter, and they laughed until their stomachs ached, until Fajer couldn’t hold herself upright, and until tiny tears sat in the happy slits that were Wahab’s eyes.
“You are gonna pay!” Fajer shook a limp finger at Wahab, stifling her breath and propping one arm against his shoulder for support.
“Pay, ha?” Wahab menaced, and with one giant swoop, he scooped Fajer into his arms and carried her a-la-Honeymooners. A surprised cry escaped her lips and Wahab gently shushed her. He nuzzled her forehead and gave her wet brow a kiss; a kiss that was a couple of seconds longer than it should’ve been. He tasted the sweet saltiness that had nestled on her forehead and inhaled the fresh scent of shampoo that lingered in her hair. Fajer let herself down from Wahab’s arms and they stood in front of the wide ocean, their bodies grazing one another like willow branches in a light breeze.
“Fajoorti,” Wahab said softly, his warm breath numbing the skin between her eyebrows.
“Hala 7abeebi,” Fajer replied, getting chills up and down her spine. It was then she realized that it was the first time she’d called Wahab ‘7abeebi’.
“Ya 7ilo hal kilma minnich,” Wahab smiled and tucked a wavy tendril of hair behind Fajer’s ear. His lips were then perilously close to hers, and Fajer closed her eyes in pure bliss, capturing every moment with the rest of her awakened senses.
“Fajoora,” he repeated, relishing the sound of her name when it was soft-spoken against the distant crashing of the tide.
“Hala Wahabi,” she smiled, the wind pushing her body a little too close against his.
“You’re exactly what I need,” Wahab said, and without any awkward introductions or movements, he did what he’d meant to do earlier while they were eating their chicken nuggets and French fries; what he’d meant to do while he was checking on the healing process of her mosquito-bitten eyelid.
He kissed her lips ardently and with such fervor that Fajer gasped mid-kiss, her thoughts slowly processing what was happening. His moist lips caressed Fajer’s unsuspecting lips, and when she finally got over the initial shock of having her first kiss in a long time, Fajer kissed back. It seemed like forever, and though there was no tongue action involved, the tingles that stretched from Fajer’s spinal cord to the end of every nerve in her body made her knees buckle so much that she had to hold onto the crook of Wahab’s neck to keep her steady.
Wahab’s lips broke free of Fajer’s lips, and he immediately inched closer to kiss the smooth point of her nose, her closed eyelid, her forehead, and finally the crown of her head. “7abeebti,” he sighed breathlessly.
Fajer threw herself into his arms and they stood locked in their passionate embrace, like a soldier who had just come home from war and his yearning wife. The scent of Wahab’s cologne mixed with the acrid salty air became Fajer’s biggest comfort, letting her forget about all the painful memories without her parents, all of the unpleasant moments she’d experience with 6alal, and all sense of time and being. She practically melted in his arms, and for the first time in a long time, Wahab experienced the soothing comfort of knowing that someone cared for him. With his arms still wrapped around Fajer, he spoke softly into her ear, “I love these motherly hugs of yours.”
Fajer gently pulled back and looked him in the eye, furrowing her brow. “Do you kiss your mother this way, too?”
Wahab laughed out loud and pulled her into his chest tighter than before. “Walla innich 7abeebti!”
They walked back to where Wahab’s Lexus jeep flaunted itself on the sandbar for everyone to see, and quickly climbed in and made their way back to the city. By the time it was 5.30 PM, Fajer was back in her car, frantically dialing Jawhara’s number, eager to tell her about every single detail of every event that had happened in the past 5 hours.
“Intay wainich??” Jawhara cried, excited to hear her friend’s familiar voice. As crazy as it seemed, Jawhara had missed Fajer even though she was gone for a few hours – she wasn’t used to being away from her.
“Oh my God, Jawhara. I have SO much to tell you, it’s not even funny,” Fajer began, turning her steering wheel carefully and guiding her car around the small Surra roundabout.
