Chapter 8: "Unexpected Meetings"

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December 25, 20

Salma put the coffee on the table by the window and pulled out a napkin.

“I thought you’d be avoiding me for a while,” Sarah said from her position on the bed, without raising her eyes from the book she was reading.

“I was,” Salma admitted, putting the donut on the napkin and wiping her hands clean, “but I’ve already met the other trigger without ugly-crying so I figured I might as well see you.”

“And you brought me a donut.” Sarah smiled, reaching for the desert.

“I didn’t,” Salma replied. “He did.”

Sarah’s hand paused on her way to her mouth.

“Come again?”

Salma did not reply. She tossed the dirty napkin into the bin and removed her bag. Overcoming her existential crisis of eating the donut or keeping her pride, Sarah chose to opt for the latter and dropped the snack back on the napkin.

“Do I want to know how this happened?” Sarah asked.

Salma huffed, thinking back to what happened. She had just managed to reach the paved pathway leading up to the café when Zayn had called her.

“Bee, wait!”

Her feet halted on impulse. Realizing what she had done, Salma tried to correct her mistake by making a run for it, acting like she’d never heard him, but it was already too late. She heard his hurried footsteps catching up to her. Salma turned around to see three pairs of eyes trained on her.

An uneasy air started settling in.

“I bought coffee,” Zayn said awkwardly.

Salma’s eyes traveled from the coffee and the box of donuts in his hands to the two juniors standing just a few feet away, watching.

“The café was crowded,” Zayn said. “I thought . . .”

He trailed off when Salma turned back to him. Whatever he had thought when he dashed in to buy her a coffee, he was now clearly starting to second-guess.

You thought what? Salma scoffed in her head as her eyes silently trailed back to the box. She peeked at least a dozen donuts.

“I didn’t know what you liked,” Zayn explained, watching her skeptically eyeing the box.

“I don’t --" Salma began but then stopped. She didn’t like sweets, but must he know? She was not about to start taking treats from him anyway. And yet --

Isn’t that what she should be doing? If she refused, it would not only add to the unease that she was supposed to be working against, but also, she would be going against Sunnah. All her life, as a Muslim, she had not only accepted gifts graciously, but also used or ate some of it in front of the person to express her appreciation and gratitude.

Not to mention, she was hungry. She had made her intention to have a coffee break quiet clear when she had joined Louisa and Jason to the cafe. It’s not like she could lie about not being hungry without embarrassing herself, and him.

“I have somewhere to be,” Salma muttered, feeling excessively uncomfortable. “Thank you.”

Salma turned around to make a dash when an arm shot out in front of her, making her take a step back.

“I insist,” Zayn said.

Salma’s eyes snapped towards him. A sarcastic brow raised in question. Zayn attempted an uneasy smile, trying to ease the tension. Salma clenched her fists. As another ripple of unease coursed through her body, she glanced at the two juniors again. They were still watching. Jason seemed worried.

Zayn, who had been silently studying her, averted his gaze, unable to look her in the eye when Salma turned to him once again. Her deep seeded frustration started bubbling up. She wanted to slap him out of her way but she knew she could not and neither was she supposed to. She was supposed to work towards a better end with him.

“Please?” he added as an after-thought. “I was --"

Zayn was cut off when Salma hastily snatched the coffee and grabbed a random donut. Before he could wrap his head around what had happened, she had already sped past him, muttering a quick thanks.

“Okay . . . wrong question.” Sarah continued, pulling Salma out of her thoughts. “Do I want to know how you’re doing after he bought you a donut?”

“And a coffee.” Salma sighed.

“And a coffee,” Sarah agreed.

Salma chewed on her inner lip, contemplating. She was surprised to realize she felt nothing towards him now that she was not in his presence. No aggravation, no frustration, no nothing. She was just numb, minus the headache that she had picked.

“No, I’m good,” Salma said. Then, as if as an after-thought, she started searching around. “And hungry.”

“The donut --"

“Eat it,” Salma cut her, as she grabbed a banana out of the fruit basket. “Can I snack on this?”

Sarah nodded, studing her friend silently. Of all the times Salma had frequented her, now was the time when she was being the most complicated and unreadable. She was hiding things, absorbing them in and showing nothing. It worried Sarah.

***

June 3, 2018

Salma paced the corridor outside the Tea club. The secretary had told her her father would be out in ten minutes. Her aimless eyes gazed over the neat and professional setting. With off-white walls and a dark grey carpet covering the length of the corridors, the space was punctuated by indoor plant pots every ten to fifteen feet or so. Salma stood waiting by the railing which separated the glass exterior of the building, overlooking the busy business district out side.

Her father’s office was a floor above. Salma had visited him in this tall glass building before but it had been a very rare occurrence. Only when he had asked her to come.

The door behind her opened, making her turn around. A flock of suited-booted professionals rushed out, chatting and discussing work and life. Salma waited by the railing, next to the potted Cordyline. Her father finally stepped out, engaged in a conversation with a tall, broad shouldered, well-built man. He had long, dark hair, tied in a half bun, a neat beard, and eyes that were a curious mix of green and hazel. Salma tried not to be an uncivilized freak, but she found herself stealing glances at him. It was not her fault. Her father’s friends were a definition of cool. She was sure this man’s picture was found next to the word in the dictionary.

“Princess!” Her father smiled upon spotting her.

“Assalam o alaikom.” Salma replied with a smile.

“Wa alaikom Assalam --"

“Yao minute, yao minute!” Mr. Definition-of-cool-in-the-Dictionary said in a very familiar, deep rumbling voice. He knotted his brows playfully as he studied her. “Is that Princess?”

