Not again. "Hi," I said, gaze darting behind them to locate an exit.
"Habibti, this nice woman is your father’s third cousins’ half-sister's daughter," my grandmother explained.
Who?
"How are you?" I said, mustering a smile.
"She's looking for someone for her nephew," my grandmother continued.
Oh Grandma, I love you, but no. At times like this, I wished the ground would open up and swallow me—not chew, just swallow. It was quicker.
"Err…" I uttered, lost for words. How could I explain to someone brought up in a family that valued the importance of marriage and lived surrounded by others who considered marriage an accomplishment that I didn’t share those same values?
"I … I… it’s nice to meet you," I said.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” my grandmother stated, pinching my left cheek.
"My grandma has tried to set me up for a while now, but it's not the right time." It came out as polite as it could, given the situation.
"Nonsense." My grandmother glared at me. "It’s a perfect time. You’re just shy."
Nope, I wasn't. The mysterious lady with the nephew stood there nodding. Looking at my evil nose. I had no objection to marriage. It was the idea of an arranged marriage I didn’t understand. To me, it felt more like a gamble, how could I have my mind set on the unknown? I considered every possible outcome before taking any major life-changing steps. To not have an idea what it could be like or what to expect was simply unacceptable. Marriage was based on compromise and sacrifice. I would not be able to carry on a commitment with someone whom I not only did not know, but someone I might have nothing in common with. I didn’t gamble.
"Her sister is just as beautiful—and younger," my grandma marketed us off. "Where is she anyway?"
“I don’t know,” I said. I’m going to kill her when I do. That was when I spotted Malak three tables over, stuffing her face with frosting. "I think she's there by the cake." I pointed to the opposite direction. “I'll go get her."
I walked away as fast as my heels permitted without looking like I was running for my life. I crept up behind Malak and held her arm. "Walk, walk, walk."
She didn’t argue. She knew the drill.
We sat on a random unmarked table, where Malak caught me up to speed on who she saw and what they talked about and I did the same. My phone vibrated in my clutch. Pulling it out, the word “Mom” flashed across the screen.
“Mom, I don't wanna be here," I said as soon as I picked up.
"Hello, sweetie," she answered in a warm, loving voice. "I'm sorry. I know you don't, but I couldn't be there—your dad has too much work and we couldn't make it this weekend."
"We came, we made an appearance. Can we leave?"
"Did you girls have dinner yet?"
"No, and I'm sick of rice," I said. "We’re going out for Japanese with the girls afterwards."
Still rice, but it was rolled in seaweed, so it was different.
"Honey, they serve things other than rice. It’s not the 90s. Anyway, I have good news I’ll share with you later. For now, stay another half an hour?"
"Okay, thirty minutes, tops." I started the countdown, already listing what I was going to order in my head—California and spicy tuna rolls so far.
◆◆◆
We were able to slip out unseen; the driver was waiting for us by the entrance. My fingers were already dialing May’s number before the car door was closed.
"Hi, we’re on our way," I said.
"Oh good, you two were able to escape," May replied. "Deema picked me up, and we’re on our way too."
"See ya there."
"Bye." I heard Deema blowing kisses in the background.
I ended the call and informed Raj of our Japanese getaway destination.
"You are a traitor." I turned my head and poked Malak’s shoulder. "You threw me under the bus."
"So you’re saying if I jumped with you under the bus it would have made it better?"
"That's not how the metaphor works, Malak."
"You looked like you were handling it pretty well."
"Yeah, what’s left of my ego softened the blow." I developed an immunity toward the negative family members’ comments.
I’d learned how to handle criticism—it helped to understand we did not share the same values, and although it was hard to see sometimes, they meant well. It still crept up on me when I least expected, and it stung.
My phone rung. Mom.
“Hey, we’re free. No need to pay ransom.” I smirked.
“Put me on speaker phone, your dad and I want to share something with you girls.”
I pressed the speaker icon. “We can both hear you.” Malak turned to face me.
“Well.” Mom paused. “You know how we’re a family of four?”
“What?” Malak screamed. “No, no really? Mom are you pregnant?”
Both Mom and Dad’s laughter spread in the car. “Yes. You’re getting a brother.”
“We need you girls here soon so we can celebrate,” my dad said, the words barely making it out of his mouth from the smile.
“Mom. Dad! Oh my God! Congratulations!” I said, unable to sit still in my seat.
“We’ll go over all the details when we see you. You have fun with the girls,” Mom said.
“Don’t stay out late,” Dad said.
“We won’t,” Both Malak and I said.
“Love you two,” I said.
“Not as much as us,” Mom said. “Bye bye, baby.”
I turned to Malak; she giggled. “This is crazy,” I said.
“It’s exciting,” Malak said, her eyes already away planning. “A little brother. We need to find a good name.”
“Picking a name is hard.”
“I know.” Malak flinched and turned her head. “What is that?”
“What?”
"Aw, it’s cat," Malak said with her face flat against the window as we stopped at a light.
"Where?" I jumped to her side, crowding her.
"Where… where are they going?"
