Dedicated to a friend who builds me up when I'm down. Someone who comforts and supports like a true friend should.

most_bay this is for you!!

Finally!

My legs scream for some movement after being confined on a plane seat for what seems to be a thousand hours. Tiny seats, screaming babies, and grumpy old men are droning and infuriating my nerves. Needless to say, my brain almost combusted into tiny pieces and melted my eyes off! The only comfort I could afford on the planes were my cozy work out pants, a pink top, my girly black and rose sneakers and an extremely soft blanket that never fails to keep me warm. It was a struggle, but at least I was content.

But now the dragging wait is over! After three planes, one being nine hours long, I have arrived!

Cairo, Egypt; once a dream in my head, now right in front of my face. This is a trip I've been waiting for since the words  Egypt could take shape on my lips. A place too elegant for a lesser praise. Home to ancient figures and historical artifacts that are recorded in many ways than one. My jubilance level has gone through the roof!

The glossy shine of the airport tiles magically directs me to my glory and my imagination's constant flame of fascination bursts at the seam. Exquisite figures and shapes caress the ceiling in all directions with a weaving pattern that breathlessly encompass the calming of the sea. In comparison, the scattered palm trees and the fresh scent of linen take my mind to a peaceful place filled with luxury. Since I was just a little girl, visiting Egypt has been at the top of my bucket list, and now that this fantasy has become my reality, I can't contain my upbeat excitement and the unlimited amount of glee for this alien, yet exotic place.

To top it all off, the most imperative reason for this blessed trip is to see my friend Mosta, my best buddy, face to face for the first time ever.

I follow the crowds of people and signs that guide me to the Baggage Claim area. My purple backpack with swirling flowers straps around my arms and the rose purse my sister surprised me with before my adventure is to my side, safe and secure.

Without delay, I find my fingers tapping the capture button on my iPhone rapidly. Many passing humans and miserable workers must think I'm some silly tourist on a sugar rush, and they wouldn't be totally wrong! My snack choices are not what some call healthy, and did, in fact, contain more sugar than anything else. Yes, I'm sure I'll be visited by jet lack very shortly after this high on sweets.

The beginning of my trip starts with me waiting a good ten minutes for the carousel to erupt in motion. When it does shake the monster awaken bags of all sorts and sizes lay flat and exposed as the carousel makes its rounds.

Without a second glance, I spy a rainbow polka dotted luggage following the turns of the joyride, and I eagerly reach for it. My fingers wrap the handle and I pull with all my might to bring it to safety, but nothing happens.

Oh, you've got to be kidding me?!

I frantically pull and tug my luggage to come off, my body now trespassing into other party's and their personal space, when a super force brings it off the ride and next to my wobbly feet.

Wow, did I become stronger in a matter of seconds?

"No, ma'am you didn't, but I must say that is quite a heavy luggage. You hibernating for the summer, or what?"

I adjust my glasses and swipe my bangs to look straight up at a tall figure with thick rims for eyewear. His olive skin and tinted brown eyes are warm with kindness, and his casual yet long button-down shirt is just as I imagined, not to mention his adorable accent. Though his hair is longer than I thought, kissing his ears and coiling around his lobe, this does seem to be my dear friend.

I gasp and widen my eyes in humiliation from my incident, but my untameable delight seems to mask it away effectively.

"Oh, Mosta, you're so funny! It's so nice to see you, buddy!" I attack him with a bear hug and hold on for dear life. Awkwardly enough, my friend does not accept the gesture. I push away from him, blushing in embarrassment.

"Oops, sorry! I forget you don't like to be touched very much."

My friend chuckles, rubbing his stomach as if the laugh is filling him up. "No ma'am, that's not it at all. My name is unfortunately not Mosta, it's Ammar."

"Oh. Umm, so you're saying-"

"That you just hugged a stranger? Yes, ma'am." His grin contains much amusement, but I know it's all in good terms.

Either way, I'm ashamed to the core. My gut threatens to spit up the bags of sour gummies that I've consumed on the numerous plane rides. This is quite uncomfortable, for the both of us I'm sure.

"I'm so sorry, sir! Do forgive me. You just remind me of my friend." I pause to blink away my watery eyes that sting. Leave it to me to make a fool of myself. "Thank you for your help, though." I fiddle with my suitcase button that clicks as I push my handle up and down.