“I have so much to tell YOU!” Jawhara exclaimed, bouncing up and down in her seat on the couch.
“Wainich?” They both asked at the exact same time with the same tone of voice. The girls giggled at their telepathic friendship until Jawhara piped up, “Ta3alay 3indi.”
“No, you ta3alay 3indi; I need to shower!” Fajer chuckled, remembering the horrible sea cucumber attack.
“Wee, wee, wee! Intaw shimsaween!?” Jawhara laughed, swatting Joori’s hand away from the remote control. Dora the Explorer was playing on DVD and Joori had made it a point for Jawhara to learn the little bits of Spanish vocabulary with her, but as soon as Jawhara saw Fajer calling her, she’d muted and paused the television set.
“I’ll tell you everything bes ta3alay!” Fajer pleaded, turning into Qur6uba’s long winding streets.
“Rabena yostor!” Jawhara said as Fajer had earlier that day, wringing her hands for the full effect. “5al t5ale9ni Dora the Explorer wayeelich 3ala6ool.”
“Lat6awleen,” Fajer said, the anticipation in her voice. When they hung up, Fajer sank her back into the soft leather seats of her BMW and exhaled loudly, musing over the events of her special afternoon. She ran her tongue over her lips, tasting a hint of Wahab and quietly wishing she didn’t have to shower the remnants of her date away.
Fajer stood under the relaxing hot shower and let the water pound against her hair, face, and body. The steam swept against her chest and shoulders, picking up the fumes of Wahab’s cologne and magnifying it with every swift billow. Fajer inhaled the last of his cologne, wishing she could capture it in her nose and lungs forever, so that whenever she wanted to smell him, all she had to do was exhale a little. At her feet, small clusters of sand had trickled down from her smooth legs, and with her toes, Fajer touched the wet grains of sand lovingly before the water washed them down the drain. When all traces of her date had disappeared, Fajer disappointedly scrubbed her limbs and her torso, and lathered her hair with her favorite shampoo, Garnier Fructis.
A knock on the bathroom door snapped Fajer back to reality, and Jawhara’s muffled voice came through the wooden door, “Ma 9arat shower!”
“Almost done, babe!” Fajer called back, quickly rinsing off the mound of bubbles nestling in her hair. She stepped out of the shower and wrapped her giant pink robe around her body and twisted her hair into a towel. As soon as she walked into her room and saw Jawhara, Fajer rushed over and gave her a huge hug.
“Someone’s happy,” Jawhara grinned, nodding her head at Fajer.
Fajer grabbed a couple of cotton buds from her vanity table and began swabbing her ears. “Jooj, it was AMAZING,” Fajer began, and told her about every single detail of her date with Wahab, start to almost-finish. Jawhara ooh-ed and aww-ed with every event, and was elated to see the joy that had consumed her best friend once again. “Inzain bagoolich shay bes la tiz3eleen,” Fajer said, getting up to grab her comb from her vanity table.
“Goolay,” Jawhara drawled with a raised eyebrow, expecting the worst.
“We kissed. Well, he kissed me first, actually, but we kissed. It wasn’t the whole French kiss thing; it was a lip-to-lip kiss, but it was long and it was soft, and it was PERFECT. Jawhara, if every girl in this country experienced a kiss like this, I think the world would be a better place.”
Jawhara’s jaw dropped at Fajer’s babbling, partly because she’s never seen Fajer speak this fast or with this much thrill. She wasn’t mad at all; her shoulders slouched because of the fuzzy feeling that was settling in her stomach. Finally, love was in the air for both of them.
“I’m not mad,” Jawhara stood up and gave Fajer a long hug. “Why would I be mad?”
“Because it felt like it was too soon. But I know if I’d stopped him or moved away, I would probably never get the chance to kiss him on the seashore under the rain again. I swear, Jojo, it was like something out of ‘The Notebook’ or a movie equally as good,” Fajer smiled to herself and bit her lower lip.
