بسْمِ ٱللَّٰهِ ٱلرَّحْمَٰنِ ٱلرَّحِيمِ
In The Name Of Allah, The Most Beneficent, The Most Merciful

⊱ ⋆ ⊰

The ointment feels cold on her warm hand. She rubs her palms together, then gently dabs them on her pink sun-rashed cheeks while looking at her reflection in a full-length mirror.

The thunder strikes and rain droplets fall over the headquarters building of Seiga Incorporation.

"Why are you a bullhead?

Wafa looks at him from the mirror. "Why are you a bullhead?" She inquires rhetorically.

Alan sitting on the couch, throws his head back in despair. Letting out an exasperated sigh, he marches to her in long strides. "Look, I feel bad. I feel as if I am the reason for your suffering." He confesses, reclining to the wall, maintaining a respectable distance between them. Crossing his hand over his chest, he says, "So, at least let me redeem myself from the guilt gnawing in me."

"Alan," Wafa takes more of the ointment. Spreading it on her palms, she dabs it on her cheeks again. "That was not your fault. And even if it was, I forgave you, for nurturing grudges is never my thing."

"Just come to my villa for the party this Saturday night." The auburn-haired man pleads.

The girl turns to him. "You are much aware I don't do these things."

"And there will be no such things like that," He tells her. "We're just going to do barbeque there with some friends. It's time you get yourself out of your bubble and get a life, Waffle."

Wafa goes to sit on the bodacious white couches surrounding a beautiful veined marble coffee table but halts as his last sentence graces her ears.

She turns around to him, "Alan, I am pleased living in my own bubble, and I have a life. But I don't want that in my life." She takes a seat, picking up a magazine, which the cerulean-eyed man was reading a few moments ago, with a cover photo of all of them posing together wearing vintage clothes.

"I am not inviting you to a nightclub party, Wafa." He deadpans.

"Oh," She touches her chin with her index finger in contemplation, "You said it will be a barbecue party. Another reason for me not to come." She gives a foxy smile, her teeth on display. And though her canines are sharp-looking, they still add beauty to her smile.

"I'll get you halal beef if that's what you want." He growls.

(denoting or relating to meat prepared as prescribed by Muslim law.)

Hearing this non-native word from his mouth rings weirdly in her ears that the woodsy-eyed can not help but giggle at his futile determination, adding fuel to Alan's fire. Thus, he lets out a series of colorful butterflies from his mouth.

"Good Morning, pals." Micheal, the band's drummer, enters the studio lounging area with a grin. He stops by the couches and leans. His hand grasps the channel back, his other hand secured in his jeans pocket, and his legs crossed.

Behind him stands Richard, the guitarist of the group. "Hey, Wafa," He says, eyes shying away from her.

And when the auburn-haired man observes his countenance, he raises his eyebrow at the guitarist, his eyes possessing an invisible flame as Richard only greeted Wafa and not Alan with the same blushed cheeks.

"Salam, guys." The brown-haired girl responds while turning the pages of the magazine.

(peace)

They take a seat, and the boys begin to converse with each other, leaving Wafa alone, accompanied by her thoughts. And even though physically she appears to be healing, mentally-- she feels absolutely wrecked.

She closes the magazine as a tired sigh escapes from her. Wafa's sight trails up. Beautiful light pendants hang from the modern architected ceiling. Indeed, the Velvet studio in Seiga Headquarters is massive, with a prodigious lounging area, a separate soundproof practice chamber, a control room, and a respective corner where heavy musical instruments are.

"Wafa."

The vocalist tilts her head to the side to the source of the voice.

"The stylist is waiting for you in the other room." Sofia, in her pastel pink blazer with matching trousers, informs her with a small smile.

"Why?" The brown haired knits her eyebrows in confusion.

"For your dress selection for the press conference and the charity event."

"Ah," She clicks her tongue, "But I have other plans."

"Well, upon your request, I arranged a separate time for your dress fitting with Taylor McAdams." The assistant looks down at her tablet, "And if you don't go now, then your next meeting with her will be when the boys' will go."

"NO!"

The golden-haired girl grins sadistically.

"Fine," Wafa groans, "Let's just make it quick." Standing up from the couch, she looks at the control room from the glass wall, then shifts her gaze to Micheal.

"Micheal, I am going to meet the designer. Tell Kyle to wait an hour and a half for me. I'll pray dhuhr, and then I'll leave with him to run the errands." She says, walking to the door.

(the midday Islamic prayer)

"Sur..." His words die in his mouth before coming out as a loud bursting sound emanates from the control room.

Then a loud cackle erupts from Alan, "You're so in trouble, Kyle!"

Playfully rolling her eyes, Wafa exits the studio with her secretary following.

"Did you break the speaker again?" Micheal yells, striding to the live room, with amusement glinting in his eyes, clearly enjoying the destruction.

The trio laughs-- and laughs harder when they see the Spanish man yelling something in anger inside the soundproof room to a sheepish-looking Kyle standing outside with grey puffs of smoke rising from the corner.

⊰| |⊱

The worker puts the intricate pattern of the silver pendant embellished with shining zircon stones around Wafa's neck. Taylor and Vanessa both hum in satisfaction.

The vocalist's woodsy lens observes her own appearance admiringly from the full-length mirror. Indeed, the pendant adds beauty to her creamy skin, exposed by the square neckline of her baby blue bodice. The color, then, slowly transits into a lighter hue of blue as the fabric reaches down her ankles. It blends magnificently as if a stream of water flowing smoothly, providing serenity.

"You outdid yourself this time, Taylor." Vanessa compliments the stylist, earning a pleased smile from her.

"It is—" The vocalist speaks.

"Gorgeous, ravishing, tempting?"