"Hey, don't mention it. Glad I could help. But a word of the wise, don't hug every stranger you meet."

We share an awkward yet humble laugh and I wave bye to him as I follow the main signs to the pickup. Better to leave the scene while I still can! I keep to myself and scurry to the final destination that will bring me to my friend.

The luggage I roll behind me bumps rhythmically after each passing tile. This rhythm travels modestly as a familiarity, something I can think back on when alone and helpless in a place so unknown to me. I let that will to keep trudging along remain a motive to me and imagine my dear friend's face. Will he be happy, awkward, disappointed, miserable, or maybe even annoyed by me?

I can only hope for the best!

The continuation of following multiple signs becomes routine quickly, though I'm occasionally sidetracked from bypassing features of the airport that are simplistic yet attractive to me. Gliding down a few pairs of escalators, I find myself in the lobby my buddy had chosen for us to meet.

After some quick texts on where too meet, I calmly tell myself I've made it to the spot of his choosing. I stop myself right in the middle of the lobby and realize that I'm utterly lost and out of place.

Now focusing on the main hall, a clutter of self-consciousness and an overwhelming mass of fear explodes in me. Taxi drivers, chauffeurs, and other fancy-dressed workers line up everywhere and holding signs for people to take them to wherever to whomever. The bundles of name calling, luggage strolling, loud voices and enormous amounts of greetings conceal me in a tiny box of worry that can only be seen through the bulge of my swelling pupils.

My eyes drift for comfort and some kind of relief. A reassurance that there's someone here for me and I won't be alone. As the hairs on my skin shiver and the blood in my freezes into blocks of ice, I have no idea what's left to do.

My heart leaps in horror and my stomach flips. I spin in circles, breath faltering until my eye catches a card with a name I can't ignore.

The card is squared with the words "Melody" written on it in some fancy sort of cursive. The entirety of the card covers the person's face, but I can only assume I know who's behind it due to the male-like physic. The man wears baggy blue jeans and a red polo shirt that's barely tucked in, with some charcoal Adidas sneakers to top it all off. The sign awkwardly fits in their hands a few feet away from me.

A smile plasters on my face and my blood suddenly return to its normal course. With my luggage handle in one hand and my phone in the other, I slide my fingertips to create a sentence that lifts my mood miraculously.

Your Melody is here ;)

In just seconds, the red polo man rummages through his pocket. With his face still covered, his phone tilts upward and I take it as my time to make my way toward him.

For some reason all my adrenaline builds. It sparks with each step I take. I've known my friend for years now, yet it seems as though I'm meeting him for the very first time.

Cause you are, Mickey!

I let my luggage roll behind me and come to a complete stop two feet away.

I clear my throat and stand on my tippy toes to tap on the sign that still covers his face.

He loves to make things more complicated, doesn't he?!

"Hello? Is anyone home?" I tease with an uneasy voice.

His arms reluctantly lower to his side and my smile grows ten times wider.

First, shaggy thick curled hair that's snug on his head pops into view. Then, caramel eyes behind a metal frame with lengthy, darker shaded eyelashes follow. The lines around his eyes prove the countless texts of "I'm tired"to be true, but doesn't in the slightest take away from his copper tone and somber expression that many find to be "scary". His nose is defined and contains features similar to my father's, his trusty neighbor just north of Egypt.

By the time the card is no more a mask on his face, my lips could've fallen off. My friend isn't scary-looking, just doesn't seem too approachable is all! Good thing that's not a problem for me.

His arms now stay to his side, but there is complete silence. Not a hello, or a wave. He just stares like a statue as if I had come to bring him grieving news about some dying dog or struggling child.

I have no idea what to do or expect. I'm too hesitant to hug him, considering how that went not even twenty minutes ago, though I'm at a higher percentage that this is, without a doubt, my buddy Mosta.

So, I clasp my hands together and bite my lip before saying, "Tozz Feek?" I immediately cringe and laugh out of shame. I've been listening on how to pronounce Arabic words, but they don't roll off my tongue as well as the lady on Google Translate, but to be fair, I'm not sure what any of the words mean.

Suddenly, a rich, creamy laugh escapes my friend. His eyes are shut and wrinkles from around the edges of both his ovals and mouth.

