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Purple lilac (flower): the first emotions of love
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It takes me three days to recover from my sickness. It turns out I drank expired juice and, while I hadn't noted anything in taste, it messed with my stomach and head.

All three days, Ihsaan works from home, grumbling and constantly clarifying that he isn't doing it for my sake.

But every day he works at the table in my room, and every couple of hours he whips up something to eat and continuously reminds me to take my medicine. And every time he thinks I'm not looking, he throws me concerned glances.

Before my dad leaves for work every day, he kisses my forehead and instructs Ihsaan to take good care of me, to which Ihsaan responds by scrunching his face and giving me the stank eye, but nodding at my dad.

My mom is, of course, mostly confined to her room.

You know when you're sick and you suddenly start to remember a million things that make you sad, and a million reasons to cry? Over the past three days, I must've eaten Ihsaan's ears off with my constant lamentations about everything that has been going wrong in my life. I mumbled about our broken family, how terribly I missed Arafat, my wilted garden, my lost friends, and somewhere in that haze of delirium I accidentally blurted out something about my acceptance to Princeton University.

Ihsaan, though he had been listening to me with a forlorn expression on his face before, suddenly sat up when I said Princeton, confusion marring his features.

"What did you say?" he said. "You got into Princeton?"

Panic had flared through me. "What?" I replied hastily. "I never said that."

"Hayat, you just said Princeton."

I shook my head, heart beginning to beat rapidly against my chest. "I just meant I really wanted to go there. I never said I got in."

Ihsaan tilted his head and scrutinized me with narrowed eyes. "But I heard—"

"Oh, my God, Ihsaan," I huffed, turning to the side and pulling the covers over my head, hoping he hadn't detected the alarm on my face. "Stop eating my brain. I want to sleep."

He hadn't bothered me after that, but I could sense the tension radiating off of him, so I pretended to fall asleep and he eventually resumed typing on his laptop.

Abeer has been texting me over the past three days, too, and even insisted on visiting. It took a lot of convincing to stop her from coming over. I don't want her to get sick, too, especially since the semester began a couple days ago.

Yesterday, when I was almost back to normal, I got a text from a random number.

hey salaam, abeer mentioned that you're sick. just wanted to check in and see how you're doing.

I furrowed my brows at the unfamiliar number and typed back, who is this?

Three dots appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared, until finally the response arrived. it's rameez.

My heart lurched, and my eyes widened. Rameez Khan? Texting me to ask how I was feeling?

As my heart beat rapidly against my chest, I tried to formulate an appropriate response. One that didn't sound too excited but didn't sound rude either. Before I was able to, however, he sent another message.

admittedly, i'm a litttttle bit sad that you don't have my number saved after this many years, but i'll give you the benefit of the doubt ;)

Warmth pooled in my chest, in tune with my ascending heartbeat. What was I supposed to say? Rameez Khan texted me. God, how was I supposed to respond?

For a moment, a thought nagged at me. I never made it a habit to keep boys' contacts in my phone unless it was for school or other necessary things. My parents, in accordance with Islamic teachings, had always taught me to keep every man at a considerable distance, unless it was my brothers or my father. And despite not really delving into the reasoning behind this teaching, I had always abided by my parents' wishes. I guess the alternative option just never really occurred to me.

But every time I saw Rameez or the few times I had interacted with him, it always felt...good. The blush that tinted my cheeks, the warmth that spread throughout me, the giddy, invincible feeling. Especially since he, like his sister, insisted on treating me as normal as possible after my brother's death.

That couldn't be bad, right? People say to trust your gut, and mine was telling me that after everything my family had been through, Rameez seemed to be the light at the end of the tunnel. The glimmer of hope. The person who made me feel like a normal teenage girl again.

One of the few things that had remained from before and after Arafat's death.

Plus, it wasn't like my intention was to do anything wrong, right? I was just being polite and courteous.

So, with trembling fingers, I clicked the number and saved Rameez's contact.

i'm so sorry, I replied to his text. i guess i just never got around to it.

ah, no worries, i was just messing with you. how are you feeling now?

much better, thank you.

He typed for a few moments, during which I had eagerly stared at my screen like I was starving and his response was the only thing that would fulfill my appetite. if you need anything, don't hesitate to let abeer or me know. we are always at your service, ma'am :)

I stifled a giggle as heat pooled in my cheeks.