Salma blinked.

“Pwincess wee lwittle Sally without a crown, yeah?”

Okay . . . what?

Her father chuckled.

“That’s her!”

“My God!” the man replied in the same deep voice. “You’ve grown.”

Where had Salma heard it before? She raked her brains for answers. A very faint image of a man with a thicker beard and shorter hair flashed past her mind from when she was small.

“Burak Kaka?” Salma questioned.

“Yes! Whoa, she remembers!” Burak replied excitedly.

Burak Tufaan, her father’s friend for years, was part Turkish, part Sthooriy. He was one of the first agents she remembered meeting. He had been protecting her when she was little. Of course Salma had no clue back then that that’s what was he was doing. She used to think she just had a very cool adult company her during her playtime.

“Just a bit,” Salma admitted.

“I last saw you when you were.” He bent down to his knees. “This much!”

Salma chuckled, feeling shy. This close, Burak Kaka’s eyes were strangely luminescent. Salma found herself being enthralled as well as intimidated by them. She relaxed when he straightened back up to his full height.

“That might not be strictly true.” Her father added, as he started walking down the corridor.

“Barring the missions, of course,” Burak replied, following after Mr. Rahman. “But you know me, I focus on the threats to my target, not so much the target itself.”

Salma frowned, falling in step with the two agents.

“Wait, do you still follow me around?”

“On and off,” Burak admitted casually with a gruff laugh.

Salma’s brains itched. She was sure she had heard his voice before, but she could not place the memory. She turned to him to ask but Burak cut her off at the offices on the left.

“I got to go.” He smiled. “Nice meeting you, Princess.”

“It’s Salma . . .” Salma corrected but she knew it did not work as the door swung close on her.

“Keep up, Princess,” her father called from the short flight of stairs at the end of the corridor.

Salma jogged after him.

“Coming!”

As they walked to his office, Salma mulled over asking her father to let Burak Kaka know she was not a princess. Yet, she did not want to sound lame. It was hard to decide if by calling her a ‘Princess’, Burak Kaka meant it as a reference to her lineage or just as a term of endearment. Before she could figure it out, however, they had reached her father’s office.

He opened the door to the familiar room. It had a red carpet, a heavy mahogany desk in the center with a large leather-covered, high-backed, sliding chair. The polished wooden shelves, laden with leather-bound files, folders and books, covered the length of the wall behind the desk. Two chairs were placed in front of the desk while a few more lined the walls. A dark couch was placed next to the window, the maroon and black curtains of which were pulled back.

“Ah, Spogmae, you’re already here,” Mr. Rahman said.

Salma stepped in after her father, noticing a lady on the right side of her father’s desk. She was dressed in a printed, blue silk hijab and a trench coat. Feet apart, back straight, hands clasped behind her back, Salma saw her throw a swift salute when her father entered the office.

“Sir!”

“Wa'Alaykum Assalam.” Mr. Rahman returned the greeting as he passed her by to sit on his chair. “Spogmae, this is my daughter, Salma.”

The Green Coat, still stiff and soldier-like, gave Salma a warm smile. Salma just stood there, star-struck. Agent Spogmae was tall, beautiful, intimidating and simply awesome. Salma was sure her eyes were glittering like those anime characters, as she gawked at her father’s subordinate.

“Sally, Princess, it’s time to wake up!” Her father said.

“Huh?” Salma blinked.

Spogmae laughed quietly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

It took Salma a few minutes to realize the agent was offering her a hand to shake. Salma took it eagerly.

“Same,” she replied, surprised to realize her voice was just a whisper. She cleared her throat.

“Right?” Mr. Rahman called for her attention, as he sifted through a file. “So you wanted a funding website set up?”

“Um . . . yeah,” Salma replied quietly, a bit too aware of the agent standing next to her.

“I’ll send it to the IT department, but the funds . . ?”

“Is the money from the Guardian’s pay not enough?” Salma asked, concerned.

“No, it is more than enough,” her father replied. “But that money was to be donated to the Gender Studies institute in Sthooriya by the end of this year. On paper it is your money, but you don’t really need it. I’m concerned --"

“I’m sure the recording studio would be able to return the funds in no time.” Salma reassured. “James is a hard worker. Once he’s able to return the money back to the supposed agency, you can donate it to the institute.”

“I won’t be doing nothing, you will donate it to whatever cause you find deserving,” Mr. Rahman said. “I just want you to make sure he doesn’t take it for granted. The added pressure is necessary for both, you and him, to keep working hard.

“I understand.”

“In that case.” He handed her the file. “Give it to the guy on desk five in the IT department - I forgot his name. The one with streaked afro, brown eyes. You remember him?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Give it to him and tell him whatever customisations you need doing. Add the terms and conditions we discussed. You can send a link of it to James once the website is up.”

“Great!” Salma smiled. “Thanks dad!”

“No problem.” He returned the smile.

Salma took her leave.

“Bye!” she said quietly to the agent, feeling shy.

“Bye.” Agent Spogmae smiled warmly.

Salma stepped out and closed the door behind her.

“Right, Spogmae, what’s the news?”

"He's getting a little restless but otherwise --"

She heard the Green Coat reply before the door clicked shut and the conversation inside died down.

Author's Note:

New characters! 😁 Who liked them?! Also, the poor donut 🍩 feels really left out and abandoned 😔.

Sorry for the delay. I had connectivity issues. But on the bright side, now you get an update within three days Inshaa'Allah 😅.

As usual, a reminder that you can continue enjoying more chapters this instant by signing up for my Patreon page. Link in the bio 😁

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Lots of Love

J.