"Wh-what? Did I pronounce it wrong?" My insecure is out of this world, both mentally and physically. I'm an outcast, a fish out of water, and now my friend is straight-up laughing at me.

Once his chuckles simmer, Mosta rubs his head and pushes his glasses up. "It's nice to see you too, Bellezza."

Without another word, his long arms reach for my handle that's beside me and parks the suitcase next to him. His beguilement of my colorful suitcase is evident and I suck on my bottom lip. He must really think I'm a child.

"No Rosy?" He winks and I burst into laughter. Our little inside joke that never gets old.

Okay, maybe he's getting more comfortable now.

"No, but I got the glasses and hairstyle like Vera, see?" I adjust the squares on my face with my knuckles and shake my head so my hair that's pinned back bops. There's no reply, just a side smile that says more than words.

It's a silent walk as I follow my friend out of the lobby and towards a world he's fond of and a world I've imagined for years. I have so much to learn here, and after planning this trip for months on end, my heart can't contain the emotions anymore.

I stop dead in my tracks and breathe it in, the new world smell that consists of hope, dreams, nature and-

"It smells like home to me." He says and I beam. Mosta always finds a way to creep into my mind. Him admitting what this place means to him just proves it to be wonderful.

I take a hidden glance at him ahead of me and smirk. My luggage in his possession is quite comical, to say the least, but I know it's his way of being a gentleman and a helpful friend, plus he knows just how clumsy I really am.

We stroll under the overhead with parked taxis and confused tourists on phones. Horns beep, cars shuffle and suitcases are shoved in trucks of cars that can't seem to maintain the traveling supplies some people bring.

"Oh, look at this man, I think he packed his house with him. Can't even fit his case in the car." My noisy, yet whimsical friend points out. His head levels with mine to quietly poke fun at the man.

I eye the pale man with a bright Hawaiian shirt as he karate chops his luggage into the backseat of the car with little success. I gasp and cover my mouth so my snort doesn't echo for the whole world to hear.

My friend also shares a snicker, but a part of me thinks he's laughing at something entirely different than I am.

"I'm glad I didn't pack any Hawaiian shirts. You think he went on the wrong plane?" I giggle half bewildered and half imagining his surprise when the plane landed across the world, but the opposite direction of where he initially wanted.

"He has done a lot of things wrong, starting with those pants." His eyebrow quirks up and I turn right again to see the man on the other sidewalk still struggling to fit his luggage. Now he's attempting a different tactic of throwing it in the trunk, which should've been his first choice. The clueless man is wearing some weird looking khakis, almost the color of his beach blonde hair. I catch notice of the taxi driver to the side, thumbing through his phone without a care. He's getting his money either way.

"Oh look, it's Sea Bass! Let's wave hi. Tozz-" My buddy whips my waving hand down and puts his finger to his lips.

"Bellezza, you really shouldn't be going around saying that word." He cautions me as we continue to make our way towards his vehicle, I assume.

"What? I'm being polite, Mosta." I defend in the most innocent voice, but only a smile lingers on his lips again.

Whatever!

We cross left into a walkway surrounding us with a bunch of parked cars. The twisting poles and uncover overhead is long behind us and I inhale the sweet scent of freedom. Cars, blue sky, and palm trees flood my mind with ecstatic colors of new. Though these shades are not foreign to me, everything here is bright, shiny, and clean enough to make my head to soar. The faded pavement even speaks loudly to me, as if it's happy to be broken and worn at a place like this.

I can't help it. My phone is in my hands again and I'm snapping picture after picture. I click away at the sight of trees, the airport in front of me, the sky and a building that's perched above Mosta's head.

I tap my screen at his direction. His eyebrows fly up and those eyes double in size.

"Bugger! Don't get me in the pictures, Bellezza." He teases and I try to imitate him which makes his ears red.

"Ha! You say 'bugger' rather comically, Mr. Bay." My British accent flows off my tongue and I nudge him a little. Those caramel eyes roll, but Mosta's grin can't hide the delight in his face.

In another foot or two, Mosta stops at a black Kia Rio and the lights flicker twice. The trunk pops open and in an easy motion, my luggage is tossed with no problem.

"Would you like me to put your backpack in as well?" His eyes dart to my worn out bag that's plump from my two blankets and jacket stowed inside.

