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Pink hibiscus (flower): Young love
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For the rest of the week, I'm in a sour mood.

The interaction with Mikaal has left an incredibly unpleasant taste in my mouth, and I've continuously been reevaluating the conversations I've had with him since Arafat's death. I didn't think I was being too "friendly," as he said, I thought I was just being nice. But I guess people can't appreciate kindness without an ulterior motive anymore.

On top of that, to think that he felt I was trying to make a move on him or get close to him or something has me feeling so embarrassed that I avoid stepping out of the house for days so as not to run into him. I don't know what I was thinking, cooking for him to show my appreciation. Every time I think of the discomfort lining his features when he read the note on the plate of brownies, I want to melt into the ground.

Luckily, I have something to distract from the entire insufferable ordeal—Rumana's birthday party.

Currently Abeer is at my house, chattering away and applying makeup and twirling around in her dress the way normal teen girls do. She begged me to let her do my makeup, and even though makeup tends to break me out, I relented when she gave me her puppy dog eyes ("I promise I'll only use the super necessary products! Your skin will be completely fine!").

Ihsaan comes home and drops by my room when he hears the commotion, eyebrows rising at the dresses strewn around the floor and the makeup products littering the vanity. Abeer's eyes widen as if we've been caught doing something wrong, and she chirps out a greeting to my brother.

"Wa 'Alaikum Salaam, kiddo," he says. "What's going on here?" Since Ihsaan's various overprotective older brother comments and the embarrassing encounter with Mikaal, I've subconsciously been more observant of various gender interactions. I don't leave the house much, but I still take note of whatever I am able to. Like right now, how Ihsaan is not entering the room so as not to make Abeer uncomfortable, and how his gaze is mainly on me, despite his question being directed towards both of us.

"Birthday party!" Abeer squeaks happily, plugging in the straightener and parting my hair as it heats up.

Ihsaan gives me a once-over. "Wow. You don't look like a churail."

I scoff as Abeer laughs merrily. "It's the Abeer touch," she says, quickly adding "Not that our gorgeous Hayat ever looks like a churail!" when I give her a dry look.

Ihsaan shakes his head, lips turning up in the ghost of a smile. Then he purses his lips and begins to fidget with the ring on his finger.

Abeer stops straightening my hair and scrutinizes Ihsaan, cocking her head to the side. "Is something wrong, Ihsaan bhai?"

"No, no, nothing's wrong." His gaze darts to me once before he quickly asks, "Whose birthday party is it?"

"Do you know our friend Rumana?" Abeer says before I'm able to respond.

"Sounds familiar."

"Yeah, hers. She invited, like, the whole world."

Ihsaan nods, fingering an patch of peeling paint on my door. He seems restless, and I don't think Abeer has answered the question he's truly asking.

"It's a mixed party," I say quietly, and his head snaps up at my voice. Our gazes lock, and there's an indecipherable question in his before he looks away.

Abeer glances between the two of us, raising her brows. "I feel like there's some secret sibling telepathy happening here." She turns to Ihsaan. "Are you okay with it being a mixed party?" The desperation leaks through her voice, signaling she really hopes my brother's answer will be in the affirmative. And I know Abeer is the kind of person who, even if she would be upset if Ihsaan discouraged me from going, would still respect our family's decisions and religious values.

It's one of the many things I love about her.

Ihsaan's eyes seem to pierce through my skull. I hold my breath in anticipation. Part of me is hoping he'll express displeasure at it being a mixed party, which will give me a solid excuse not to go. But the other, more dominant part of me is hoping he'll be okay with it, because I want to see Rameez so bad.

Ihsaan takes a deep breath. "Yeah, that's okay. I trust you guys. Just be careful."

Abeer nods. "Don't you worry, Ihsaan bhai. Never fear, Abeer is here. I will take such good care of your little sister." She tries to squish my cheeks as I duck away.

