"I first met him at the dodgeball tryouts representing the junior division for Rochdale. I didn't like him at first because he has that conceited attitude but assertive, hanging out with popular kids. I can't blame him, though because he's talented. He was the coach's favourite, one of the best we had.

"I was his messenger for the girls, his human Tinder app, providing access to an array of girls within my network. In return, he would coach me and let me be under his limelight. But one thing that bonded us was that we have one thing in common. Our dead parent. He told me about his mom died in a container while being deported –"

"I'm sorry. I have to stop you right there," Nick interjected. "Abs actually said that? I've always known him as a self-centred narcissist, but I never thought of him as heartless."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"His mother is still alive and well, Zahida," Nick clarified. "It was my mother that died in the container, not his."

"What?" I propped my elbow lifting my upper body, turning to Nick. "So, I've been lied to all this time?"

"Yeah, she still texts me once in a while, thinking that I'm still friends with him," Nick said and went on, "I was 16 when she and my mother got deported back to Hazarajat. When the rescuers found them, Abs' mother was unconscious, lack of oxygen so they rushed her to a local hospital. But my mother didn't make it, she died of suffocation along the way."

I was too dumbfounded by this. Nick's other side to a story made me want to find Abs and strangle his air supply to my heart's content. Why would he lie to me in the first place? Why must he concoct a story to gain my sympathy? So that mutual empathy could make it easier for me to do his job?

But what if Nick too made that story up? Which one was telling the truth? Nick's or Abs'? What if both of them were telling lies? What will Nick achieve from this? Sympathy? He doesn't need sympathy from me.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know," I said under my breath.

"Of course, you are," Nick responded. "Abs' a swindler. If he can steal my story and get away with it, he can get whatever he wants by swindling people. You never asked his father?"

"He never let me meet him," I told him.

"Figures."

"So, what's like growing up with Abs as your friend?" I asked.

Nick paused for a moment, recollecting memories of him and Abs before answering, "Pretty much close, he didn't know English at all when we first met. I was eight, I think. And I couldn't speak Persian either, especially Dari. Neither of my parents ever taught me how to speak Dari, so we struggled at first. During our first few playdates together, his parents had to be there translating our every conversation."

"Like an interpreter?"

"Yeah, that sort," he replied. "Abs had no friends back then because refugee kids weren't really sought after. He was vulnerable, often getting picked on by older bigger kids. And just like you, I'd be there saving his ass. The problem with Abs is that he's a pussy. He tends to take advantage at other people's expenses."

"Okay talking about Abs is tiring," I sighed. "I shouldn't have wasted my time just to find out that I ain't worthy of any man. I think it would be better if I come out as a lesbian."

"Stop," Nick interrupted. "First of all, your grandpa loves you very much and still finds you valuable."

"He loves me by default."

"Even so, he loves you. Secondly, you don't need anyone especially men to prove your self-worth. And finally, never resort to homosexuality to solve your internal issues."

"Why not? Milla thinks I'm irresistible," I opposed.

"Milla never ask you to be gay. She wants you to be you," Nick pointed out.

"I don't want to be me. I am tired of being me," I ranted. "Every time I'm being me I get people telling me I'm a sag or hideous."

"It's because they are hideous," he opined.

"You called me hideous when I came to your office in skirts."

"My apologies, I wasn't able to finish my sentence," Nick clarified. "I was going to say 'hideously stupid' but I couldn't get myself together."

"But you called me hideous," I repeated.

"Hideously stupid. There's a difference," he defended.

"It doesn't matter."

"Well, if it's any consolation, I find you most valuable, like the sun's gravitational pull. You're so precious that if you die, the world will stop revolving," Nick explained.

"But you said I'm not like Milla and her girlfriends," I elicited. "I'm not up to their class. And you said that I'm ugly and unattractive."

"Because you're far superior than being labelled as escorts," Nick clarified. "But I never said you're ugly and unattractive."

"Bollocks! You said I'm not beautiful and never find me beautiful."

Nick heaved a heavy sigh before answered, "Yes, I did. I don't find you beautiful Zahida. I find you majestic."

I went speechless and couldn't find any more ammunition to argue. I wasn't even sure how to respond to that either. I turned away from him in defeat, tucking the duvet up to my nape. The talk wasn't really a talk; it was a deliberation to shut me up.

"Any more motion to debate? I'm all pumped," Nick said behind me.

"No, go to sleep." I said.