‘Nepal?’ he repeated, his forehead creased in befuddlement.
‘Kilimanjaro?’ I reminded him.
‘That’s in Tanzania. Maybe you mean the Himalayas?’
‘Oh yes, sorry, my bad,’ I coughed, my cheeks flushed. ‘My geography isn’t great.’
‘At last, she has a flaw,’ Noah smiled good-naturedly as he scanned his beautiful eyes over my face, as though he couldn’t believe his good fortune in meeting someone like me, who shared all the same interests as him.
When it was time for desserts, I reluctantly pretended that I was full, having barely touched the main course in my eagerness to appear as health-conscious as Noah. He also patted his belly and claimed to be stuffed. We ordered healthy green teas instead and I suddenly remembered Zakariya’s plate piled high with rice and curry and how he was always encouraging me to eat more.
But before I could dwell on Zakariya and the moments that we had shared, Noah reached over and traced his finger over my ‘tattoo’ and I nearly died from the electric shock his touch sent buzzing through my body.
‘I can’t believe you have a tattoo in Arabic,’ he said, his voice a little louder than a whisper. ‘Do you speak Arabic?’
‘A little,’ I shrugged, trying to keep it cool, though inside I was anything but. Inside, I was a raging inferno, a hot mess of feelings and sensations I had never experienced before. Not with Zak, not with Kaito from uni, not the Duke from Bridgerton. What was happening right then was on another level. ‘I’ve been taking lessons.’
‘So have I,’ he replied, his eyes moving from my wrist to my lips. ‘I’m not surprised by how alike we are anymore. This is obviously destiny. Let me see what it says.’
Once again, his finger brushed against my skin and I felt instant goosebumps form along my forearms as he took my hand and brought it closer to his face as he tried to decipher the complicated calligraphy which was woven into a pattern until it was almost illegible.
‘That’s a “ha” and I think that’s a “meem” and . . . is that a “ra”?’
‘Hmmm?’ I knew he was saying something but I could barely focus on anything but the sensation of my hand in his, on his warm breath tickling my skin. If this was what a mere touch was doing to my senses . . . for a brief second, I allowed my mind to fantasise further.
‘Hmar? Your tattoo says Hmar!’ Noah began to laugh, shaking me out of my drunken-esque stupor.
‘Huh? What? What does that mean?’ I felt groggy as I tried to surface from the pool of desire I was floating in. As my eyes began to focus and my mind sharpened, I realised that Noah had turned red from the exertion of trying to contain his laughter.
‘Noah! What does it mean?’ I repeated, my voice rising as the heat within me began to fizzle out.
‘It . . . it means d-donkey,’ Noah spluttered as he gave up trying to conceal his laughter and let it all out.
Mortified, I snatched my hand away and covered my face. I couldn’t believe it! How could I not know that I had stuck a semi-permanent tattoo that said DONKEY on my hand? What sort of Arabic had I been learning for the past few months if I was too ignorant to notice it?
It took a while for Noah’s hysterics to cease and when they did, he apologised profusely, his grey-green eyes still glistening with amusement.
‘It’s OK,’ I sighed, my shoulders slumped in shame. ‘I’m the fool. I should have done my due diligence, but it was difficult to make out the letters. I’m an idiot.’
‘You’re not,’ he smiled, taking my hand again. ‘You’re funny, smart, exciting and possibly a bit crazy. But you’re not an idiot.’
My heart began to speed up again and this time when I looked into those pools of green, the amusement was replaced with a sort of wonder.
Chapter Thirty-One
The following morning I woke up to a text and, in my sleepy state, I opened it, hoping it was from Noah:
ZAKARIYA: Hope your ‘kinda date’ went well.
Confused, I yawned and then rubbed my eyes before reading it again. It was from Zakariya, not Noah.
My eyes flew open, all traces of sleep gone.
I had had such a good time with Noah that I hadn’t spared a thought for Zak at all. His weird text had disappeared from my mind altogether. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him that I was going on a date? Maybe I should have lied to him? Did I owe him the truth? I had no idea, but I still felt guilty.
It was OK, thanks for checking in, I typed out, trying my best to sound nonchalant yet friendly. Were all male–female friendships this exhausting? I posed the question to both Dina and Lucy via voice-notes as I got ready for work. Dina replied with a simple ‘shrug’ emoji and Lucy’s voice-note came back as I was walking downstairs, about to leave for work.
‘Babes, male–female friendships are rarely simple, especially if one party has ever expressed romantic interest in the other,’ her voice rang out from my phone as I entered the kitchen. ‘In fact, all men are just a waste of time.’
I had cut it too close to have breakfast so was planning to grab a banana and make a dash for it, but the sight of my brother standing there scowling, still in his flannel PJs, made me stop for a moment.
‘Everything OK?’ I asked warily, stuffing my phone into my pocket.
Malik grunted and turned to look at me. He had dark circles under his eyes and his beard had gone from a perfectly manicured lawn to an overgrown forest. He looked rough.
‘Yeah, fine,’ he muttered as he opened cupboard after cupboard.
‘What are you looking for?’
‘Coffee, where the hell is it?’
‘Err, right in front of you. Where it’s been for the last decade or so.’ I pushed the coffee and sugar canisters that were kept on the counter towards him.
‘You always have to add something extra, don’t you? Why couldn’t you pass it to me without adding a snarky remark?’