Ihsaan chuckles from the door. "I meant both of you take care of each other, kiddo. But anyways, have fun, you guys. I'm gonna check on Mama and wait on Papa for dinner. Don't get home too late." As he's turning away, our gazes lock for a single moment, and I detect a tiny, almost imperceptible flash of worry in his eyes.

But a flash all the same.

. . .

I wanna go home already.

This party is too loud, too chaotic, and there are way too many people. The only thing grounding me right now is the anticipation of Rameez's arrival. Otherwise I can't stand the hushed conversations, the prolonged pitied looks thrown my way, the overly enthusiastic smiles so as not to make me feel left out.

Am I being an inconsiderate brat? Possibly. But I'm just so sick of being treated like a complete other, like I'm always going to be the girl who lost her brother.

It haunts me every single day at home; I wish I could be given the space to feel normal outside.

"Hi there," someone says from behind me.

I startle, spinning around and placing a hand over my heart.

It's Rameez. Dressed in a black button down paired with jeans and Nike Airs, he looks like a knockout. His hair has been strategically gelled and styled so as to look effortlessly perfect, and his wrist sports a sleek black watch that perfectly complements his button down.

For some reason, I'm reminded of Mikaal's similar outfit during our last interaction, and immediately a sour taste crawls up my throat.

Rameez holds his hands up, lips turning up at the corners. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

I shake my head, removing my hand from my heart (which has started beating irregularly at the sight of Rameez Khan). Tucking my hair behind my ear, I laugh nervously. "No, no, it's okay. I was just lost in thought."

For a few moments, we simply stare at each other, taking each other in. His eyes rove over my face, settling on the eyeliner Abeer very carefully flicked at the corners, before moving to my straightened hair, styled in a high pony and accompanied by sparkly black clips. I hastily brush my hands down my black dress, hoping I still look as presentable as I did when I left the house. At the motion, his eyes flick back to mine and he smiles almost shyly.

"We're matching," Rameez murmurs, so quietly I almost don't hear him over the noise of the party.

I smile, heart thudding against my chest. "What a coincidence."

"You look...really pretty." He rubs the back of his neck, eyes trained to the ground. For a moment I'm too stunned by his uncharacteristically shy demeanor to register the compliment.

Then my heart begins flapping wildly in my chest. "Thank you. You don't look too bad yourself."

He chuckles, gently running a hand through his hair so as not to ruin the style. "Enjoying the party?"

I shrug noncommittally, gazing around us with something close to displeasure. When we first came in, the guys were in one room while the girls were in another. But at this point the guys and girls have begun to mingle, some playing Uno, some taking turns playing Forza Horizon on the Xbox, some munching on food at the dining table, and others doing a variety of additional activities.

"I'm gonna take that as a no," Rameez says with a smile in his voice when my silence drags on for too long.

I cover my face with my hands. "I'm so sorry, I keep getting lost in thought."

"Don't worry about it. Where's my sister? Why are you here alone?"

I sigh, twirling a piece of hair around my finger. His eyes track the movement, and my breath stutters.

How do I tell him that Abeer kept staying by my side, determined not to let me be alone, but she kept getting called by one friend or another to play something or take pictures or do whatever it is that normal teen girls do. I didn't mind not being summoned with Abeer—after all, I haven't been with these people and in this kind of crowd for months and don't have the same bond with the others as she does—but I didn't like that she kept saying no to someone or some activity or another just so she could stay by my side. She kept trying to convince me to come with her, but I really didn't want to interact with any more people who would look at me and say "sorry for your loss" for the thousandth time.

It took me an unhealthy amount of convincing to let her know I would be fine and would roam around and hang out with others (I will not, but she doesn't need to know that).

I turn to Rameez, plastering a smile on my face. "Abeer was with me the whole time. She just left—she's taking some pictures of the birthday girl."

He nods. "Did you eat something?"

I tilt my head, hesitating to utter my next words. My eyes focus on a place somewhere above his head as I say, "Abeer and I had some snacks. But...we were waiting for you to have dinner, actually."