"What are you giggling at?" Ihsaan's voice startled me. I looked up to find him watching me with narrowed eyes, his fingers hovering over the keyboard.

He never really looked at me like that anymore. My brother either looked at me with indifference or hurt, never really curiosity or skepticism. The expression seemed so foreign on his face that for a moment I was taken aback.
I locked my phone and shoved it under the covers. "N-Nothing." The last time I mentioned Rameez, Ihsaan basically did the whole alpha male "stay away from him" thing, and that was the most emotion or care he had shown towards my life since Arafat passed away. I was not going to risk bringing Rameez up again.

Ihsaan's eyebrows rose into his hairline. "Hmm," he said, tapping his chin. "When someone smiles maniacally at their phone, it usually means—"

"Oh, lay off, Ihsaan." I rolled my eyes to conceal the rapid thumping of my heart. "Tell me more about your new responsibilities as HR manager, Mr. Amanullah."

Ihsaan paused, his intense eyes searing into mine. I almost missed his indifference when I realized he was actively scrutinizing me and attempting to discover what I was hiding. I forced myself to hold his stare for a couple seconds before he finally looked away.

I know he probably wasn't convinced, but I breathed a sigh of relief anyway.

. . .

Now that I'm completely recovered, it's proving to be very difficult to get back into my regular routine.

Before, I was used to being pampered and spoiled, used to having everyone in my family pay me the utmost attention.

But ever since Arafat passed away, nobody has really taken care of me. My dad is too busy burying his pain in work, my mom is too consumed by her grief to even leave her room, and Ihsaan is indifferent and distant.

And I understand that. I understand their grief and hopelessness. I just didn't realize how much I missed being the spoiled and pampered daughter.

But for the first time since Arafat died, Ihsaan bridged the distance between us and took care of me. While I was sick, he pretended that I was the most colossal inconvenience, but nevertheless took care of me. His attitude and false annoyance was just his way of showing me that he hates being overtly affectionate, but he does care.

It just felt so good, being taken care of instead of constantly taking care of everyone else. For three days, I didn't have to worry about whether everyone ate their meals, whether my mom took her medicines, whether my dad was tired after a long day of work. It makes me sound selfish, but...for just a little bit, I enjoyed not being the caretaker.

I shake these thoughts out of my head and sigh, staring at the tabled list of meals on the fridge.

A couple weeks ago, I made a list of meals I could circulate depending on the day, the amount of time it would take, everyone's preferences, and my mood. I then organized it into a seven-column table (one for each day of the week), and it's pretty intricate, if I may say so myself. Plus, it makes my life a whole lot easier.

I decide on cooking boiled rice and chicken tikka for the day, along with some salad and chutney. I'm in the middle of measuring cups of rice when a thought occurs to me.

The last time I made this was for Mikaal. For a brief moment, a flash of his expression as he ate the food hits me. Then his,"Wow. Who knew Arafat's baby sister cooked so well?" flits through my mind.

I pause, my hand in the bag of rice. Would it be weird to make some for him as well, since he seemed to enjoy it last time? Even Abeer complimented my food the other day, which means I really must have improved, because she once gagged at my attempts to cook.

I love when people enjoy my food. I was horrible at cooking and probably would have stayed horrible had I not taken up the sudden responsibility of feeding my family every day. So it's okay if I distribute some to others, right?

I finally decide to cook a little extra so I can give a plate to both Abeer and Mikaal.

A couple hours later, when I'm done cooking and wrapping the meals, I text Abeer if she could swing by and pick hers up.

She responds half an hour later. awww thank you so much girlie <3333. i'm so sorry tho, i have classes until 8 today and then rumana and i have a club meeting until 10 :( okay if i pick it up tomorrow?

My heart sinks for a moment. Right. The semester began, and everyone is busy with their classes and their own lives.

My gaze falls on the wrapped plate of food, and I feel a strange pang in my chest.

Why am I upset? My life was put on pause, but everyone else obviously still has things to do and places to be and friends to meet. I can't just expect Abeer or anyone else to always be available at my beck and call.

I wish I was just able to drive; that would solve so many problems.

I text her back a thumbs-up, and her response comes immediately after. or i can ask rameez to drop by, if that's okay w you and your fam? his last class ends at 5.

