Chapter 2

"Wa alaikum us salaam," I replied, carefully controlling my voice.

My eyes flicked to his, then away, and I focused them on Aunty Rabia.

"This is Husain," she said, gesturing to the first boy, who grinned wider at me. I smiled back.

"And this is Usman," she introduced.

He took his eyes off of me, a jerky motion of discomfort and smiled a tiny bit.

"Where's Maryam?" she asked Usman.

"I think she's still at class," he answered.

"Well, Amaya," Aunty Rabia smiled, "Maryam will be here soon. She's around your age, but she had class today. Once she gets here she'll show you her room. You'll be staying with her."

"Sounds good," I replied, then looked at Mum for guidance.

Somehow or the other, Aunty Rabia, Mum and I ended up in the living room with the two young girls, whose names were Fatima and Aleena.

I was sitting, staring at my hands and nodding at the right points in conversation, when the door burst open.

"As salaamu alaikum!" greeted a cheerful voice.

"Wa alaikum us salaam," I mumbled with Aunty Rabia and Mum.

"Maryam, we're here!" Aunty Rabia called.

A girl of about 21 years came in, smiling politely. She wore a loose hijab and a long white shirt. Her eyes were big, innocent, but serious, and as her smile grew, her face turned genuine.

"You must be Amaya!" she said to me, after hugging my mother and her own, "I'm Maryam."

"It's great to meet you!" I said.

I'd always had the ability to be friendly when I wanted to, and now, I used this skill. I turned my smile wide and eyes bright.

She hugged me, then sat down beside me. The conversation flowed easily from there, her asking me classic questions and unique ones and me returning them and asking my own.

"Do you want me to give you a little tour?" she asked.

"That would be great, yeah." I smiled.

She led me up the stairs, showing me most of the rooms.

"This is Husain's room," she said, opening the room to a place I could easily imagine the boy would live in.

There was a TV, and beside it, stacks of DVDs and video games and controllers cans littered everywhere. There were beanbags on the floor, and an unmade bed was pressed against one wall.

I smiled at the disorganization.

"And this is Usman's," she said, leading me to another.

This room was a sharp contrast to Husain's.

There was a desk in the corner, and instead of DVDs, there were stacks of books everywhere. There was a TV here too, a gaming console plugged in the side, and a box of what looked like granola bars. The bed was made, lazily, and a computer was buried in the messy folds.

I scanned the bookshelf from a distance, and picked up on many of the books I had read but none of my friends had.

Maryam led me to another room, "And this here, is mine."

I spotted my pull-on on the mat, and found comfort in the sight.

It was a very pretty room. Much more organized and coordinated than my own. The decorations perfectly mentioned the walls and the walls, the furniture, and the furniture, the floors.

"Maryam?"

It was that voice, and the recognition I found in it was startling to me.

"Usman? Yeah?"

"Food's ready."

I turned my head to him, taking a single look at his face and then, quickly, looking away.

We went down and sat down at the table. I put some rice and a little meat in my plate. I'd eaten a lot of snacks on the plane, so I wasn't very hungry.

"Aren't you gonna take more, Amaya?" Aunty Rabia asked.

"I'm sorry," I apologized, "I ate a lot on the plane, Aunty Rabia."

"Okay, beta." she smiled.

I smiled back, stuffed the food into my mouth.