The cute cat was not alone. It was not uncommon to see stray cats running free, but this was different. There were hundreds of them moving in unison, all fleeing in one direction. I had never seen so many cats in my whole life. The traffic light turned green, and all the cars around us honked but none could move. The streets were blocked by a mass of felines. The horns died down one after the other.
"Where are they all going?" I took my gaze away from the river of pouring cats and scanned the surroundings vehicles. All was silent. Heads poked out of the windows, but no one made a sound. Every driver’s expression formed a question mark, followed by fear.
"What are they running from? That's the question," Malak said.
What caused animals to suddenly decide to move from a place that constantly had food?
"Sara, remember a few years ago before the Japanese tsunami struck, they said there were frogs and other animals that migrating and no one could explain it?"
"Yeah. I remember."
"Do you think there's a tsunami or a natural disaster coming?"
"I don’t think so,” I said, eyeing the cats.
There had definitely been strange, unexplained things happening for a few days. Could it be a disaster? Was there something we were not being told? An earthquake maybe? "Malak, I think they would have detected it. They would see this coming," I finally said.
"Didn't the Japanese miss the tsunami?" Malak asked.
"They didn’t, but there was not much time between the earthquake they detected and the tsunami, so there was no time to get out of its way." I must have picked that up while we were all in front of the TV watching the news for weeks after the tragedy hit. “Others misfortune is ours just the same,” my dad told us over and over. It didn’t matter what language they spoke, what God they kneeled to, or the amount of melanin in their skin. Others misfortune is ours just the same. Thinking of Japan didn't reassure me, it just proved
things could suddenly go wrong anywhere—to anyone. It was terrifying.
"Why were they all migrating east?" Malak asked.
"What do you mean?" I asked, missing her point.
"They are all going east. There's nothing but water in that direction. Cats hate water." Her journalist instincts always ensured she asked the right questions—or the wrong ones. "Animals will not desert their home unless they feel threatened. Something is driving the cats away."
The hair stood up all over my arms and the back of my neck. What did these animals know that we didn’t?
I thought of Murphy's Law. If anything can go wrong, it will.
Chapter 7
The weekend was over, and I was back to work. I sat behind my desk, trying to concentrate when I overheard a conversation. I looked up from my PC screen to see Rakan walking past. Holding a ream of paper while repeatedly checking the watch on his opposite wrist, he was in a hurry as usual. He moved at a brisk yet poised pace and graceful. His chiseled face possessed defined features and a masculine jawline. With a straight angular nose that rested perfectly over his thin lips, his facial hair was light. Straight, black, short hair peeked from under the gutra—a checkered red-and-white cloth held on with a black egal—the Saudi custom wear.
"Good morning," he said, unconsciously deepening the dimple in his cheek. His hazel eyes met mine and flicked right before he dropped them down to the floor as he passed. He didn’t look at the two girls hovering over my desk, but clearly he was addressing us all.
"Good morning," we all replied in unison. I think I blushed.
"Oh my God, he is so hot," Nada said as soon as he was out of earshot.
"I know," Aljawhara agreed, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead and pretending to faint.
"He's okay," I admitted. However, he was handsome. So handsome. I would never admit it—out loud at least. Shifting my eyes away from him, I turned my attention to my keyboard and continued typing.
"Okay?” Nada opposed. “He is not okay. He’s hot!"
I glanced up at him as he stood tall at the far end of the wide corridor speaking to another guy. From this angle, only his back was visible, broad shoulders and all. Stop staring. I concentrated so hard on not looking at him that I missed chunks of the conversation taking place.
“Sara?” Nada snapped me out it.
“Yes?” I asked.
She either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care that I hadn’t been listening. "I was wondering why he never looks at us.”
“Yeah, never talks to any of the girls, like most of the guys here.” Aljawhara chewed her gum and checked her phone. “He only talks to us about work-related things. It’s annoying."
In a world that was moving fast and changing ever faster, where everyone was in a rush to get what they thought they wanted and blindly followed their empty desires, Rakan was different. He had old-fashioned charm. He only talked when spoken to, never showing any personal interest in any of the girls. Why was this so attractive? Was it because he was hard to get? Whatever it was, from what I could tell, he was a decent guy with strong morals. He reflected everything a man with solid values should—a true hot gentleman.
"Since when is that a bad thing?" I asked, peddling through my conclusion.
"You know, Sara, all the girls envy you. Rakan's office is only a few desks away from yours," Aljawhara said, leaving my question unanswered and not taking her eyes off him. "I hate you," she teased.
At least I thought she was teasing. I said nothing.
"I wonder what he looks like in jeans—like, casual clothes," Nada said while matching Aljawhara gaze.
"You two are gonna burn a hole in his back," I said, turning to them. Why did I care what they thought of him? I followed my clearly uninterested statement with a glimpse Rakan’s way. He was wearing a white thoab, an ankle-length garment with long sleeves. The fitted thoab complemented his shoulders and naturally toned arms while the white fabric enhanced his golden tan. He only wore formal leather shoes in mostly dark colors like black, brown, and gray I took notice.
"I heard that Huda from the engineering department asked him for his personal contact information," Nada said as she leaned over my desk.