"—quite revealing." Wafa lightly finishes, looking at her designer, whose face drops at her remark.

Taylor inhales the air, praying for patience. "Wafa, we've been through this many times. Last time your sleeves were see-through, so this time I, myself, picked up the thickest fabric I can." She touches the gown's puffed sleeves. "You said your back shouldn't be exposing, so I didn't design a high-low dress for you." The stylist purses her lips in a thin line.

"Thank you, Taylor. I appreciate you looking out for my standards." Wafa smiles softly. "Wallahi, I love this dress. But,"

(by God)

"Here we go again!" Elrod rolls her eyes, earning a soft giggle from the vocalist.

"the neckline shouldn't be deep like this. If I were not going to the charity event, I would've taken— even bought this from you. But I know there will be wild hounds attending. Plus, you know that I have to be cautious with the media. It can get lethal anytime." She shakes her head, "I do not want to regret my choices."

Taylor puts her hand on Wafa's shoulder, "Darling, beauty is meant to be seen. That is why they put extreme effort into the museums. It's your right to feel beautiful without fear, Wafa. Just because some perverted men will be attending the banquet, you will not dress up?" She inquires shockingly.

In response, the vocalist looks down and smiles ironically. "And that is why they put extreme securities on the expensive items as well, Taylor. It is not wise for me to take a billion-dollar coral stone openly in a gathering, tempting thieves to steal it. And why would I put them on a trial if I'm not a foolish girl?" She then locks her gaze on the designer. "I consider my body the most precious thing on the planet, and to me, clothing provides security."

The designer sighs and gives up on her. Even if they have this conversation a million times, she knows the outcome will always be the same, for she can not persuade her. After all, Taylor has been made aware that Wafa had put certain conditions before signing the seven-year contract with Seiga. No one can forcibly make her wear something, and no one can force her to have physical contact with her bandmates, even while taking pictures. And she has been under Seiga's protection ever since.

Taylor looks at the manager. After receiving a nod from her, the stylist complies, "All right, I'll do as you say."

"Thank you for understanding me." The brown-haired passes a grateful smile. "I dread the time of something evil to taint my purity. I doubt I'll be able to endure it," She mumbles the last, and it graces her manager's ears.

⊰| |⊱

"I might've jumbled up some wires accidentally and plugged that speaker wire into a high-volt switch which probably--" Kyle rubs his jaw and adds, "--did some damage to the voice coil."

Arnold sitting in the driving seat looks at him with an elevated eyebrow from the rearview mirror before focusing on the road again.

"But I swear I can tell that that speaker malfunctioned before I messed up." The vocalist quickly adds.

"Yeah, right. You said the same thing about the other speaker malfunctioning as well." Wafa, sitting on his right, comments with a chuckle as she looks outside the tinted glass.

"And I wasn't wrong." He narrows his eyes at her.

"Regardless, you're lucky. The supervisor of the control room wasn't there," Arnold mentions.

"Yes! Imagine if Raven was there." Samantha, Wafa's personal bodyguard sitting in the front passenger seat, vocalizes with a hearty laugh.

"My day would've gotten longer then." He mumbles, staring out of the window.

The last sunlight rays begin to kiss the horizon before the darkness takes over the sky. They ride back to the headquarters. With small conversations striving between the bodyguards, the vocalists get lost in their own musings.

"Alan invited me to his villa this Saturday."

The midnight-haired man turns his head to her. "And?"

"And he is pestering me to come, but I don't want to."

"Why is that?" He sits back up properly, his fingers dusting the cover of the book on his lap.

"Because I'll probably get bored."

He raises his left eyebrow.

"What?" The maiden restfully snug back in her seat and closes her eyes. "You know I don't feel comfortable. Alan will probably be with the girls. Micheal will be with his girlfriend. You and Ivan will be busy with your own friends. And Richard has a flight on Saturday. What will I do?" She rambles.

"Stay with me then." He states, as a matter of fact.

"Nah."

A few moments pass by.

"You're sleepy," Kyle remarks in a hushed voice "You blab when you're sleepy as if drunk."

Wafa can feel the expansion of the sides of his lips into a smirk.

She hums, eyes still closed, "I only slept for four hours. One at night, three after fajr."

(dawn prayer)

"Why is that?" He shifts in his seat. His observant gaze sets on her.

She heaves a sigh and sits up. "Anxiety has gripped me for many days. And I've developed this abnormal tendency of waking up at three in the morning or half past two. Every night, it's the same thing, over and over again." She looks down at her fidgeting fingers. "And after it, slumber doesn't numb my senses until four or five in the morning." Her voice then reduces to a mere whisper, "I, now, literally pray for a miracle to happen so that I could sleep peacefully for at least one entire night."

"You got a hit on your head pretty bad a week ago. Perhaps that's the reason your sleep schedule is disturbed."

"Kyle," She turns to look at him, "This abnormalcy started before we went to Kenya."

A few seconds pass, and he remains quiet. The brown-haired girl knows something is running through his mind, but he doesn't say so, and she doesn't push him to do so.

"I never had sleep problems in my life, ever." She hides her eyes away from him. A rueful smile adores her face. "Anxiousness is indeed ruthless. A person may look healthy and alive on the outside. But on the inside, anxiety has its claws dug deep in their hearts." She clicks her tongue. "And what a shame! Though I have no such hardship other than it, I still can't find refuge in sleep against it."

"You're an insomniac."  Just like me.

⊱ ⋆ ⊰

| HADITH |

The Prophet (peace be upon him) said, "When modesty is lacking, you are likely to fall into sin"

(Bukhari)

| AUTHOR'S NOTE |

I've Published A Historical Novel, The Man Who Saw The Devil. Do Check It Out And Let Me Know Your First Thoughts!

- W A L I Y A H