"Fall semester draws to an end, and students are resembling chickens with their heads cut off....and on fire, juggling spiked eggs with maimed claws. Assignments, reports and business surveys that they should have done approximately two months ago, are coming back to haunt them. Nadeem Bhai (resident photocopier) is currently making enough cash to put his kids through Harvard. And have money left over for a golf course ownership..."--Nitty Gritty (Issue 654, December '14)  

A B-minus.

A freaking B-minus.

I blinked again and again at my phone screen. This is impossible. I refresh the ERP screen to check out my Term Report marks for management.

12/20.

Damnation!

I angrily bit on my tongue, to keep from crying. My term report on Phillip Morris was a graduate-level analysis. Professor Ghani was reportedly an easy-grader, so it didn't make any sense, that he was screwing up my CGPA for no reason.

I was quiet and upset during our usual break-time hangout at the campus cricket ground.

Yes. I said Our Hangout, because, I have a crew now. A group of friends. Of actual human beings. It used to be bigger, but it seems that during university, groups of friends usually dwindle down to select few. Mine includes, Shay, Daniyal, Syra, and Priha. We are often joined by Azaan, Asadomer (Read: Asad AND Omer-They are so inseparable, that we're used to picturing/calling them as one unit). Faris rarely makes an appearance.

Today, nobody comments on my silence, because most everyone has some sort of deadline they were supposed to meet weeks ago. Shay is feverishly copying out a Math assignment. Azaan and Daniyal are armed with open laptops and calculators. Asadomer are quizzing each other for a French course. Syra is begging us to participate in a five-hour focus group about "Microwave Users". 

"Daniyaaal! You have to do this for me! We're going out for God's sake! I'm doing something Haraam because of you. The least you could do is sit during this!" She looks sleep-deprived without her customary slash of eye-liner.

"Nope. Let's break up instead." Daniyal says from behind his laptop, frowning at his techie stuff, headphones hanging from his neck.

"Dick." She mutters back, eyeing me hopefully. "Layla...Remember I gave you a certain feminine product the other day, because you were out of them, and it was your time of the month?"

I blushed to my hair roots at that, when Azaan started choking on some MnMs he had stolen from Pareeshae's bag. 

"I hate you. And NO I WON'T SIT FOR FIVE HOURS AND TALK ABOUT MY BLEEPING MICROWAVE!"

Azaan was still howling with laughter and rolling around in the grass. "That's...*snort* that's why you nearly bit my head off when I asked to share your KitKat last week?" He wheezed to me.

"No. I will always bite your head off when it concerns chocolate."

Just then, I received a text from The Real Khizer Butt AKA Ghani's Teaching Assistant. 'Those of you who have issues with Term report marks can seek individual consulting time with Professor Ghani. At time XX...'

"Hey, will you meet Ghani soon?" I worriedly ask Shay. She shakes her head, shooting me a puzzled look over her notebook.

"Why would I meet him? I got decent grades."

I tried not to feel jealous when she told me her grades. She was rocking a B-plus, which I'm sure, she could bump up to an A-minus, after the final grades. Not being a bitch or anything, but if Pareeshae could wrestle a B-plus, then I sure as heck deserved an A on my report. 

Azaan glanced up from his screen, "Did you just say Ghani? What's he done now?" He looked dead serious for some reason. 

I shrugged insecurely, the teacher hadn't exactly done anything, except grade my paper. Grading can be a subjective matter, so I wasn't even sure if I ought to confront him. Then I remembered that Azaan was also familiar with Ghani's course. 

"Hey, could you do me a favor?" I asked quietly.

"Does it involve food?"

"No."

"Attractive females?"

"No."

"*Sigh* Hayat. You really need to work on your marketing skills." He shook his head in disappointment, "But, I'll do it, because you have a famous mother."

...............

I glanced at the breakout room number before twisting the knob open. Azaan had agreed to go over my term report for me. He was working on his own project with some friends, and told me to drop in on the study room he had booked. 

The room was empty, save from a couple of strewn laptops and huge Java books. 

Maybe they took a tea-break. I rationalized. 

I flicked open the hard-copy of report, marking pages, and giving it a once-over. 

"Hey, sorry I'm late." Azaan stepped inside a few minutes later, "They were handing out free Chicken Nugget samples at the new food stall."

I nervously glanced behind him, to spot his friends. There were none. We were alone.

Don't panic. It's nothing. He's a friend. You trust him. Breathe. DO NOT PANIC!

He fiddled with his computer for a bit, before dragging his chair near mine. 

How thick are these walls? If I scream, will they hear me next door?

"Can I take a closer look?" He taps the file, which I'm clutching close to my chest. 

He closed the door. Why did he close the damned door? This place doesn't even have windows!

"Hayat? You okay?" He was staring curiously at me, a crease forming over his forehead. His eyes were so close, I could see individual dark flecks in his brown eyes. Too close. 

"I-I-uh--" I began, my throat seizing up. I was very close to having one of my flashback episodes. My lungs unable to retain breath for long, were working overtime to keep me alive. I was panting. The nerves on my forehead tightening. 

