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A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory

– STEVEN WRIGHT 

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🔱 A N T O N I A ' S P O V 🔱

So, this is the guy who bumped into me? I eye him, disbelief clouding my mind. Ya Allah, pull me back from punching him—or, better yet, You could always handle it for me.

He holds out his hand to help me, but I ignore it, brushing the damp spots on my skirt as I stand. I grab my bag, irritation prickling at my skin. My favorite skirt is drenched in coffee, and this guy has the audacity to look... amused?

"Hey! Watch where you're going!" I snap, letting my glare do the talking.

He raises an eyebrow, not even flinching. "I think you should apologize," he says as if it's obvious.

I nearly laugh out loud. Wow. Look who we have here: Mr. Nobody acting like he's some sort of royal highness.

"Excuse me?" My voice sharpens. "You bumped into me. So maybe you should apologize—and for ruining my skirt."

To my shock, he just grins, completely unbothered, and reaches out to touch my cheek. "You're cute when you're angry," he says.

Astaghfirullah. My hand flies up, slapping his away before he can touch me. "Don't touch me!" Where are the Haram Police when you actually need them? They're always in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I'm boiling with anger. If this were a cartoon, steam would be pouring from my ears. I narrow my eyes, giving him one final, burning glare before I turn on my heel and storm off. Behind me, I hear his low chuckle.

What is this guy's problem?

Pushing the thought aside, I hurry to class, my skin still prickling from his audacity. Alhamdulillah, my aunt is the professor for this class—at least I can vent to someone who'll understand.

"Assalamu'alaikum, Auntie," I say, my voice unintentionally holding a hint of a pout.

"Wa'alaikum Assalam, Antonia. Oh, my Allah!" Her face shifts from a smile to immediate worry. "What happened to you?"

I sigh, my irritation bubbling back to the surface. "This jerk ran into me, and he spilled his coffee all over my skirt." I can't help but frown down at the stain, hating the reminder of him.

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry," she says, gently patting my shoulder. "I have some extra clothes with me. Change and come back. You'll feel better."

The kindness in her voice helps. "Thanks, Auntie." She hands me the clothes, and I hurry to the bathroom to change, muttering a quick Ya Allah, please, just let the rest of the day go smoothly.

🔱 W A L I D ' S P O V 🔱

There she is—my Antonia. She hasn't changed one bit. She's still just as feisty as ever and even more beautiful than I imagined.

Watching her just now, trying to give me a piece of her mind, was like watching an angry kitten. She thinks her glare will intimidate me, but her voice is so soft, as if it's too gentle to ever really bite. She doesn't know what it's like to see her again.

But me? I'd recognize her anywhere. Even with her fire, I can only think about how she'll always be mine. Always was, and always will be.

I think back to when I left and how I thought I was doing the right thing. Ya Allah! I'm sorry, Antonia. Sorry for leaving you. If only she knew how I felt. But I'll show her. I'll remind her that she doesn't need some kid messing around with her heart. She needs someone who can protect her.

And I'm the only one who can.

🔱 A N T O N I A ' S P O V 🔱

When is this torture going to end? I'm sitting in my favorite subject but with the most dreadful professor in the entire department. He's droning on about something, but none of it makes sense. I sigh, trying not to stare at the clock above his head.

Finally, after what feels like years, he calls for a break, and I quickly check my messages. There's one about a friend's wedding this weekend, which is making me groan. Desi weddings are beautiful, but they definitely don't leave room for naps.

The rest of my day drags by, and by the time I leave campus, the sky has opened up, pouring rain. I wrap my soaked hijab tightly around my head, shivering as I trudge the sidewalk. The wind makes things ten times worse, and my clothes cling to me, drenched. Khalid was supposed to pick me up, but clearly, someone forgot. Oh, he's going to regret this.

By the time I reach home, I'm freezing. I knock, and Mom opens the door, her face a mix of shock and worry.

"Assalamu'alaikum," I mumble, teeth chattering.

"Wa'alaikum Salam! Antonia, what happened to you? Why are you soaked?" She pulls me inside, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around me. Her warmth instantly makes me feel better, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm soaked through.

"Well, Bro was supposed to pick me up," I say, rubbing my arms, "but apparently he got too distracted. And everyone else had to stay for practice, so I had to walk home."

She raises an eyebrow, glancing toward the living room. "Khalid's right here with Baba, watching TV."

"What?" I drop the towel and stomp toward the living room. Oh, he's definitely going to regret this.

I march in, ready to unleash my fury—only to stop dead in my tracks.

"You've got to be kidding me!" I exclaim. "None of you picked me up because of a stupid cricket match?"

Khalid finally tears his eyes from the screen, looking at me in mild confusion. "Oh, hey. What happened to you?"

"Gee, I don't know," I say, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Maybe because someone was supposed to pick me up but instead decided to watch a cricket game?"

He starts to stammer, his eyes flicking guiltily from me to the TV.

Baba sighs, clearly picking up on my frustration. "I thought Khalid was picking you up, sweetie. I'm sorry."

I cross my arms, trying to look as heartbroken as possible. "Fine. I'll forgive you both... but only if you take me to Starbucks."

They glance at each other and, like clockwork, say in unison, "Deal. Done."

I can't help grinning. "Thank you, thank you!" I throw my arms around them, hugging them tightly, and my little performance finally ends.

As we hug, Mom mutters, "Such a drama queen."

"Baba!" I say, mock-pouting.

"Leave my baby alone!" he defends, ruffling my hair.

Mom rolls her eyes. "Fine, fine. Then you can sleep on the couch tonight," she says, walking out of the room with an unmistakable smirk.

Baba gasps, following her, "Come on, honey, you can't mean that!"

Khalid and I share a grin before we both burst out laughing. After catching my breath, I finally head upstairs to change out of my wet clothes. I do Wudu and pray Dhuhr, letting the peace of the prayer ground me after all the drama.

The rest of my day falls into its usual rhythm. I make a quick sandwich, pray Asr, and sit down to tackle some homework. Before I know it, it's Maghrib and then Isha. I brush my teeth, slip into my pajamas, and finally crawl into bed.

As I settle into the cozy warmth, I sigh, grateful for my soft mattress and blankets. There's nothing better than this.

And that's how most of my days go: just me, my prayers, and a little drama. Alhamdulillah for that.

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