When I muster the courage to look into his eyes, they've become so warm that blood rushes to my cheeks. I have never been looked at by a man this way, as if my words have shifted the ground beneath his feet.

Rameez smiles softly, then nods towards the dining room. "Let's go."

As we head to the dining table, I'm acutely aware of several pairs of eyes on me. I've been subtly gawked at since I arrived, but now the air has shifted. I'm no longer being looked at because I'm the dead brother's sister; I'm now being looked at because I'm accompanied by Rameez Khan.

The realization causes my breath to stutter. I give Rameez a sideways glance, and he seems either oblivious to the stares or completely at ease with them as we approach the dining table.

For a moment, a thought nags at me. Up until a couple weeks ago, I would have been absolutely uncomfortable with the idea of attending a mixed party, let alone befriending and being accompanied by a guy. At what point did the idea of texting Rameez until late at night and being excited to see him at parties become comfortable and normal to me?

I shake the thought out of my head, unwilling for it to disturb my night.

Rameez grabs plates for both of us, handing one to me first. I tuck my hair behind my ear shyly as he gestures for me to take food before him.

"There's my favorite gal!" Abeer shouts as she wraps me in a chokehold. She eyes the plate in my hands and shakes her head in mock anger. "And she didn't even wait for me to eat dinner."

I open my mouth to defend myself just as Rameez smirks at his twin. "She preferred someone else's company," he says, winking.

Abeer gapes between the two of us. "Not fair. My best friend and brother are ganging up against me.

"I'm not—" I start to protest.

Rameez nudges me casually, silently communicating for me to play along. But I'm suddenly too distracted by the casual nudge to pay attention to anything going on.

My eyes trace the movement, and although he seems unfazed by it, my heart begins rapidly beating in my chest. He and I are so comfortable with each other now that we can be physically casual with one another? Are we that close now?

Dimly I register that I should be more worried than excited that I am okay with him touching me, but ecstasy grips me so tightly that any trace of concern quickly evaporates.

Abeer's huff of protest jars me out of my thoughts. I turn to her as she folds her arms over her chest in mock anger, but I don't miss the way a spark of confusion lights her eyes as they dart between myself and her brother.

I haven't really told her that her brother and I regularly text and talk to each other. I don't know why—I guess it never came up or I never felt the need to. I didn't think it was something that serious, but judging by the palpitations of my heart against my ribcage every time I am in Rameez Khan's presence, it's starting to feel serious.

I wonder if he mentioned anything about me to her.

I'm once again jarred out of my distracted thoughts when Abeer throws an arm around me again and says, "Whatever. We know Hayat loves me." She shakes me and says, "Are you having fun?"

"Yes," I lie partially, because I wasn't really until Rameez showed up.

I'm saved from having to convince Abeer of my lie when Rumana heads over to us. She looks beautiful, clad in a Barbie pink dress and a white Birthday Girl sash, paired with matching pink jewelry and pink stilettos.

"You look amazing," I say politely as she approaches.

She grins at me, the elation of being the birthday girl practically oozing off of her. "Thank you, Hayat. You look gorgeous yourself."

Others join us at the dining table, and everyone begins chit chatting as they pile their plates with food. My eyes light up when I see the mound of garlic knots. I squeal excitedly, then clamp my lips shut when Rameez throws me an amused smile.

"Sorry," I murmur. "I love garlic knots."

"Why are you saying sorry?" he chuckles, grabbing one himself.

"No, I just—" A smile blooms on my face. "My brother loves them, too. It's kind of a sibling thing now. Ihsaan asks me to make them from time to time."

The soft smile Rameez is directing at me makes me blush from my head to my toes.

"Oh, that reminds me," I say, smacking my hand against my forehead. "He asked me to make lasagna the other day and it completely slipped my mind."

"You cook for your brother?" Rumana suddenly asks, cocking her head to the side.

I turn to her, perplexed by the tone of her voice. "Yes?" It comes out more like a question because I'm confused by the way her nose is scrunching in something close to disgust.

