An Exquisite Greeting

Salman’s POV

Typing in the final code to the access link to the database of the insurance agency, I send the series of encrypted information to the FBI. Wiping out any traces of communication, I sit back and take a swig of my black coffee, admiring my handiwork. Another fraud, exposed. This was something I enjoyed doing, when I wasn’t working. Taking a toll on people’s privacies and getting a kick out of it whenever I managed to get some dirt on them. There was something special about catching a person off guard; it almost makes you feel heroic. But heroes face their enemies head on, don’t they? Of course, I wasn’t a creep and worked as a cyber security expert for a local company, plus it wasn’t an intrusion if the public was filing in complaints for the said company or institution.

It just made me feel useful somehow, putting my skills to good use. I raked a hand through my hair, and breathed out a sigh. Deep down, I knew this wasn’t enough. Whatever I did, no matter how hard I tried, it never was. The responsibility to be a good son to my parents when they came home drunk most nights, to show up at parties they threw each weekend to be deemed acceptable by their rented social circle, or take up my father’s career as the head of the law firm after him. So, I gave up on trying to fit in a long time ago, and figured it would be much better to choose a line of field that actually piqued my interest.

Cracking my knuckles, I moved my neck in circles in order to release the tension. I got up from my chair, changed into my sweats and trainers, and headed outside. The evening was warm, with a cool breeze blowing your way from time to time. “Little master?” the guard at the gate addresses me, as he sees me walking into the garage. “Do you want me to open the big gate?” “It would be foolish to take your car out on such a lovely evening, don’t you think Bilal chacha?” I reply, grinning and break into a jog opening the small gate. “Tell Mama and Baba not to wait for me, tonight. I’m heading over to Ali’s.”

It was roughly a half an hour jog to his house, the road leading to the mountains just around the corner of our street. The trees on the sidewalk sway lightly to the breeze, the faint rustle of their leaves contrasting wildly with the rush of the cars often drifting past me. I maintained my pace all through the way, finding it harder once the ground began to elevate as I made the final turn for his house. The shade of his porch came into view, the lights beneath it and the brim of the palm tree in his small but immaculate garden visible as I made my ascend on the sloping ground. The sight had become something that brought a sense of familiarity and security, somewhere I could be myself without the fear of being disliked or judged. A place I could call my own.

Demir Chacha gave me hearty pat on the back ushering me in, and told me that Ali was waiting upstairs. I thanked him and made my way in, greeting Abdur Rehman chacha, as he fixed me a glass of his infamous Sago Dana drink. The liquid was cool and sweet, the flax and sago seeds, a classy edition to the flavored milk, and it sated my thirst immediately while replenishing my lost energy. I wiped my mouth and set the glass down atop the counter, before making my way upstairs. The smell of Bakhoor infiltrates my nostrils, along with the musky scent that lingers everywhere Ali goes, as I climb up the marble stair, my hand trailing up the polished wooden railing. Turning around the corner, something small bumps into my chest, a muffled feminine voice resounding in my ears.

That something turned out to be a girl, as I kept my hands on her arms in order to steady her as she retrieved herself from sudden contact. I was taken aback by the girl’s beauty, her hazel doe eyes wide with surprise and something else that I’m too shocked to register. Her perfect small nose aligns with pouty lips that are slightly agape, letting a glimpse of the sweet tongue that resides within. Her glossy, caramel brown hair drape thickly over her shoulders, a sharp jaw line leading to a pale slender neck and luscious curves visible even through the loose clothing that covers her body. Aside from her beauty, there is something familiar about the girl that draws me in. A bond that I feel tugging deep inside of me, something I’m too scared to put a finger on.

“Who are you?” I ask, even though I know.

Jala’s POV

The familiar sense of recognition washes over me, as it did when I saw Ali, taking in the appearance of the man before me. He is tall and well-built, his taut muscles visible in the sweatshirt sticking to his torso. The green color of his eyes turns golden as it nears his pupils, his bronzed complexion complementing them even further. His square jaw and sharp cheekbones, along with the perfect curve of his nose down to his cupid’s bow that reach plump, rosy lips makes it hard to breathe as I feel his strong hands linger on my arms, not used to the touch from the opposite gender.

“Who are you?” he asks, as I see a flicker of recognition in those green eyes of his. His voice is husky and deep, like a low rumble from his throat. When I don’t answer, his grip on my arms tightens as he moves closer to me. “I said, who are you?” He sneers, his breath fanning my face. I move out of my trance and match the intensity of his gaze. “That’s none of your damn business,” I sneer back.