The sun magnifies the color of Mosta's face and pronounces hair on his arms. Even the scruff on his face can be close to growing a five-o'clock shadow that the sun's carelessness points out. One arm reaches out, ready to handle my bag, the other grips the hood of the trunk to ensure it's propped open.

"No, it's not heavy. I can keep it with me in the car if you don't mind." I shrug with blush seeping into my skin again. He only nods as a response.

I perk up at the thought of him caring so much for something this simple. He really does remind me of Akram, and Asir as well. Both are very much kind-hearted gentleman, and I know for sure that's exactly who my friend is.

Years on a screen does put some distance between us now that we have a face to connect the words to, but I'm determined to kick this weird vibe to the curb!

It's a mix of too many emotions and not enough thinking that brings me to a conclusion that involves me hugging my friend. It definitely isn't some calculated idea I had in the back of my mind or some form of attack, but rather an expression of affection and gratitude. He closes the trunk, faces me, and so I take the moment and go for it!

My arms wrap around his body and I give him a friendly squeeze. At first, he's tense, not sure exactly what to do or how to feel, but when his arms pat my puffy backpack I know it's his way of returning the hug.

"I'm really glad I'm here and that I get to see you, Mosta. I've missed you." Relief hits me soon after the confession. It's words that have been built up inside me since plane number one. I'm more than glad to be here, but for now, I'm at a loss for words.

Maybe I'll be able to write them out to him later. I wonder. I will surely save this thought for another time.

"Thank you, you're too sweet. I feel the same way, Bellezza." His velvet voice and enchanting thick accent make it hard to stop smiling.

The hug breaks and he leads me to the passenger side of the car.

"After you, Miss." The door is wide open for me, and I send my thanks in the form of a smile.

He hops in from the other side and I get myself settled. My purse and backpack rest at my feet, my seatbelt clicks into place and my phone sits on my lap in case any emergency picture moments occur. In the cup holder beside me, I glance at a transparent cup with a dark liquid bobbing around inside. My only guess is coffee is trapped in it.

Yup, that's Mosta!

"Well, are we ready to blast on outta here?" I wiggle with excitement and my friend maneuvers his glasses on his face.

"I guess we are." Mosta agrees. The key is twisted and the engine purrs.

The radio picks up and of course, the American radio station is on. The song playing is very ironic in many ways. The singer Freddie Mercury sings out the lyrics at the right time.

"Ooh, you're my best friend. Oooo you're making me live, now, honey!"

My face brightens and I point at the musical box. "Oh my, how funny and ironic, buddy! This is kinda like us! I love this song, too!" My friend only laughs, his focus more prominent on the driving.

I catch myself staring at my friend next to me, replaying conversations in my head that we've had over the years. Though thousands of miles separate us and a screen has been our only choice for connecting, the bond is ever more alive and sparkling. At the end of the day, we both saw the same sun, the same moon, and the same stars. That's what's lacking in the world. Instead of honing down on how people are different, we forget that there are many more similarities yet to be spoken. Even a matter of time and a language barrier couldn't stop us from being friends!

Speaking of language.

"Hey, Mosta?" I chime into the sound of the music.

"Hmm?"

"Why didn't you want me to greet those people in Arabic? Am I really that embarrassing? I thought I was saying 'how are you.' Wasn't I?"

Again, he says nothing, but those caramel eyes that glisten through his lenses and wrinkly smile tell me just enough to know I have screwed up, yet again.

"Oh gosh, what did I say? You have to tell me now!" My voice pouts weariful and my head falls in my hands.

"That's for another time, Bellezza. That's definitely for another time."

With that, I pick my head back up and reluctantly push the worry aside. Freddie Mercury's voice still fills the car as I ride off into the sweet Cairo breeze with my best friend. The one with the glasses and resting mean face and a mad coffee addiction. A guy who just so happens to be a writing genius with a pure soul. A man whose heart is carved from gold. Mosta's a person that gives me the hope to do things for myself and cherish who I am. Meeting him as changed my life in ways I'm still finding difficult to express, but I'm getting there, bit by bit. One day, maybe I'll truly find a way to show him how much he means to me, but for now, my smile will just have to do.

He really is my best friend, and no one can tell me otherwise.