My heart stutters. I bite my lip, contemplating her response. My nerves begin to jumble up. Rameez Khan at my house? Would that be weird? I wouldn't invite him inside, of course, but what if I say something stupid or make a fool of myself? Already God knows what he thinks of me or whether he's just texting me out of pity.

But...it would be so nice to be able to see him. It's been a couple days since I last saw him, and just the sight of his warm eyes and warm smile immediately brightens my day.

I text Abeer back with trembling fingers: that's fine.

But what about Mikaal? My plan had been for Abeer to take me to the hospital so I could drop the food off to him, but since she's busy I don't have that option. Ihsaan is at work, and I wouldn't have been able to ask him anyway because I would have to explain why I last gave Mikaal food, which would lead to Mikaal stumbling across me on the road, which would lead to me sleepwalking, and it would just be a whole mess.

I could just walk to Mikaal's house and drop it off; after all, he's a two minute walk from me. But I wanted to avoid stopping by his house in case his parents are home.

I stop short at that last thought. Why am I filled with discomfort by the idea of his parents being home—as if I'm doing something wrong?

Am I doing something wrong?

No, right? I'm just giving a fellow human being food. Who I've known for years. Who also happens to be my deceased brother's best friend. Who also saved me from sleepwalking and ending up in a ditch somewhere.

I bury my face in my hands and groan. Why is this all so needlessly complicated?

Calm down, Hayat. You're overthinking it. You're just giving food to people. It's not a big deal.

I sigh and shake my head. I'll just give Mikaal his food at home, and I'm never doing this again. I can't deal with this stress.

I text Ihsaan: do you have mikaal's number?

Mikaal Zaman? is his response.

yes

Uh, yeah ??

can i have it pls

Ihsaan responds with a confused face emoji.

i just need to ask him something about arafat. I feel guilty lying to Ihsaan, but the truth will just bring up too many unnecessary questions.

He sends me Mikaal's number, and for a moment I hesitate. This is the second guy who isn't related to me whose number I'm saving.

But it's not like I'll be texting either of them frequently—especially not Mikaal. I just need to know if he's home.

I must spend a whole minute biting my lip, adding and then removing exclamation marks, and contemplating how best to word my text to Mikaal after finally settling with: Salaam. This is Hayat Amanullah. How are you?

I wait with bated breath for his response, knee bouncing up and down. When five minutes pass and it becomes clear that he's probably busy and won't respond soon, I sigh and return to the kitchen to wash the dishes.

Later, I'm reading one of the gardening books Steph gave me and lose track of time. At 5:37 PM, my doorbell rings, startling me.

Oh, my God. Rameez is here!

Oh shoot, oh shoot, oh shoot. I look down at myself—at my unbound and tangled hair, at my floral dress with minuscule masala stains—and panic. I have absolutely zero time to improve my appearance, so I simply smooth my hair and rub some color into my cheeks before taking a deep breath and rushing to open the door.

Rameez stands on the porch with one hand in his pocket and one running through his curly hair. He looks impeccable in a black Nike tracksuit and white Nike airs. As soon as I open the door, he looks up, meets my eyes, and breaks into a smile.

My breath catches in my throat, and for a moment I forget how to speak.

This...this feeling. This exhilaration, this nervous energy...it's been foreign for the past four months. I forgot what it feels like to have a heart that beats without hurting.

Rameez breaks the silence with a "Salaam."

"Wa 'Alaikum Salaam." To my utter embarrassment, my voice comes out breathless. If he notices, he doesn't comment on it. "Thanks for coming," I add. "Sorry you had to take the time out."

He waves me off. "Of course, no problem. How are you?" he murmurs, gazing at me with a quiet intensity that sets my heart racing.

"I'm—I'm good, thank you. How...how are you? How are your classes going?"

A corner of his lips lifts at my stuttering, and I want to melt into the ground. Relax, Hayat. "They're okay," he says, shrugging. "Might switch some around before add/drop period closes."

I nod slowly. There's a moment of loaded silence before I blurt out, "What are you studying again?"

"Business. Not sure what specifically yet, but that's the current plan." He chuckles, eyes crinkling at the corners, and the motion is so endearing that my heart stutters. "I'm trying to be less sporadic and indecisive. I can never figure out what I want."

I shake my head and, before I can process the words that come out of my mouth, I say, "Don't worry. You're good at everything you do."