“I see both of you have made yourself at acquaintance,” Ali comments, as we remove our gazes from one another, turning our attention to him and the imbecile finally gives me some room to breathe. “Do all men greet women in such a exquisite manner or is it just you two?” I said, straightening my clothes. “They do when women are as pretty as you,” Ali replies, running the back of his hand against my face, his touch feather light. He walks past me, while I stood momentarily rooted to the spot, taken aback by the sudden physical contact. I catch the stranger staring at me with an amused sort of expression his face. I roll my eyes at him and turn my attention towards Ali. The only men that have ever touched me are my father and brothers, and that too so rarely that I don’t remember the last time they did.

“Salman,” he gestured his hand towards the man who finally has a name now, and then directed them towards me. “Jala. Jala, Salman. Now go and take a shower before you get the whole place smelling like a sewer.”

Salman throws a rude gesture towards him before making his way towards Ali’s room. I see a ghost of smile on his face before he busies himself with a stack of papers on the desk in front of him.

“Have you talked to him?” I asked him.

“About what?” he replies, preoccupied with the task.

“When you two are getting married,” I said, rolling my eyes at which he raises his eyebrows. So they are getting married? “I was asking about the dream.”

“He’s not ready, yet,” he said, quietly.

“And you think I was?” I ask my voice raising. “Out of the blue, a guy comes and pins me to the wall, telling me to leave my life behind and join him, because he has the answers?”

“You speak as if you had a life.”

I’m taken aback by the harsh words, the truth in them making it even worse. He didn’t even have to shout to deal the blow. He must have realized this because he leaves the papers behind on the table and makes his way towards me, taking a seat next to the floor couch next to me.

“I’m sorry,” he says, guilt evident on his face and voice.

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lashed out on you like that.” I rake a hand through my hair, apologizing for my unnecessary outburst. “It’s just, wasting all these years of my life and finally getting an opportunity to do something, to actually make a difference, has made me excited and a bit impatient, I guess.”

“A bit?” He said, raising his eyebrows at which I swat him on his arm and we both start giggling silly.

“Am I interrupting something?” Salman walks into the room in a pair of clean sweats and a towel draped on his shoulders, ruffling his unruly brown hair. I instinctively put some distance between us, as I realize how inappropriate the situation looks. “Just our next strategy,” Ali says nonchalantly, standing up, not realizing my obvious discomfort.

“Strategy? What are you going on world war or something like that?”

“As a matter of fact we are.”

Salman’s POV

“… and then I’m surrounded by a blinding white light, so bright that I have to close my eyes. When I open them again, I’m in a… I want to say different place, but it feels like a different dimension altogether. Then I see those words written before me.”

She closes her eyes and I can’t help but repeat the mantra with her.

“A bigger picture,” We chant together. “A higher purpose. The greater good.”

“Tell me you don’t see them every night,” Ali challenges me. “Scrawled in the heavens, staring right at you, urging you, driving you.”

Hearing them from another individual, who I feel an unspeakable bond with, makes them somehow even more real. A journey I went through every night, an experience I was too afraid to share was now displayed in front of me. It made me feel exposed somehow, conjuring up the courage to believe, to hope. It stood right in front of me, in the form of two individuals, one of them I had spent countless days and nights with, but something had changed between us now, a sudden shift in the air, and I know that they could feel it too. But unlike them, I was too coward to face the truth, so instead of facing it, I turned away and ran.

I ran down the stairs and did not stop at the worried looks I got from Abdur Rehman baba or Deli Demir, running out of the house, and onto the sloping track that overlooked the scenic valley beneath. The sky was clear, and the breeze was cool as it ruffled my hair. Taking a few bated breaths, I walked down the lane not going anywhere in particular, wondering where my steps would lead me. I was in Ali’s clothes and shoes which were our traditional attire and sandals in the color black, so I would eventually have to return to him. That would take a while, though.

I wandered across the paths, with the scarce amount of residency providing little hindrance in my aimless walking. I was grateful that no one had tried following me and asked me questions I knew I wouldn’t be able to answer, at least for the time being. Coming across a little wooden hut, a stark contrast from the grand manors of cement and stone that abundantly inhabit this place; I followed the candle light that showed through its window. On closer approach, I saw the dome shaped structures that were peaking out from the rest of the small wooden building and it had intricately carved signs of David running along the polished wood in patterns. A humble house of God stood out against the boastful architectures of humanity, as the call to prayer rang through the valley.

“Come to Success”

“Come to Success”

I am coming. I step into the mosque removing my shoes at its entrance, and perform ablution; the water running down my arms reminds me of sins being washed away.

“God is the Greatest” I proclaim raising my hands to my ears, before folding them on my chest.

“Thee do we worship, and Thine aid we seek.”

Help me in accepting the truth. Help me, in the purpose you have assigned for me and enduring the toils of the path yet to come.