This chapter is dedicated to sajmra because of her awesome book 'Once Upon Qadr.' I hope you don't mind but I fused in some of your characters into this chap! You guys should definitely check her book out!

P.s. this chapter hasn't been edited since I feel like I'm going to pass out from exhaustion, so please kindly, point out any errors and I will fix it in the morning. This chapter was written out of boredom anyway, so it's nothing great. Enjoy!

 P.p.s don't forget Muhammed is Yasmine and Zach's oldest son.

V. Muhammed's POV. [At 19 years old]

I exhaled angrily and clenched my fists. This girl was seriously testing my limits. “Why must you always disagree or rule out any ideas I propose?” I questioned, glaring right back into her challenging eyes.

“Because they just won’t work,” she countered stubbornly. 

“How do you know that?!” I asked, trying very hard not to raise my voice. “You have to give it a shot.” Ignoring the wide-eyed glances from the other people in the room, we continued to have a heated stare-off. We were in one of our YES alumni meetings. It was a youth and exchange study program, where students who went abroad on exchange and returned, could contribute to the community with their newfound passion and experiences. We were organising a fundraising event and as much as I loved volunteering, I was beginning to get fed up with Yasira’s obsession at shutting down everything I had to say. 

“One hall, we put a curtain in between and that’s final,” she seethed, her hands perched against the solid wood table, her back bent over it authoritatively. We had been arguing over the same issue for the last ten minutes, and as usual, whenever both of us found ourselves in a conflict, no one dared to intervene.

“Two halls, men downstairs and women upstairs,” I pushed. “That way we can fit more people and sell double the tickets.” 

“We can’t afford hiring two rooms, how many times do I have to say that?” 

“We can raise the money in a month. And imagine the return from ticket sales, if more people have a chance to participate.” She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. 

“No and that’s final.” 

“But-,” I began, before she cut me off. 

“I said no!” she exploded. “I am the leader of this committee Muhammed and if you have a problem with my leadership and decision making skills, then feel free to leave or quit. I make the final decisions here.” 

Bristling, I pushed my chair back roughly, it’s movement bringing with it a high-pitched screeching sound. “You know what, I will quit. And you want to know why? Because I’m sick of sitting here whilst you whinge and whine at every meeting that nothing gets done, just for you to go ahead and slam us down when we put any effort in. You’re a controlling and overbearing tyrant and I’m pretty sure every single one of us is fed up with you.” I stood only a second longer to watch her shocked and hurt expression and hear the gasps from our fellow team-mates, before I stalked out of the meeting room.

It was only after I had been walking a good five minutes, that the guilt began to slowly eat up at me. I had definitely said more than I needed to. There was no need for me to insult her like that and what too, in front of all our peers. It was out of my control; the words had tumbled out of my mouth before I even comprehended what I was saying. 

Mum had always said that I was just like dad. Silent and calm, but when someone ruffled my feathers, I was like a thundering storm.

I ran a hand through my hair and blew out a breathe through my mouth. The cold and stiff weather caused white steam to billow out whenever I exhaled and I was glad I had been smart enough to pull my gloves and beanie on before I left the house. Since it was still the beginning of Winter, the snow hadn’t hit yet but I honestly couldn’t wait for it to arrive. 

The snow brought back vivid memories of when I was in America just last year. I had been lucky enough to live with a Muslim family - the Shaykhs - and they had ensured every minute was spent with new experiences and wonders. My most fond memory was when we had gone to see the snow over there. Don’t get me wrong I had seen snow before, so it was really nothing special. 

It’s because of Huda, my brain whispered. That’s why it was special. 

My heart squeezed at the thought that I would most likely never see her again. I hadn’t told anyone over here about my ridiculous crush, because really, it was pointless at the end of the day. She was thousands of miles away now. However I couldn’t deny the fact that she had made that one year worthwhile. It was hard moving to a country where you didn’t know anyone nor could you speak the language. 

The Shaykhs were an Algerian family who still spoke Arabic, despite growing up in an English-speaking country. Huda, her brother Ziyad and sister Yasmine, were all especially helpful and we had grown quite close over the year and when it came time for me to leave, I astonished myself at heartbroken I was. I had become attached to their family on a level I couldn’t imagine.

They were a one of a kind family and had treated me like their own, and for that, I somehow feel forever indebted. 

I recalled the first time I realised my feelings for Huda. I had walked into the backyard and found her crying as she sat on one of their outdoor swings. I knew I couldn’t very well be alone with her - heck her Ziyad and her father had made that pretty clear when I first moved in - but I also couldn’t leave her there. 

Maybe it was because of how she was crying. Even when I was standing a good few metres away from her, I picked up the slight wail in her cry and the depth of her sorrow. As if my mind and heart had decided for their own, I began walking towards her and quietly sat on the empty swing next to her. 

When I saw her tear-stained face and swollen eyes, all I can remember thinking at that moment was, I want to be there for her. I want to hug her, hold her hand or do anything to take away the pain. Instead I had simply asked her what was wrong. 

