Ayesha's Reprisal

“Umi! “I shrieked, “Where’s my school hijab and abaya?”. I was always misplacing my things. “Ayesha, it’s in your closet,” she replied, walking into my room. “Yalla, what’s happening in your room? It’s so messy, “she complained. I rolled my eyes and threw more clothes out of my closet and onto my bed. My mother stopped me by holding my hand tightly. “Aaah!” I screamed. “You can’t just,” she imitated throwing clothes. This made me burst into a fit of giggles. “This is what’s wrong with your generation. Either you’re too serious or too giggly,” she grumbled. My eyes suddenly glistened as I spotted my school abaya and hijab, a traditional Emirati outfit. She walked out of the room, laughing, just after she lectured me about giggling.

I quickly slid my abaya on and tied my hijab in the prettiest way I could. Then I wore the most attractive, smallest pair of earrings I have. I headed downstairs and checked for my phone. Ugh, Yousef still has it, in ‘safe custody’, I said in my mind as I opened a granola bar, getting crumbs everywhere. As I was cleaning up, my brother walked in. “Ayesha, “he said, tsking, “what do you think you’re doing?” I turned around and saw a tall, slim figure with hair in his eyes. Talk of the devil, I snickered to myself. That’s Yousef, my good-looking older brother. “Whatever, Yousef. Please get out of the house soon, I’m getting sick of you poking your huge nose into everything I do,” I said. “Alright then, drive yourself to school, I’m gonna go drive Hamad in my brand-new Nissan,” he declared. What a show-off, I thought. I couldn’t say it to his face. I need a ride to school, I mean, no one understands the struggle of walking in an abaya, do they? “I didn’t mean it. But follow in Mohamed’s footsteps soon, okay?” I mumbled. “Well then, Ayesha, hurry up. Hamad’s in the car,” he said. Hamad’s my 8-year-old brother, Mohamed’s 20, and Yousef’s 17. Such a male-dominated family, I thought, as I got into the Nissan.

I waved goodbye to Hamad and Yousef as I walked into the main building. Alhumdillah, I chanted in my mind, which is an essential part of my day. I walked to my classroom, occasionally waving to the people around me. As I approached my class, I saw my best friend, Hanan, hugging the guy I’ve liked since 3rd grade. I suddenly felt weak, as if I was about to fall right then and there. I kept myself stable, but tears started falling from my eyes. “How-how could you, Hanan? “I muttered, trying to approach them. Both looked as shocked as I. “Whatever. I mean, Hamdan wasn’t going to like you in this lifetime,” she snickered, as Hamdan nodded.

I quickly ran to the nearest ladies' room, cursing under my breath in Arabic. As soon as I locked myself in a stall, I broke down. All the time I spent doing my makeup was gone. But I didn’t care. My mom could throw all my products in the trash for all I care. Hanan couldn’t have, I mean, she knew I liked Hamdan, she and I have been best friends since the first day of preschool. The bell rang, and I got up. I can’t hide forever. But I will get revenge. She might have won the battle, but I will win the war.

I quickly redid my makeup and sprinted to class. I saw Hanan and Hamdan at the centre of a group in class. I took a deep breath and walked in, wishing my teacher in a traditional Arab way. “So, when are you planning to stop staring?” Hanan teased. “I wasn’t staring, your eyes just kept travelling to me, and you got a fake illusion,” I replied. All the guys oohed as she rolled her eyes. I had to plan my revenge. Lucky for me, I had the perfect idea.

The bell for lunch signalled the start of my plan. “Nasser, what’s up?” He turned around. “Not too bad, Alhumdillah. What about you, Ayesha?” “Alhumdillah. Let’s hang out, yeah,” I said. I walked with him as we locked our arms. “What’s with this sudden interest in me? I thought you liked Hamdan,” he said, in a suspicious tone. “That’s whatever. Hamdan’s the worst, “I replied. We sat down extremely close to each other. I chose the best spot so that I knew Hanan and Hamdan could see me. In clear sight, I thought. “So, umm, what’re you doing after school?” he asked. “I mean, I have to visit Mohamed, my older brother. But you could join, I guess.” “Oh, sweet! I’m going to stay in my boundary then, you know, older Arab brothers, so overprotective,” he snickered. For the rest of lunch, he complimented my abaya, and I blushed, and he tried my mum’s food, and loved it. The bell rang, signalling for us to move to our classes. “So, I’ll see you outside the gates then,” he said. I nodded and stood on my toes to hug him. We hugged for what seemed to be a couple of minutes, but it was probably less.

At Mohamed’s house, his wife, Fatima, cooked up Shawarma for me and Nasser. Mohamed, being Arab and my older brother, burst into a questionnaire asking questions like where Nasser was going with our friendship, whether his parents knew about me or not, and what he planned to do after graduating from high school. Like Mohammed wasn’t enough, Yousef followed and asked even more questions. Nasser, being himself, answered patiently. “I’m the second oldest among my siblings. So, I understand, Sayeedi,” he reassured. “Sure, you do,” Mohamed muttered in a sarcastic tone. I kicked him under the table. That’s what he deserves. “So, Ayesha, I thought you said Hanan would join us,” Fatima said, raising an eyebrow. “Change of plans, “I replied way too swiftly, rolling my eyes. Naser nodded.

