The lecture hall buzzed with laughter and overlapping conversations. Laughter bounced around the room, groups and cliques already formed putting cliches to the test. Bayan held her bag in a tight grip, eyes moving from one cluster to another. How did they all become friends this fast? It felt... orchestrated. Like everyone just knew where to go and who to sit with.
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She gave out a sharp exhale, fingers fidgeting with her sleeve. For a second, she just watched them: people leaning into each other, laughing like they'd known each other for years. Bayan felt like her head was going to pop from her constant stream of thoughts as she stood still in her place - now they're probably all going to think that all niqabis are weird and isolated...
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Astaghfiru Allah. She thought, as it was not common for her to feel this nervous. She never focused on what other people thought about her (cared yes, actively fixated on it no), but she was one of the few niqabis in her Major so she felt a strange sense of responsibility to uphold the niqabi status because , unfortunately, people tend to generalize when it comes to - baisically everything.
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Mentally shooing her thoughts away, she adjusted her grip on her bag, then forced herself to look back up.
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After what seemed like hours, her brown eyes finally found what they sought for, Nouray, her friend - depending on if you think spending the entirety of orientation day together a friend - who was currently fighting her khimar to stay in place, the clear expression of exasperation on her face showing she was losing. Bayan couldn't help but let out a small smile underneath the niqab. Since they've met, she felt it was almost like Nouray had an air of honesty around her. She was just so real sometimes, a breath of fresh air from the makeshift theater Bayan has at home.
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She guessed that's why when she went up to sit next to her, she didn't feel the regular trust issues, or the fear of rejection.
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"Assalamu Alaikum Nouray," she greeted, plopping her bag next to her.
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"Walaikum Assalam wa rahmatu allah wa barakatuh, Bayan! You have the audacity to say that when you haven't even answered my messages?" Nouray retorted with mock anger, her hands holding her cheek up as she pouted.
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"Oh... you sent me something? Sorry I forgot to turn on my wifi when I got home..."
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"What. Who forgets to turn on their wifi? You're definitely something," Nouray turned her full body towards her, eyes wide as if she just heard her admit to a crime.
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If it was anyone else, Bayan's brain would immediately take it as a jab, but this is Nouray, the girl with no filter. She learnt that the hard way on orientation day, when the girl spoke outloud to the presenter ' Wait. I forgot to listen, can you repeat what you just said? ' .
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"Well.. I don't really have anything to do on my phone, except play this offline tapping game and listening to downloaded lectures."
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"Girl, I wish. Allahuma barik, but I literally cannot leave my phone without checking the notifications, I'm a famous writer, remember?"
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"Yeah, I remember. Your facebook group consisting of 1k members where you post 2 paragraph long novels," Bayan said dryly, humor spilling out in her voice.
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Nouray gave her a look from the side, squinting her eyes, before quickly changing the subject.
"Oh would you look at that, Dr Samira entered, better stay silent!"
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The two girls straightened up in their seats, listening to Dr Samira drawl out the lecutre with the enthusiasm of a kid waiting to greet their uncle who they haven't met since never - which was not a lot.
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Nouray took out her notebook, earning a raised eyebrow from Bayan. Just as she thought, the girl began to draw a doodle of the hall, then pushed it to her, looking at Bayan with a smirk. Bayan rolled her eyes, took her pen and drew cobwebs around the border. Nouray scooted a little in her seat, sparkles in her eyes as she wrote down, 'it's like we're decaying lol!'. Just as Bayan was gonna write back, the door to the lecture hall was pushed open.
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Oh. A group of boys her age.
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Usually, Bayan tries her best to lower her gaze when it comes to men, but most of the time her curiosity beats it. Analyzing her peers seems to be her favorite past time - something she's not proud of. Beyond men, she knows she's not supposed to stick her nose in things that do not concern her. But knowing is much easier than applying. She's been working on it the past few weeks, but with the sudden bang of the door, she couldn't help but look.
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Yes, boys, because they certainly don't look like men with their chaotic clothing style and copy-paste hair. It's almost like they're coordinating it. Unfortunately, that's not the case, her generation just dresses according to trends rather than what actually looks presentable. And according to her logic, and Islam, baggy pants with holes are exactly not that. Her eyebrow twitches.
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One of them looks towards the stadium, which makes Bayan self-concious, her face heating up. She quickly looks back to Dr Samira.