“It’s my cousin Yusra. She’s in a coma.” She had looked so broken when she whispered it and since I didn’t know what to say, I resolved to sit next to her silently. I don’t know if it helped. I don’t even know if she wanted me there. All I knew was that I couldn’t leave her side. 

After ten minutes, she had gotten up, wiped her face with her sleeve and smiled down at me. “Thank you Muhammed.” Until now, I don’t know what she had thanked me for. 

After that day, the air between us changed. I didn’t miss how she was always on guard around me and I had to tell myself more than once to tone down the stares. 

Snap out of it! You’re thinking about her too much! 

I angrily muttered under my breath.

And she’s two years older than you!

I didn’t care. 

“You’re home early.” I looked up to find mum watching me curiously, one hand perched on the open door. I hadn’t even realised I was here, let alone that I had knocked. “Doesn’t your meeting finish in another half hour?” she confirmed, checking her wrist watch. 

“It does,” I said, walking past her and into the kitchen.

“OK…” she eyed me warily. I didn’t even try hiding my frustration, as I knew mum would pick up on it sooner or later. “Then why are you here?” 

Just as I opened my mouth to answer her, dad walked into the kitchen. 

“Asalamu alaikum,” he beamed, heading straight for mum. I prepared myself for the internal trauma. Every time he’d come home from work, they’d showcase their affections for one another. 

He had mum immediately wrapped in his arms before he moved in for a kiss. 

“UM HELLO?!” I yelled in horror, getting up so that I could leg it out of this room. Mum instantly pushed dad away, as if just remembering I was here. He put one arm around her waist instead and she gave him a stern look, even though a smile was creeping its way onto her face. 

“Sorry habibi, what were you saying?” I grimaced and sat back down on the kitchen stool. “Why are you back early from your meeting?” 

“I had a disagreement with one of the volunteers.” Mums eyebrows rose but she remained quiet so I could continue. “She was pushing me to no end, so I just decided to leave.” 

“Just like that? What could she have done to make you so angry?” mum asked, her eyebrows furrowed. She was trying to push away dads hands but he kept a firm hold around her, grinning at me mischievously. 

I rolled my eyes before continuing. “She wouldn’t consider any of my ideas for the fundraiser. She’s too stubborn and wants everything to be her way. She thinks that just because she’s the head of the committee, she can disregard everyone else.” I clenched my fists again. I didn’t know why I was so riled up today. I was on edge ever since I had woken up; I just had this bad vibe surrounding me all day. 

“Doesn’t sound like she’s fit to be leader to me,” dad commented. Mum nodded her head in agreement and I just shrugged.

“Actually, I have a friends daughter who volunteers for YES,” mum added, before turning to dad. “You know Bahia, Shaymah’s sister?” When dad nodded, she said, “her daughter, Yasira, I believe volunteers there. She’s a beautiful girl, that one. Do you know her,” mum turned back to face me and as this point, I was as stiff as a rod. 

Mum and dad were looking at me oddly, probably because my eyes were widened and I wasn’t saying anything. I cleared my throat. “Yes, I know her.” 

Mum grinned. “Isn’t she lovely. She’s got so much manners and respect.” I scoffed and that didn’t escape mum’s notice. “Speak,” she ordered, crossing her arms over her chest.

I squirmed in my seat, knowing this would end badly for me. “Well, erm, Yasira is the leader.” 

“She’s the one you argued with?” I nodded my head meekly. “Oh. Well I guess it’s natural for disagreement to occur. As long as you were both respectable towards each other.” Warning bells were going off in my head, telling me now was the time to run for it, but before I could do anything, mum had witnessed my panicked expression. Dammit, why did she have to be a darn psychologist and read people so well? “Muhammed Salem!” she boomed and I winced at her voice. Dad had released mum now and was looking at me unsurely. “What did you say to that poor girl?!”

I scoffed again. “Poor girl? Oh come on, you didn’t see-,”

“Muhammed,” dad warned.

“OK, so I might have said some…words.” I looked at dad when I spoke, since I knew mum was probably staring at me icily right now.

“What kind of words?” she pressed on. 

I fidgeted in my seat and questioned why I had come into the kitchen in the first place. I should have just headed up to my room to play xbox. “Ah, bad words?” It came out more like a question. 

“Tell us what you said to her, exactly,” dad sighed, clearly getting tired of me beating around the bush.

I decided to just blurt it out. “I told her that she was an overbearing, controlling tyrant and that everyone in the group was sick of her. I also may have called her a whiner.” 

Mum gasped, her hand flying to her mouth and dads eyes flashed with anger. “Is that how we raised you to speak to a woman?” I could understand why they were both angry. It was almost unheard of here for a man to speak disrespectfully to a woman. It only made it ten times worse that Yasira was just a family friend of sorts, not someone like my sister that I could scold if need be. 

“Look, I’m sorry OK? I was annoyed at her and I made a mistake,” I tried to defend myself. 

“A mistake you will fix,” mum decided, walking around the kitchen countertop and hauling me to my feet. 

