- one month earlier -

The rent was due.

Asmaa had been in London for all of five months and each month without fail she got sick and stressed and wanted to die around the 4th.

Because that was when her rent was due.

And working at a coffee shop near The Eye was not cutting it.

Now, it's the first, and that fucking reminder came through on her phone just as she finished her last class at King's College, immediately stressing her because on top of homework and work-work, girl had bills to pay.

And this was her last chance. She was gonna be late again with rent, because of the past five times she'd been late four, and her lease was about to be up and she knew, deep down, that her racist landlady was just looking for an excuse to evict her.

These thoughts start piling up and piling up, and as Asmaa hurries across the quad, she takes a seat on a bench because she needs a sign.

Wow, does she need a sign.

"Are you sure you want to go so far away?" Is what her mother asked her when she first got accepted into King's College at twenty to study law. She'd been seventeen and had done undergrad in Egypt, and with a very traditional Moroccan family, Egypt was already too far. London might as well have been on the other side of the world.

In Islam, Asma was the name of Muhammad's niece, who helped his uncle escape to Mecca. Asmaa is its Moroccan form and means 'supreme.'

She was her mother's baby. Her lucky second daughter. And here she was sitting at King's College in London wondering if the xenophobic landlord of hers would have already thrown her things onto the cement.

Because she didn't have money for rent.

"Yes, mama," is what she'd said when she was packing, because she'd always wanted to go away, to travel, to see the world.

"But, you have family in Paris," her mother had reminded her. "And in Washington D.C. If you want to go far, at least go where someone can take care of you."

Only her sister knew that Asmaa was trying not to be anywhere her family was.

"I'll visit," she'd said, and had packed her bags and took her savings to a country where the conversion rate of a single British pound was a whopping 12.55 Moroccan dirhams. "I'll definitely visit."

Her father said he would pray for her.

Her sister, Ayat, who was out of the house already and was back and forth, working in Paris, preparing to be a doctor, was proud.

"You're going to learn so much," she'd said. "About the world and yourself. Just don't forget that if you need help, never be too prideful to ask."

Now, the rent was due.

Asmaa had half a mind to call Ayat now and ask her to wire her rent money, but that would only open up another can of worms. Asmaa needed her parents to pray for her. Honestly, she needed to pray for her.

Because she needed money for rent.

Today was the first.

She needed guidance. Asmaa needed a sign; she needed to be pointed in the right direction. She needed...she needed to make istikharaah. She needed to ask Allah to...

And like that, there's a call coming through her phone.

It's Ayat. Her sister is What'sApp-ing her.

She answers. "Alu?"

"Asmaa! You'll never believe the good news!"

"Believe me, good news is something I desperately need."

"I--" Her sister pauses. "Okay, what's wrong?"

"Wrong?" She gasps. "Oh, nothing! I was--"

"Liar," Ayat exclaims. "Tell me! What is it?"

"It's..." Asmaa bites her lip. "You go first."

"Fine. Do you remember Lira?"

"Ha--! Your friend? From camp?"

Ayat hums. "Been ages, hasn't it?"

"Absolutely."

"Turns out she's living in Paris, now!"

"No way!" Asmaa exclaims. The one time the girls had been young and had been allowed to go away for summer camp, they had gone to America and stayed with their cousins in D.C. Lira had been Ayat's best friend, and by association, Lira became another big sister to Asmaa.

Asmaa loved Lira.

She always knew the best places to go and what to do when they had free time and she taught her so much. It was amazing how naive she had been, even coming from Morocco, to America. It was amazing how she, at thirteen, knew so little about the world. That trip changed her entire outlook on life. That trip made her want to be an international right's lawyer. That trip is the reason she's in London, now.

"We're gonna hook up, soon. She sent me a Facebook request literally last night, and it turns out her favorite cousin lives in London and she told me to give you her information."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, yes. She said she doesn't like that you don't have anyone you know out there, and that you should know somebody -- like mommy and daddy say -- and her cousin is just like her and they're very close and you'll love her. She's a little older than you, but she's in school and she's got a place and everything."

"She's in school?" Asmaa almost chokes. "And she has her own place?"

"And she's twenty-three, babe. She's doing amazingly, apparently."

Is this the sign? Asmaa turns her head to the sky. Is this who she's needed for exactly five months that she's been in the UK?

"She's African?"

"Maybe? She's Black."

"Same thing," Asmaa shakes her head. "What's her--"

"What'sApp? Hold on, I'll give it to you now."

"What's her name, Yaya?" She asks, suddenly excited, suddenly feeling like her luck had turned.

"Rory," Ayat replies. "Her name's Rory, and by the things I've heard of her, it sounds like you two'll hit it right off."

Asmaa sighs. "I'm happy."

"Me too," her sister replies. "For so many reasons, I am so happy too."

___

can I please explain how very excited I am for this story? ^^ pic of ayat.

comment and vote, please! <3