My eyes widen just as he glances at me in surprise. I clear my throat, trying desperately to come off as casual and not portray how obviously I am losing my chill. "Do you want water? Juice? Sorry, I would invite you inside, but it's just me and my mom, so—"

"Oh, no, no, of course, I understand. Don't worry about it. I should probably get going soon, anyway." He smiles softly, and something in my chest shifts. Warms. As if a cloud is drifting away and uncovering my heart.

God, this is bad. All these years of knowing Rameez Khan and wrestling these complicated feelings—I'm exhausted. And recently, after seeing him at Abeer's party and sitting in the car with him and Abeer and getting texts from him, the feelings have intensified. I don't know how to deal with this.

"You okay there?" Rameez's voice jars me out of my thoughts. I blink, refocusing on his concerned smile.

"Yes," I say. "I'm so sorry. I just—sorry about that. Wait here, I'll bring the food."

I leave the door open and rush into the kitchen, hiding from Rameez's view. I lay a hand against the heart beating persistently against my chest and press my forehead to the cool wall to reorient myself. "Breathe, Hayat," I whisper. "Breathe."

As I'm returning to the porch with the food, I spot a familiar car driving towards our house. My footsteps slow.

Ihsaan is about to pull into the driveway when he sees Rameez's car. He puts his car in park and steps out, leaving the engine running.

Oh, shoot. I did not want Ihsaan to witness this exchange. He might get the wrong idea.

As he walks up to us, I smile nervously at Rameez. He beams back, seeming completely at ease.

"What's up, man?" Rameez nods at my brother, holding out a hand to do the dude hug. My brother smiles, locking him in a brief embrace.

I feel it again when I see the two of them hug. That shift in my heart, that warmth.

"Salaam, Rameez. How are you, man?" Ihsaan says, shooting me a brief but loaded glance.

"I'm good, I'm good. How are you? How's everything?"

Ihsaan nods. "Great, Alhamdulillah." He glances at me again before turning back to Rameez. "What brings you here?"

Rameez gestures to me. "Your sister was kind enough to make some food for my sister, so I just came to pick it up. Abeer is busy all day," he says by way of explanation.

I'm so glad he makes it clear that I prepared the food for Abeer, not him.

"Well, I better get going," Rameez continues. "Sorry I blocked your driveway."

Ihsaan shakes his head. "No worries." But I notice how he doesn't invite Rameez to come inside even now that he's here.

I quickly hand the food to Rameez. He gives me that award-winning smile again, and I have to force myself to remember how to breathe, especially since my brother seems to be subtly scrutinizing me.

"Thank you, Hayat. Take care," Rameez says. He stands there for a moment, gaze intense as if he wants to communicate something. Then he simply smiles and jogs back to his car, reversing out of the driveway. Before he drives away, he throws us a little wave.

Ihsaan glances at me once, quickly, before he returns to his car and pulls it into the spot that Rameez's car occupied seconds ago.

When he comes back inside, his jaw is working. For some reason, my heart begins beating rapidly against my chest. Why do I feel as if I've been caught doing something wrong?

Ihsaan loosens his watch and slips it into his pocket. He bends down to remove his shoes, then stands and begins twirling his ring around his finger. His nervous tell. Before he can say anything, I blurt out, "Abeer is busy all day. She doesn't have time to stop by, so she asked if her brother could get the food instead."

My brother nods once before meeting my eyes. There's an unspoken question in them, but he simply says, "Okay."

"Yeah, I didn't want to wait until tomorrow, and maybe she would've been busy tomorrow, too, so I wasn't—I didn't—"

"Hayat," Ihsaan says, walking towards the sofa as I follow. "Breathe. Why are you so nervous?"

My heart jolts. "I'm not, I'm just...I don't want you to think I invited him over or something."

Ihsaan sits down, blowing out a sigh and resting his head against the sofa. He raises his eyebrows at the ceiling. "Do you think I have such little faith in you that I would assume something like that?"

My breath catches in my throat. Instantly, I feel guilty. "No, I didn't mean that."

He lifts his head to look at me, and I squirm under his gaze. "Hayat, I just told you to be careful around him. Or any man, for that matter. I didn't say I thought you were doing something wrong." He scrunches his brows. "It makes me kinda sad that you assume that would be my first thought."