“What are you doing mum?” I asked tiredly. She pulled me towards the door and pulled it open. I instantly began shivering from the cold that blew in. 

“Making sure you fix your mistake. You are going to go back up to that girl and apologise.” 

“But, but-,” I sputtered, unable to finish before mum cut me off. 

“I don’t care who was in the wrong Muhammed, but you never speak down to someone like that, do you understand me?” 

“OK I will mama, but do I have to go right now?” She gave me a look that basically said, ‘I dare you to speak another word.’ “OK I’m going,” I relented. I tried to give her a hug but she just shoved me out the door. 

****

I had practically run from my house back to the community centre where our meeting had been held. It was too cold and as it got darker, the weather slowly become unbearable. 

I knew that Yasira stayed back at least half an hour after our meetings, so even though it was now over, I expected her to be there. What I didn’t fathom however was trudging into the room, only to find her hunched over the table, her figure convulsing with sobs. I stopped short at the entrance of the door, not knowing whether I should go in or not. 

But then something occurred to me. She was crying because of me. Because of my words. A strong feeling of guilt coursed through my body and I silently cursed myself. How would I have liked it if another man spoke the same way to Dalia? I’d hate it, not only because she was my younger sister, but because I knew it would truly upset her. Yet look at me. 

I knocked on the door to let her know I was here. Startled, she snapped her head up and when saw it was me, she snatched the tissue off the table and hurriedly dabbed at her red, puffy eyes. 

She cleared her throat before speaking. “Muhammed, how can I help you?” she asked, her voice coming out hoarse. Despite the fact that she knew I had seen her crying, she held her head high and looked at me with the same steely gaze she always did. But yet, it was too late. I had already seen her weak and vulnerable. 

She must be burning right now - Yasira was that type of girl who wouldn’t dare to show anyone her faults; she didn’t give anyone something to speak about. So me seeing her like this, must be new to her. She gave me suspicious look when I didn’t say anything for a few minutes. 

I wanted her to know that I wouldn’t expose her or ridicule her for what I had just seen. I wasn’t that shallow, despite my previous actions today. “If you’re here to give me another mouthful or simply laugh at me, then-,” I interjected quickly. 

I knew she had thought that.

“I’m not here to laugh at you,” I started, my tone and words sincere. “I actually came to apologise.” She looked surprised for a few seconds but then she quickly masked her expression. I smiled, thinking how typical it was for her. When she looked at me curiously but remained silent, I decided to continue speaking. “Look, I’m really sorry about what I said today. I honestly don’t know what overcame me; I’ve never spoken to someone like that before. It’s just been an off day for me and I let my tongue loose.” 

She had stopped crying now but her face still showed the signs of how upset she had been. “But you meant what you said,” she remarked, her voice coming out as a slight whisper.

I bit my lip and looked at the floor, ashamed at myself. “I did, but that doesn’t mean I should have said them to you. If I had any concerns, I should have waited for everyone to leave before speaking to you. And I definitely could have said that in better terms.” To my surprise, I heard a soft chuckle escape her lips. “What?” I asked, trying to make sense of the situation. 

She sobered up and looked at me calculatingly. “Do you want to know, why I am the way I am?” 

I gave her a quizzical look. “Err, sure?” 

She looked down at her hands, as she fumbled and twisted them around, almost nervously. “A long time ago, back when I was still in my first year of high school…I had this teacher. His name was Mr Taleb. Anyway, he had me for our sports period. He’d always set us up in groups and make us challenge each other, which of course, is normal. For every group he’d always assign a team captain or leader and every time I would raise my hand to volunteer to be one, he’d never, ever pick me.”

I frowned at that, curious as to where this was going, although I had an inkling. “About halfway through the year, I got so frustrated with him, that I yelled at him. I told him that today I was going to be a captain and that he couldn’t do anything about it. He humoured me and gave me the satisfaction of leading one of the groups.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “Our group lost, of course. But that’s not what bothered me. You know what did?” She looked up at me this time, her gaze so intense, I actually flinched.

“What?” I whispered.

“He told me that he never chose me to become team captain, because he could see how worthless I was. He said that I would never be fit to lead anything in life, that I was just a scrawny young girl who dreamed ahead of herself.” I was shocked and outraged. How could anyone, let alone a teacher, say that to a student? Her eyes welled up with tears again and I could see how this was visibly affecting her. “I don’t why his words got to me, but they did. I told myself that he was just a bitter old man and needed help. Anyway, I had told my parents and after they spoke to the school, he had gotten fired. But the damage had already been done.” 

She stood up and perched her handbag onto her shoulder and picked up the folders on the table, holding them in her right hand. She looked up at me fiercely. “So you see, ever since his comment, I have stumbled through life, making sure that I proved him wrong in anyway I can. And I won’t stop now.” 

Despite everything she had told me, I graced her with a smile. “I understand Yasira. In fact, I can’t see you doing anything except bossing people around.” I cracked a grin when I saw a hint of a smile on her lips. With her head still held high, she strode over to where I was still standing, by the door. 

“Good. Then I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

****