“Ayesha, do you mind me asking you a question?” he asked. “Well, you just asked me one,” I replied, ”Go ahead.” “Did you like Hamdan, before what Hanan did?” he asked, knowing I’d hate it if he mentioned the incident. “Wellllll, I mean-” my voice broke,” I don’t know why Hanan would do that. I never said anything bad to her, or even about her!” I broke down in tears. We were in Yousef’s car, and Nasser touched my back to comfort me. “Hey, it’s going to be alright, Insha’allah,” he cooed. I sniffled and reached for a tissue. “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING TO MY SISTER, NASSER! ” Youssef screamed as he walked into the car. “Nothing! Sayeedi, Wallah, nothing!” he replied. “TELL ME THE TRUTH, OR ELSE I’LL CALL MOHAMED!” he shrieked. “Youssef, stop harassing him, he’s done nothing,” I reassured. “Nasser, please, get out of the car. I need to talk to my little sister alone,” he ordered. Nasser did as he was told obediently. “Ayesha, what’s up?” he asked. I stayed quiet, staring at an empty protein bar wrapper on the car floor. “You can talk to me, I’m your cool, Gen-Z, older brother. Whatever it is, I won’t judge you, I’m not Mama, Baba or Mohamed,” he said. “I just don’t know what to do. Hanan, she…She-” I broke down, yet again. “Aww, habibi, don’t cry. I can’t stand you crying,” he comforted. “She betrayed me. I’ve always liked Hamdan, but she-” my voice broke. “It’s alright. You’ve got me, Mohamed, Hamad and even Nasser,” he said. “Nasser was just a part of my revenge,” I revealed. “Well, you remember how I took your phone, right? It’s been annoying me nonstop today. So, you can have it,” he said.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” I told him. “Check it, Ayesha. Might be important,” he ordered. The amount of bossiness in his voice was just unexplainable. I switched it on and put in my password. ‘90+ messages’ was what the screen read. I opened WhatsApp and saw all of them from Hanan. And, 4 from Hamdan.

Hanan: Ayesha, I’m sorry! I was wrong.

Hanan: Girl, please reply.

Hanan: Sauda forced me to do it. I was so wrong. But, she found out about that secret of mine, and said she’d tell Nasser first, then the whole school.

Hanan: I hope you’re alright.

Hanan: I’m telling Youssef! I’m sorry, but I’m scared.

Hanan: Please forgive me😭!

Wow, she really does care. Sauda’s the richest, most stuck-up person at our school. I was curious to know what Hamdan was saying.

Hamdan: Hey Ayesha… Hamdan here. I got your number from Hanan.

Hamdan: I know what she did was wrong, but forgive her. Sauda’s my sister, but we don’t seem related. Also, when did you and Nasser get close? He’s my brother, by the way.

Hamdan: I hope you’re okay. Hanan told me that she told Sayeedi Youssef everything about today. Both of us are worried.

Hamdan: You probably won’t want to talk to me now, but I like you, not Hanan. I did what I did because of Sauda. She said she’d send my junior pictures to everyone at our school. I was a coward. I’m sorry.

Okay, so both of them care. I told Nasser to get in the car as Youssef drove us both home. “I NEED TO TALK TO HAMDAN,” I told Youssef as we approached their house. He put his hands up in the air and pretended to be scared. I got out of the car and followed Nasser to Hamdan’s bedroom. “Are you sure?” he asked. I nodded and knocked on the door. “Sauda, leave me alone,” he said. “It’s me,” I replied. He suddenly got up and stared at me with a confused expression. Then, he walked towards me and hugged me. “I’m sorry,” he kept whispering. When he finally left me, I turned to Nasser, “I’m sorry, Hanan likes you, and I like Hamdan,” I revealed. “I do too,” he said, nodding, and then walked away from Hamdan’s room. “So, wanna hang out at school tomorrow?” he asked. I nodded and said goodbye to him. I told Youssef everything else. “And that’s that. Every Single Detail,” I said, sighing. “Ya Allah, you girls have more problems than Jadda Ahmed,” he joked. My grandpa, Jadda Ahmed, is 90. He has back problems, no teeth and a twisted ankle. I rolled my eyes.

The next day at school, I hung out with Hamdan, but guess who else joined us? Hanan and Nasser. Those two are perfect together. As all of us laughed together, I thought to myself, sometimes, life surprises us. But it’s only because we need to learn something from it. It wants us to improve ourselves, our defence system. We need to learn how to embrace these challenges, not complain about them, or take revenge on the people around us. Life’s great in its way. “Let’s go to class, bestie,” Hanan said. I nodded and walked with them.

Life’s great, so embrace it.