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As if proving her previous thoughts, the boy at the front , seemingly the leader of the gaggle, engaged in what may be called 'playful banter' with the doctor, but to her ears, it made her want to snap her pencil in half. What is this lack of Haya' ? She inwardly shaked her head, no gotta give him the benefit of the doubt, he probably thought this was normal because everybody around him does it - but just because everyone does it doesn't make it right, he should know better. She squeezes her eyes closed, losing the inner imaginary fight in her brain, she just doesn't like these kinds of men... or maybe she just doesn't understand them. Sigh.
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*Haya' - modesty, bashfulness
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After a painful few minutes, the boys shuffle inside to their seats. Of course, charming late boys get exceptions. Perfect.
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To her right, Nouray gave her a bemused smile.
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"Man, Dr. Samira is the best," Yasser said, elbowing him.
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"Yeah," Omar huffed a small laugh, "saved my life just now."
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"Bro," Kareem snorted, leaning in, "I'm telling you, she's got a thing for you. This is your moment, bro." He burst out laughing at his own joke, way too loudly.
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Omar's smile stalled for a second, blinking at him. "Bas ba'a," he muttered, dragging a hand over his face. "I just walked in late, not proposed."
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*Bas ba'a - stop already , that's enough now
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Kareem kept laughing anyway.
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Omar glanced away, the corner of his mouth flattening slightly. Alright. Joke's dead now.
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He rolled his eyes and dropped his head onto his arms, gaze fixed on the board. Technically, he wasn't sleeping. Also technically, this exact position had a 100% success rate of knocking him out within five minutes.
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Dr. Samira droned on, preforming the seemingly impossible task of reading straight off the slides. Omar stared at the screen, not really seeing it. His mind drifted. Why was he late again? ...Right. Kareem. Of course it was Kareem. He huffed quietly, shifting slightly in his seat.
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He'd just been getting off the bus (which he firmly believed was Cairo's official training ground for patience) when his phone buzzed in his hand.
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(FA5R EL 3ARABB 🔥💪) *pride of the arabs (?)
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Kareem: YA WALAD WHERE R U
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Yasser: he died in the bus allah yerhamo
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Kareem: hurry up we're at the gate
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Omar had snorted, stepping down onto the pavement.
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I just got off, relax, he typed back.
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Kareem: RELAX?? we're being oppressed here bro
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Yasser: security told him to move and now he's tweaking 💀
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Omar shook his head, already picking up his pace. He spotted them near the gate almost immediately. Kareem was mid-argument with a security guard who looked like he'd seen this exact situation one too many times, while Yasser stood to the side, clearly enjoying himself.
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"Bro," Omar said, grabbing Kareem's shoulder and pulling him back a step, "what are you doing?"
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"He started it," Kareem replied without hesitation.
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The guard blinked. "I told you to stand to the side."
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"Exactly," Kareem said, like that somehow proved his point.
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Omar dragged a hand through his hair. "Yalla, let's just go."
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They finally moved, still talking over each other as they passed through the entrance - right as another group came the opposite way.
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They almost collided.
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Shoulders brushed. Feet shuffled. The space between them narrowed in an instant.
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One of the guys stepped forward slightly, his expression hardening. "Watch where you're going."
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Kareem didn't miss a beat. He straightened, chin lifting just enough. "You watch where you're going."
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Yasser let out a quiet, entertained breath beside them, like he'd just been handed front-row seats. Omar exhaled slowly, already feeling the headache forming.
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The guy across from them didn't move. Neither did Kareem. For a moment, it was just the two groups standing there over absolutely nothing, tension stretching thin in the air.
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Omar shifted his weight, glancing between them. "We're really doing this?" he muttered.
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No one answered.
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A second passed. Then another.
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Kareem clicked his tongue, suddenly scoffing as he stepped forward, brushing past them. "Yalla, come on," he said, like he hadn't just been two seconds away from turning it into something bigger. The tension broke just as quickly as it came.
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Yasser snorted as they walked off. "You were about to fight him."
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"I wasn't gonna fight him," Kareem said, waving him off. "I was just... establishing presence."
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Omar let out a short laugh, shaking his head as he followed after them.
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Yeah. He definitely should've ignored the group chat, he thought as he closed his eyes having gave up on trying to listen to Dr Samira's rambling.119Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrdcYssKGFi
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