"You look clammy! Damn!" He sprang from his chair, snatching a nearby document, and using it to fan my face. When that didn't work, he leaned closer, reaching for my hair. His fingers had barely closed around the jaw-clip I usually wear, when I pushed him away, sobbing my heart out.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" I screamed. Visions of forcefully pulled hair, and torn clothing filled my eyes. I couldn't even bring myself to run, I was so frozen by fear. 

Azaan fell back as if I had slapped him. 

"Layla! I won't touch you. I promise. I just thought your hair was tied too tight or something." He took another step backwards, nervously raising both his hands in the air like a convict. "Just tell me what I can do for you?"

"D-door." I wheezed out, trying to unblock my air passageway. 

He immediately threw open the door. The sunlight streamed through, unfettered. I could hear the cheerful chatter of students milling around. The panic subsided. Slowly, leaving self-disgust, and humiliation in its wake. I covered my face with my hands.

Azaan stayed by the door during this time, worriedly keeping an eye on my movements. He probably thinks I'm insane. In traditional terms, I guess I was insane. I wasn't whole. I was broken. There are some things, that expensive therapy, and counselling can do nothing to fix. 

I slowly shuffled, unsteadily to my feet. My eyes never left my shoes, as I gathered my report, and backpack. My glasses had fallen off, and I bent to pick them up. They really were too big for my face. 

"Layla." He whispered. This was the second time in his life, that he called me by my given name. "You know I'd never-I'd never EVER dream of-uhh- touching you...without your consent." I peeked at him, to find confusion, and apology etched on his face. 

I nodded, drawing my file closer to my face. One-handed, I pulled my shawl from the depths of my bag, and wrapped it around my shoulders. Survival instincts were screaming at me to run away. 

"I just wanted to h-"

"Help me. I know." I smiled without smiling. 

"You need some time alone? I can come back after a while, and look over the report with you." His voice was gentle. Understanding. He was trying to pretend for my sake, that he hadn't witnessed my breakdown. 

I thought about it. Telling him to walk away. Or walking away myself. This is what I usually would have done, let one sick bastard ruin me for life. 

"No." I said softly. I finally raised my eyes to his. "I want you to look over the report now. I'm fine."

A hint of reluctant pride shone in his eyes as he gave me an encouraging grin, "Let's get to this then!"

After half an hour of him looking over my report, and me explaining stuff, it became very clear that Azaan Malik was very bright. His knowledge about business subjects was astoundingly deep, considering that he was a CS software major. He liked sitting in classes other than his own for some reason. He told me it was because he had marked the classes with the most population of hot girls. ("Girls doing CS here, are rare. HOT girls are even rarer. True story."), but he seemed to be paying attention to the lectures as well.

"So. What do you think?" I asked him after our thorough revision.

"I think this is easily an A-minus at least. With Ghani...it should be an easy A. What did he give you anyways?" he stretched his arms above him, working out the kinks. His T-shirt tightened, and rode up a little bit. 

I swallowed nervously before looking away. I hadn't told him about my pathetic grade.

"He gave me a B-minus. And then Khizer Butt texted that we could seek an appointment with Ghani for possible revision."

He froze in the middle of massaging his neck. Dark eyes leveling sharply on me. "He gave you WHAT?"

"Umm."

"When is your appointment?" He demanded, anger rolling off his person.

"Sunday. At Noon." I muttered.

He let out a string of profanities praising Ghani's ancestors. I just raised my eyebrows at him.

"He calls you on a fucking SUNDAY, and it doesn't occur to you that something might be wrong with the picture?" He stood up suddenly, cracking his knuckles threateningly. I pushed my chair back in alarm. His pacing stopped when he saw my pale face. "Hey. I'm sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. I just hate that sick bastard."

"What do you mean? I thought all of his appointments are on Sunday..."

He sighed, "Why are freshman so clueless? Why?"

I was getting confused by the second.

"There are usually no appointments on Sunday, unless it's like a pre-scheduled extra class or something." he explained, "He isn't...he isn't someone you want to be alone with, Hayat."

Realization dawned at me. Along with a healthy dose of rage. 

"Oh." I breathed. This is why he randomly gave people unfair grades. The pervert. "Why hasn't he been reported yet?"

"Because we didn't have proof." Azaan gritted out. 

Apparently, an old girl-friend (Not Girlfriend!) of his had gone through the same scene. She couldn't complain about the teacher's harassment because she had no proof of it. He hadn't technically touched her or anything. He just wanted to her to do certain things, if she wanted to get the grade of her choice. If he chose to deny it, it would come to be his word against hers. The terrified girl, opted to barely scrape through the course. Azaan had then become, a self-appointed avenger of justice for that friend. 

"Gimme your phone. I'll save my number in." He muttered, snatching the device from my hands. After a few swipes, he handed it back. "You will cancel is Sunday appointment. And you'll text me whenever you reschedule it. Okay?...I have a plan."

...............

Author's Note:

Eid Mubarak to all Muslims out there. :D

Here's a double treat for you folks. :)

<3 

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