One Hundred and Thirty One

M.A. this post is specially for you, cousin. ❤ Plus it’s Dayy’s narrative. Don’t you just love me? 😊 (Btw, I still can’t believe you read my blog! 😂🙈) 

NOTE: Story is back in the present.

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As narrated by Dayyanah:

Pulling my leather jacket a little tighter, I survey my outfit in front of the mirror.

I wrinkle my noes at the creases on my T-shirt.

‘Not a good idea for first impressions,’ I muse.

“Well, it’s going to have to do,” I say aloud to myself, sighing heavily.

Having such a sparse variety of clothing items is becoming an every day problem..

Knowing that if I don’t stop my thoughts right there, they will only drift to a worse place, I grab a cap from my unmade bed, set it atop my head, and walk out of my room.

“You’re going?” asks Nuwaylah, as I walk past the kitchen.

“Yeah. Let’s hope I don’t get fired before I can even get hired,” I joke, trying to keep my nerves at bay.

“They can’t not hire someone who can carry four plates at one time!” she replies, grinning at me encouragingly.

Despite already being at the door, I turn around and head back to the kitchen.

Grabbing a glass from the drying rack, I fill it with water and gulp it down.

“I’m starting to doubt if this is such a good idea after all..” I say warily.

“Why’s that?” asks Nuwaylah, closing the textbook she’d been studying and turning to face me.

“I don’t know,” I shrug. “Like, it’s all good, I’m excited about it and shit, but it’s too.. like, public. Does that make sense? ”

“Well, yeah. Going from hibernating in your room to working as a waitress, obviously you’ll feel quite exposed. But it’s about time you go out and see the big blue Earth.”

I roll my eyes at her.

“I’m out of here,” I say, dropping the glass in the sink and walking out.

“Good luck,” Nuwaylah calls out behind me.

“Shot,” I call back, closing the door behind me.

Pocketing my keys, I pull my cap a little lower, bracing myself for what could possibly be an entire new chapter in my book called life.

*****

“You’re hired,” the middle aged man sitting across me finally says.

I breathe a sigh of relief, wiping my clammy hands against my jeans.

“But..”

My hearts skips a beat.

Oh shit.. 

“Not as a waitress.”

I stare at him, confused, and slightly annoyed.

“You will work as a dish washer.”

What??

“Excuse me?” I say, unsure if I heard him correctly.

“You will work as a dish washer,” he repeats himself. “That’s what I can offer you, but it’s ultimately your choice.”

“But,” I begin.. then, unable to put my thoughts into words, I stop.

“I’ll leave you to think about it,” he says as he gets up and turns to walk out.

A dish washer?? But I want to work as a waitress! Hell, I don’t even know how to wash dishes! 

I drop my head down onto the wooden table, trying to organize my thoughts.

I analyze the pros and cons, remembering what the man told me regarding working hours, salary, dress code, etc.

You need a job, Dayy. Beggars can’t be chooses. Just take the opportunity. 

Sighing, I make my decision.

*****

The man, Shuaib, not much older than 40, was wise.

The moment he seen her walk in, he knew that she was no ordinary girl.

He seen it in the way she carried herself; confident, yet insecure.

And his assumption was confirmed the moment she flinched when he lifted his hand in way of indication.

He knew he could not make her work as a waitress, despite that being what she wished.

Even though her eyes held a maturity far beyond her years, she was young; much too young.

To the sinister, tangled-thinking men who frequented the tables of the restaurant, she would be enticing prey.

Among the waitresses, who were all a good few years older than her, she would attract absolute attention quickly.

And the last thing she looked like she wanted, was exposure.

He knew she might not like it, but working as a dish washer would leave her much better off.

What he didn’t know, was why he silently prayed that she would accept his proposal.

Perhaps he was simply intrigued by the secrets her bright blue eyes held..

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As narrated by Deeyanah:

“Amaaaani!!” I yell. “Where is my charger?!”

“Stop yelling!” she says, walking into my room.

“Where’s my charger?” I ask, frantically searching in my untidy pedestal drawer.

“Amz!!” I yell in annoyance as she watches me with a grin.

“It’s on 1%!” I say, shaking my phone in front of her face. “I need a charger!!”

“You only need a charger when it goes to 0%,” she says, pushing my buttons.

My phone screen switches off in my hand.

“Well there! It’s at 0%!” I grumble. “Now where’s my charger?!”

“How must I know?” she asks, shrugging.

“You always steal it!” I reply.

“No, I do not!” she says indignantly, but a sheepish smile creeps onto her face.

“I knew it!” I exclaim.

I head to Amz’s room, and sure enough, her phone is charging… with my charger!

“You can’t take it out until it’s fully charged!” she says, coming up behind me.

“I’m going to start charging you!” I say, groaning as I see her battery percentage is only on 35.

Amz explodes into a fit of laughter.

“What?” I ask, confused.

“You’re going to charge me!” she says, slapping her thigh.

I frown, puzzled as to what is so funny.

“You said you’re going to charge me! Hun, only thing you need to charge is your phone!” she says, laughing harder.

“Huh? .. Ohhhh!” I say in realization.

“So funny!” I add sarcastically.

“Wait, that actually is funny!” I say after a couple seconds.

We look at each other and crack up.

“I have an even funnier joke,” Amz says, when we finally calm down.

“That one wasn’t even funny,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“I’m pretty sure you were laughing like a dying walrus few seconds ago.”

“Get out!” I laugh, throwing a pillow at her.

“So what’s the funnier joke?” I ask.

“You’re preparing supper,” Amz says with a straight face.

“Now that, is one hell of a joke,” I reply, grinning.

“Come on. You can fill the water jug.”

Rolling my eyes, I get up and follow Amz to the kitchen.

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Hey. Hi. Hello. Salaam. Bonjour. Salut. Ciao. Ahoj. Bog. Marhaba. Ola.

Hope everyone is doing well. 

It felt so strange not writing Meez’s narrative. I guess it’ll take me a few posts to get the feel of my other characters again. Don’t look at me like that! You’ll understand what I mean if you’re a blogger! 

Hope you’ll enjoyed the post.

Much love,

Troubled Illusioner. ❤