Ihsaan sits forward, resting his chin on his hands. He opens and closes his mouth, seemingly contemplating how best to word his thoughts. "Look, Hayat. I trust you. I'm sure you understand, though, that as your brother I'm just naturally concerned about any man that's in your life." He holds a hand up as I'm about to interrupt him. "Just like you women see something in other women that we men may not notice, we men also see something in other men that you may not notice." He blows out a sigh, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm not trying to interrogate you or anything like that. It's just, I would advise you to look out for yourself. There are...little things...like if he was just picking up a plate of food from you, he could've parked against the curb and left the engine running, since it wouldn't take long. Yet he chose to pull into the driveway, park, and turn the car off. Just to pick up a plate of food." He raises his eyes to mine slowly. "Doesn't that seem strange to you?"

I hadn't even thought of that. And I know Ihsaan means to warn me, but his words secretly excite me. That means Rameez parked his car because he was expecting to have a conversation with me, however short? That means he took out five minutes from his day just to potentially see me?

"I mean..." I begin slowly, trying to keep the smile off my face. "I guess you're right, but sometimes people don't like leaving the engine running. Like, for safety reasons. And I have never sensed any wrong intentions from him, ever. He's my best friend's brother, Ihsaan."

Ihsaan shakes his head. "No, no, I'm not saying he's a bad person or anything like that. I'm just saying"—he rubs a hand against his face, takes a deep breath—"just be conscious of things like that, okay?"

A surge of anger rises in me, but I try to tamp it down and see things from my brother's perspective. He's just looking out for me.

Even though he basically hasn't been since Arafat passed away, and only seems to care about my life when it has something to do with a guy.

I shake the thought out of my head and nod at Ihsaan. "Okay. I will. You can freshen up while Papa's coming home, and I'll warm up the food."

He nods gratefully, turning to go before he stops. Looks at me with furrowed brows. "By the way, what did you want Mikaal's number for?"

My breath hitches. Why is he so interested in my life these days? "I just needed to ask him something about Arafat."

Ihsaan waits for further explanation, but when it becomes clear that I'm offering none, he nods and treads up the stairs.

That reminds me...I wonder if Mikaal has replied to my text.

I head to the kitchen, turning the stove on under the food and grabbing my phone from the counter. My screen lights up at my face, showcasing a notification from Mikaal.

Wa 'Alaikum Salaam, Hayat. I'm good, Alhamdulillah. How are you?

Did you get my number from Ihsaan?

I'm good, too, thank you for asking. Oh, God, I forgot to mention how I got his number. He probably thinks I'm a weird creep. Yes, I say. I just wanted to ask you something. I bite my lip, trying to think of the least awkward way to say this.

Are you home right now? I just wanted to give you something.

Wanted? No that, sounds weird. I quickly edit the text to I just needed to give you something.

There, that sounds less personal.

Three dots appear, then disappear, then reappear. For some strange reason, I'm holding my breath.

Yes.

Okay, I need to get this over with quickly. While Ihsaan is in the shower and my dad's on his way home, I need to get to Mikaal's house and back.

I grab his food and slip my shoes on, hastily rushing out of the house and down the block. I walk persistently and purposefully, and for some reason my heart is thumping against my chest.

When I reach Mikaal's house, I take a deep breath and ring his doorbell. I glance at the time on my phone as I'm waiting and do a double take when I see another notification from Mikaal, sent three minutes ago.

Everything alright? You could send it through Ihsaan, you don't have to go through the trouble.

Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God.

What the hell am I doing? He's being polite because that's just who he is, but he clearly thinks I'm a dumb, weird creep who has nothing better to do.

And why wouldn't he? I'm his dead best friend's kid sister. He's basically a brother figure. He could literally care less about me or my life.

Oh, God, what am I doing? Without thinking, I turn around to make a quick escape but am too late as the door opens behind me.

I squeeze my eyes shut and reopen them, turning back to the door sheepishly.

Mikaal is standing in the doorway in his lab coat, tired eye bags indicating he just returned from a shift at the hospital. He smiles politely. "Salaam."

"Wa 'Alaikum Salaam," I say, a little breathless. I look down at the plate of food, cheeks flaming, feeling utterly stupid. "I just—I was just making some food and...and you seemed to like it to the other day. Just...just wanted to give you some as well. I made some for my friend, too," I rush to add, then realize how crazy I sound. I clamp my lips together to refrain from further embarrassing myself.

