Chapter 5

When we were finished, we retired to the living room.

"Let's play some cards," suggested Maryam.

There was a chorus of murmurs, forms of yes, and so we got out a deck of cards.

"Get ready to lose," Usman boasted.

***

"Shoot!" Usman groaned, and flung his cards onto the table.

"Sorry, who's gonna lose?" Maryam teased.

Usman pouted. His eyes flicked up to mine, and his pout disappeared, and he looked a little embarrassed.

"You wanna play another game?" asked Ahmad.

"Sure," I agreed, and so did Usman and Maryam.

"I'm gonna hit the sack," Imran said, "Sorry."

There was an 'it's fine' from different sources that became one, and then he left.

The next game was even more interesting than the first. Without Imran, only the immature males were left in the room. Usman was definitely the most responsible, but this game seemed to bring out a competitive and carefree side of him. It was nice to see.

***

That night we all went out for dinner at a local restaurant.

The city was pretty, full of lights and chattering people. It was a strange thing for me, because half of me hated being in crowded places, and the other half really enjoyed it. I was a bit of an emotional sponge, and because of this I often found that being around a lot of people at once made me anxious, stressed. I felt as though I could feel everyone else’s emotions, anxiety, worry. But then, I also felt their happiness.

The atmosphere in the restaurant was cheerful, which made me feel a lot more upbeat. It was almost a fast food set up, which was actually how I preferred it. More formal restaurants were so much pressure, and it made me all the more stressed.

“Amaya, Maryam, what do you want?” Usman asked, “Apparently, I’m playing waiter.”

“I’ll have a burger, you know how I like it,” Maryam said, then turned to me, “Amaya?”

“Umm, a burger with nothing but lettuce and mayo.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nope.”

“Okay,” Usman walked off, mumbling the order on repeat under his breath.

“Are you picky with toppings?” Maryam asked.

“A little,” I said sheepishly, “I’m assuming you are not?”

“No. Except pickles. I hate pickles.”

“Ah, I can agree with that. Pickles are disgusting.”

“I know, right? My dad used to just, like, eat pickles, and I tried it cause I thought it would be good, but… it was not.”

“Oh, God. That’s a nightmare.”

“Seriously.”

“I also really hate tomatoes on burgers,” I said.

“Wait, what? Why?”

“Look, there are burgers, and then there are tomatoes. They are not to be mixed.”

Maryam laughed at me, shook her head, “You do you.”

I was silent a few seconds. I found myself focusing on the patterns of the floor tiles. It was a geometric design, sort of irritating because it was asymmetrical. I found myself trying very hard to find a better way of organizing the tiles in my mind. This was a common form of amusement for me. I liked to examine patterns. They were always interesting to me.

Having said this, finding patterns in math had never been nearly so easy. I had always had terrible marks on any such assessments. I wished I could apply my knowledge to places where it was of actual use.

“Okay, this is yours, Maryam,” Usman was back, carrying a tray, “And this is yours.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem,” he gave me a hint of a smile and walked back away.

God, he had a nice smile. It caught me off guard. I had a hard time taking my eyes of the back of his head, not because his hair was particularly mesmerizing but because I was a little star-struck.

But then I remembered that his sister was next to me, and I took my eyes away and tried my best to focus on her, even as my mind wandered.