"Did he give it to her?" The words came out before I had a chance to stop them. I knew he captured the attention of the girls working in my department and a few from the next. I once saw a girl that had no business in this sector come and pretend to drop papers off to sneak a peek at him.
"No, he blew her off. He let her down easy, saying it wouldn't be ‘professional’.” She air-quoted. “He gave her his work email. She’s been avoiding coming here for weeks."
I bit my lower lip to hide a smile. Why was I happy? There was nothing between us, but I couldn’t deny the shift of emotions I experienced whenever Rakan entered the room. A force pulled me toward him, and it went far beyond his good looks. We worked together for long hours and although no verbal confirmation was ever exchanged, I had this undeniable feeling that he was attracted to me too. I caught him trying to steal a glance at me when he thought I wasn't looking, but he was hard to read. I never knew what he was thinking, nor could I ever come close to forming a prediction. Rakan barely said anything out of the realm of work.
"I think he's so smug," Nada said.
That was the label these girls stamped on guys who would not give in. There was a thin line between confidence and arrogance, and Rakan balanced gracefully upon it.
Nada's phone beeped. After she checked it she said in a high-pitched voice, "Listen to this!" and started reading out loud.
"Random violent attacks all over the country. There are reports that people are walking out of morgues.” She stopped and looked at us. Rolling her eyes, Nada continued reading. "There are videos of dead people coming back to life. Check the link below…blah blah blah." She locked her phone and sighed. "I’ve seen so many of these fake videos popping up all over social media."
"Yeah, I know. It’s ridiculous; they are so fake. I'm done with people saying it’s the end of days—and I don't think it's a coincidence all these videos appeared after the new rules came out regarding women," Aljawhara added.
It wasn't much of a surprise. Some people were against the progressive path we were on, and the idea spread that change would bring negative outcomes. This gave birth to terror propaganda. Pictures and videos surfaced to serve as psychological warfare—to crush the idea of women becoming capable of self-reliance. People had always claimed it was the end of the world for some reason or another. Religious communities and groups used it as a scare tactic to lead people in the direction they wanted. After a while, people stopped paying attention to their claims. The end of the world was inadvisable, but no one could foresee when or how it would happen.
But these warnings were worse now. Different.
"Those messages are being broadcasted more than usual," I said, “right?”
"I know,” Nada said, waving her phone. “I had to block a few groups to stop receiving them.”
"I read a statistic about the growing numbers of people claiming to see or hear unexplained things." Aljawhara took a step closer to us as if she didn't want anyone else to hear.
"That is called paranoia. Statistics lie, you know. They are just numbers that people slap next to statements to make it sound more plausible," I said. "So, unless you’re going to personally go and check each event, it's just a number."
"I don’t know. I think it’s real." Aljawhara shrugged.
A part of me did too.
"According to a study, eighty percent of those claims are false," Nada said.
"Really?" asked Aljawhara, her eyebrow reflecting her level of surprise.
"No," Nada’s high-pitched voice echoed. "No, not really. I made that up, which goes to prove Sara’s point."
Aljawhara shook her head. "Pictures don't lie," she said after a long pause.
"Photoshop," Nada replied, beating me to it.
"And videos?" Aljawhara asked.
"Videos are faked all the time. It's called framing." I didn’t know where this conversation was going, but I hopped onboard. I needed to convince myself that everything was normal more than I wanted to convince Aljawhara. I knew very well how words and claims could be powerful, but if you were beaten enough times with them, they start to lose their strength. I needed to know if this was real or one of the times the boy cried wolf.
"I have to finish up some projects for the day,” Aljawhara announced. “Talk to you girls later."
We said our goodbyes, and she walked away as another coworker showed up in front of my desk and took her place. "You should have been done with this three days ago," he complained without a greeting and placed a stack of papers on my desk. "It doesn't usually take this long."
“What are you talking about?” I took a deep breath and dug deep inside for some patience.
"I'll see you later," Nada excused herself, taking this as her cue to leave. She took a few steps and turned her head to make a sour face while pointing at the guy standing, giving her his back. I resisted a smile.
“The L22 project.” The sentence came off more accusatory than a question. He tried not to look at me as if there was something wrong with my appearance.
"Musad," I replied, checking a pink Post-it on my desk, "the holdup is from your department. I’m waiting on your team to view it and send it back. I can't submit it without their stamp."
"We are falling behind. Over a quarter of our employees didn't show up to work," he said, scratching his balding head. "And the ones that did show up have pending work with those who didn't." That sounded chaotic, but I failed to understand how that was my problem. I decided to answer diplomatically.
"We're facing the same situation here, and we haven't heard anything from Riyadh for over a week," I added. The company headquarters was located in Riyadh, the capital of the country.
"We lost contact with them as well," he said, glancing at the calendar behind me. "At least we can't blame the women this time." Musad chuckled alone.
I plastered on a numb smile. His acid tongue and lack of professional grace made him dislikeable, but he was my manager’s manager. My hands were tied. You want this job. Stay professional, I reminded myself. I tried not to reflect my personal feelings and did my best to mask my facial expression. I couldn’t deny he was good at his job, but on an ethical scale, he was horrible.
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