There's a moment of strained silence before Mikaal says, "Oh. Oh, that's very...that's thoughtful of you. Thank you, Hayat."

He reaches for the plate, and I practically shove it at him in my haste to get away.

Mikaal's smile begins to dim. He purses his lips, seeming to contemplate something. For a moment, I register how black his eyes are. Much darker than Rameez's brown, but somehow just as warm, if not warmer.

Yet right now, they seem wary. Guarded, even. As if he's bracing himself for something.

"Is...everything okay?" I ask hesitantly, confused by his demeanor.

He nods. "Yeah, sorry, I just..." He glances at me for a moment, still seemingly lost in thought, before he decides to backtrack. "I'm just tired."

"Oh." I fumble with the sleeves of my dress. "Oh, of course. I'm sorry to keep you."

"No, my bad. That's not what I meant. I just..." Mikaal blows out a sigh, holding the plate in one hand and shoving the other one in his lab coat pocket.

Whatever he's about to say is interrupted by a voice from inside the house. "Mikaal? Who is it, beta?"

He turns and calls out, "It's Hayat, Mama."

Seconds later, his mom appears at the door, clad in vibrant shalwar kameez with a dupatta draped across her chest. She must be around forty-five to fifty years old, but Mikaal's mom has always looked so young. A slim figure, well-maintained skin and hair, and bright eyes. I've always felt an odd, youthful sort of kinship with her. Behind the kind smile and light-filled eyes lies a free-spirited woman with flair.

She smiles warmly at me. I smile back hesitantly, trying to conceal the rapid ascent of my heart rate.

I hope she doesn't think I'm weird for coming over to her house. We used to give each other food often, but after my mom stopped cooking or going out, we haven't met or interacted much.

"Hayat?" She grasps my hand. "How are you, beta?"

"I'm good, auntie, Alhamdulillah. Aap kaisi hain?"

"I'm good, too, beta. How's your family? Your mom?"

My smile falters and I shrug. "Fine. You know how it is." She nods in understanding. My eyes dart to Mikaal, who has been strangely quiet throughout this exchange. His shoulders are tight, and there's a cleft between his brows, signaling he's bothered by something.

For a moment, there is pin drop silence between the three of us. Then I rush to explain, "I was cooking, and decided to drop by and give you some as well."

"Arey, that's so sweet of you. Thank you, beta." She smooths my head, a typical affectionate gesture that Pakistani elders give to those younger than them.

"It's no problem. Chale, I should go." I glance at Mikaal once more, who throws me a polite but stiff smile, still distracted.

"Arey, aise kaise?" Auntie's eyes soften. "At least come in, have something to drink."

I shake my head. "Next time." I dare to look at Mikaal one last time. He's working his jaw, and he seems to be lost in thought again. His eyes meet mine for a moment, and he nods diplomatically.

Weird.

I turn to auntie and wave, backing away. Both of them wave back and say "Thank you" simultaneously.

As I'm walking back to my house, an uneasy feeling settles in my chest. Is Mikaal mad at me or something? Why was he acting so strange? Did I say or do something that bothered him? I've seen him tired, for sure. I've seen him upset, I've seen him frustrated, even. But never with me. He's always been nice to me.

Maybe he really was just tired. Or distracted. He seemed to have wanted to say something multiple times but stopped himself before he was able to.

I shake my thoughts out of my head and take a deep breath. It's pointless to be plagued by these questions.

Like I said, I don't intend on doing this again.

. . .

Assalaamu 'Alaikum (peace be upon you),

Okay, so we're gonna try this regular updating schedule thing again. I'm aiming for Mondays, but let's see how it goes. The semester just started, so it's a little hard to tell if I'll be able to stand by that, but I will try my very best.

Translations:

Salaam: Muslim greeting meaning "peace be upon you"

Wa 'Alaikum Salaam: Response to Muslim greeting meaning "and peace be upon you"

Alhamdulillah: All praise and thanks be to God

Beta: Child

Aap kaisi hain?: How are you?

Arey: Aw/Hey

Chale: Okay/let's go

Arey, aise kaise?: Hey, how come like this?

Teehee tiny hint: Pay attention to the grammar of Hayat's texts ;)

Thanks for reading!