She laughs. "I would never cook for my brother."

I can't explain why, but it feels as if a rock has settled on my chest. I frown quizzically at Rumana, then look around at the others to see if anyone else is as struck by her words as I am. Only Abeer and Rameez are tuned into the conversation; everyone else is too busy getting food and mingling to pay us any heed.

Rumana continues, "How come your brother doesn't just cook for himself?"

Oh, God. I am not trying to have this conversation today, not when I was just starting to feel comfortable being at this party.

"Um, because he works full-time." My voice has dropped considerably.

Rumana's brows knit. She seems to want to say something else but catches the guarded expression on my face and rushes to say, "Oh, I don't meant to offend you, Hayat! Sorry. I just thought it was weird."

Abeer lightly smacks Rumana's arm. "Girl, what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, it's just—"

"It's fine," I mumble in a low voice. My eyes are on my plate of food, and suddenly I don't have an appetite anymore. I'm about to set the plate down when Rameez catches my elbow.

My gaze darts to his sympathetic one, and he murmurs, "Do you want to eat on the terrace?"

I blink rapidly, horrified by the fact that tears have begun to pool in my eyes. "Okay," I whisper.

He continues to keep a firm grasp on my arm as he leads us to the terrace, as if he can sense I'm hanging by a delicate thread and need as much external support as I can get.

"Hayat?" Abeer says from behind us.

I turn to her, blinking to keep my tears at bay.

The expression on her face is a mix of confusion and sympathy. "Are you okay?"

I nod. "Just need some fresh air."

Again, her gaze zeroes in on where her brother is holding me, but she nods.

Rameez leads me outside, and once the cool October air hits my face, I feel a smidge better.

It's just the two of us here. We sit across from each other at the wooden table on one side of the terrace, and for a moment I just stare at the woodwork before a tear runs down my cheek, startling me.

"Hey," Rameez says, leaning forward to look into my eyes. "Talk to me, Hayat."

I sniff, grabbing the tissue under my plate and dabbing my face. "I'm sorry."

"Stop saying sorry. Tell me what's going on."

I'm quiet for so long that Rameez reaches forward and brushes soft fingers over my hand. I jolt, raising my gaze to his concerned one. "Hayat," he says. "Talk to me, please."

I focus on the stroking of his hand over mine to ground myself, taking a deep breath. "I just hate when people say stuff like that."

He nods for me to continue, wrapping his other hand over mine as well. I'm too upset by Rumana's words to feel any sort of excitement at this new development.

"Like, I know my life right now is probably very different from everyone else's at this party, but...I chose it. And I don't mind it. Four months ago, I never imagined that I would be here, not attending college and being a homemaker of sorts, but these are my circumstances now. Why is my 'unconventional' life wrong?"

"People are stupid," Rameez says, squeezing my hand. "Your circumstances are different, therefore it only makes sense that your choices and lifestyle are different. And even if you didn't have, as you say, a 'different life,' you still have the right to choose how you want to live. If you wanna cook for your family, so be it. Screw everyone; there's nothing wrong with that."

I quiet at his words. He's angry on my behalf, angry because someone made me cry. The realization causes warmth to spread throughout my chest and makes me feel considerably better.

I remove my hands from under his to dab my face with the tissue. "Thank you," I say. "I wish everyone thought the way you did, but unfortunately that's not the case. I see the way everyone here looks at me, and I know they're probably thinking the same as Rumana."

He shakes his head angrily. "People always have something dumb to say. I'm sorry you have to hear that. It's unfair and uncalled for."

Before I realize it, I'm beaming at him, and he does a double take when he sees the expression on my face. "What?" he chuckles.

"Nothing. You're just...thank you. I appreciate you."

His lips turn up at the corners. "I appreciate you, too, Hayat. Now eat." He nods at our plates. "Don't stress. Your life, as it is, is just perfect."

. . .

Assalaamu 'Alaikum (peace be upon you),

This one's for all the Rameez haters.

Thanks for reading!