“Well, I’m happy for you. As long as you’re comfortable and happy with the way your relationship is going, then I’m behind you every step of the way. You just have to keep in mind that Wahab and 6alal are two different people. Don’t apply what you went through with 6alal to what you’re going through with Wahab. It’s a fresh start,” Jawhara smiled.
“Walla a7ibich,” Fajer grinned, reaching out for another hug. “Inzain, tell me; intay sh3indich?”
“Well,” Jawhara began. She sat on Fajer’s bed as Fajer pranced around the room in a tank top and short shorts, looking for her lotions and face creams and body spray. “I got a call today. You’ll never guess from who.”
“Who?” Fajer asked, rubbing her lotion-filled hands up and down her legs.
“Reem,” Jawhara said abruptly, and Fajer’s hands stopped mid-leg.
“O-kaaay,” Fajer smirked, peering up through her wet strands of hair, “Shtabi hathi?”
“Well,” Jawhara nervously ran her tongue along her lower set of teeth and tried to smile. “We’re going shopping with her tomorrow. Supposedly. I don’t know. Pray that she forgets?” Jawhara rambled.
Fajer snapped the lid of her bottled lotion shut, the sound vibrating in the silence that filled the room. “Are you insane??”
“Fajoor, I didn’t know what to say! She got my number from my mom, te5ayelay! And she called me oo she was being all nice and stuff! Madri, ya3ni I felt bad! I tried to think of several excuses bes none of them seemed sufficient enough. Shasawi? I’m sorry,” Jawhara pouted, hoping that her friend would reconsider her stance.
“And what does Mr. Mbarak have to say about this?” Fajer asked with a hand on her hip, her weight shifted on one leg.
“He thought I was crazy, too. But he kinda gave in towards the end,” Jawhara chewed on her lower lip, painstakingly waiting for a positive reaction from Fajer.
Fajer stared at Jawhara for what seemed like forever, until she broke her stare with a huff. “Fine. But only because I owe you and I love you.”
“Way,” Jawhara sighed, “Ashwa. I thought you were gonna kill me.”
“I AM gonna kill you. I’m gonna kill you if this shopping expedition turns out to be a total flop,” Fajer warned, wagging her hair comb at Jawhara.
“We’ll make the best of it. And besides, il-soog killa sales. At least there’s an up side to it,” Jawhara tried to console Fajer.
“Killa 5alajeen,” Fajer laughed, tossing her hair back and giving it several more brushes.
“Speaking of 5alajeen,” Jawhara began, “I’m supposed to see Mbarak in an hour, for an hour. Look at what I’m wearing. Mara7 yamdeeni abadel.”
“You look golden,” Fajer nodded in appreciation at Jawhara’s selection of clothing. Jawhara was sporting a peachy pink Juicy Couture training set with the golden crown embellishments, tucked into her trusty brown Uggs, and giant pearl studs. Her hair, usually straight and let down, crowned her head with a mass of honey brown waves.
“But I wore training the last time he saw me,” Jawhara frowned.
“Weren’t you the one who said ‘Illi yabeenna, yabeenna be5yasna’?” Fajer smiled.
“True..,” Jawhara smiled. “Speak of the devil; he’s calling.” She picked up her ringing mobile and answered, getting the directions of where they’ll be meeting from Mbarak.
After she hung up, she told Fajer that they were set to meet at Caribou Coffee in the Free Zone in 30 minutes.
“Isn’t he a little early?” Fajer asked, a little upset that she and Jawhara’s meeting time had been cut short.
“Yam3awda, early wala inna yit2a5ar 3alay,” Jawhara raised her eyebrows and picked up her oversized Contromedia bag. “Tabeen shay?”
“Salamtich, babe,” Fajer smiled as she kissed her friend on the cheek. “Let me know what goes on.”
“Akeed – awal ib awal!” Jawhara smiled and waved to her friend before she raced down the winding stairs and out the door.
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