Index
Chapter 2
For nearly fifteen minutes I wander through the library, taking my time to walk through each aisle and brush my hand over the spines lined with dust. Some titles gleamed; covers glossy like they’d just been printed.
I love how they feel beneath my fingers; smooth and bright with colour. My favourite are older books, cracked spines telling of how old they’d be. The cool thing about vintage books is that some of the pages were marked with ink. You’d never know who it belonged to, managing a glimpse into a stranger’s thoughts while reading was fascinating. I knew that irked people, because books were precious and they shouldn’t dare be touched with anything other than your finger and blah blah blah.
This section was Islamic literature; top shelves neatly lined with volumes and series of hadith and tafseer stored in glass cabinets, only allowed for students doing research-based studies.
Before the school was established, most of the books were donated by staff and people that no longer had a use or space for them in their home. Many other rare collections gathered through the long journeys of study.
Aarif said he was running late from class, so I wait, mindlessly leafing through an old book and skimming my finger across a pencil mark underneath a paragraph. I didn’t always like reading, sometimes it got too boring for me to keep up and the words didn’t make sense, jammed inside my head without a picture to imagine. Other times, they could conjure up worlds so vivid that everything else felt mundane. The library was a good place to study in silence; listening to students typing on their laptops or sifting through pages of their books punctuated the silence, making it easier to concentrate than being at home.
My phone chimes. I look up from the book and recognize my friend’s figure weaving through the aisles and I shuffle off the floor to greet him.
This library was like one of those grand, century-old ones with an antique smell flowing through the books. If you didn’t know your way around, the space became a labyrinth of passageways that could easily make you feel stuck inside a maze.
I wait at the front, gazing at a long tapestry pinned across the wall till the end of the library inked in calligraphy. A hadith with the number 1166 was printed below, but before I finished reading my friend tapped my shoulder.
Aarif was someone I admire a lot—hardworking, creative and the one friend that had grown up beside me since we were children.
“Hey man,” I say as we walk towards a desk. “Did your teacher keep you late again?” Aarif pulls out a few books, each incredibly thick, and stacked them over the desk. We sit down, and the first one catches my gaze—his sketchbook. He rubs his eyes, hollow bags beneath them that tells me he hasn’t been sleeping at all throughout this damned exam period.
“Nah, I was going through my essay with my teacher. I didn’t do great.” I know this tone from Aarif, worry laced through his words. I saw the signs of anxiety in his hands, trembling as he shuffled through the other pages from the schoolbooks. He slumped in his chair, groaning.
“Hey,” I say sympathetically, “You’ll be fine. I’m sure it’s a one-off thing. You got this.” I lightly punch his shoulder, but he doesn’t seem convinced.
Aarif is one of the smartest people I know. Ever since we were kids he seemed to get the knack of things quicker than others. Like maths equations or game rules during sports. The thing is, one small mistake would send him into doubt. The guy didn’t know how to catch a break.
I pick up his sketchbook, turning over to the first page and find a detailed illustration of a phoenix.
Fire dripped off the edges of the wings; bright reds and oranges blended together in watercolour.
“This is epic!” I say, leaning closer to notice the small details in the feathers. Any moment, it seemed like it would leap off the page.
“You didn’t show it to me before.” Aarif quickly snatches it back, shoving it inside his backpack. With that much talent, there’s no way he’d have any trouble finding his way in the world.
“It’s nothing, I drew it ages ago. It’s just a commission for someone,” He says. “Anyway, did you fill up that sheet we got in class?” I almost roll my eyes, hanging my arm over my chair.
“Dude, just accept the compliment. And nah, I haven’t.” It was a relief to have forgotten about the sheet, but now hearing it again, stung. As if a seventeen year old was meant to know what they wanted to do.
He continues going on about the topic, making my head race again from yesterday’s class.
Black-boards, thick textbooks filled out with sums and vocabulary lists of fancy words. All of which we were expected to learn before the exam. The day before, we had presentations from guest speakers; staff from our school’s alumni mapping out the journey of their career from high school till their current job.
None of it sounded inspiring. It made me jittery, fiddling with my fingers as I tried to keep still.
“I’ll do it later, there’s still time right?” I say, but he presses his lips into a firm line.
“Do you need help?” Unwillingly, I give in and pull the sheet out from my books, laying it over the desk. The whole page is scrunched up and creased from when I first received it. Aarif leans over, squinting.
“Anything that caught your eye?” He says, but I shake my head, completely uninterested until I suddenly notice the glaringly red fabric of a jacket from the corner of my eye.
I look over my shoulder, eyes widened as Red waves to me, holding a book up. My spine straightens against the chair, now attentive of my surroundings and watch him stride towards us with that prideful gait.
Light bounces off the writing off the cover, and I recognise the title, ‘The Little Prince.’
Red drops the book on the table, and leans over to the sheet.
“Still hung up on this, are you?” I try to ignore his voice, looking to Aarif for help. All the options listed were pretty standard; Law school, Science, Medicine and Arts.
“Let’s go one by one.” Aarif pulls out a pen from his bag, placing the tip against the first option, raising a brow to me. The third option is already an instinctive reaction, crossing out medicine. I couldn’t stand the antiseptic bite of dettol in hospitals.
“Are you kidding me? I’ll kick your ass man, you know I’d never.” We both laugh, and keep going through the rest. Teaching, Science, Arts…None interested me enough.
From behind, Red punches my shoulder, snapping my attention away. “I could see you in a courtroom, after seeing you fight yesterday.” For a moment I dwell on his words, nervously looking at Aarif. He waved his hand in front of my face. “You good? Don’t tell me you’re dreaming about karate again.”
“Nope, let’s keep going.” I say, and feel the pressure of a headache begin.
Aarif keeps talking, the next major in Environmental Science.
“That doesn’t sound too bad, pretty respectable right?” I say. My arms feel stiff as I reach my hands over my head, stretching out my muscles.
I turn to the side, only to see Glasses staring from a distance. There he was again, with the same, unreadable and nonchalant expression.
“Yaseen?” Aarif’s voice forces me to look back down at the sheet but I don’t know how to react.
A rough hand on my shoulder makes me jump, and Red speaks. Whenever he opens his mouth, everything seems to mute. “Environmental science? That’s lame. You’re not made for that kinda stuff.” From where I sit, he towers over me, making me feel small.
“You wanna say something, spit it out.”
“Prisons, courtrooms. Right on the front. That’s where you’ll be.” My confidence falters, and the slow build of my nerves spike. The images from the podcast form; metal bars, charcoal stained windows cutting off sunlight layer into a blurry montage inside my head. I swallow a hard lump down my throat, and stare at the paper.
“Umm, yea I think I’ll just give this a shot.” I say, sliding my finger onto the last option.
Aarif tilts his head, the crease in his features deepening into a questioning look.
“You can always think over it tonight too.”
“No, I’m sure now.” I begin marking it, but Red swipes the pen from my hand and tosses it to the floor.
“For someone who knows how to put up a fight, I thought you’d have the guts to stand up to people.” The grin on his face falls flat, and he rolls the tip of his shoe onto the pen.
“Of course I do!” I almost raised my voice, not realising that I was still in the library until Aarif punched my shoulder. “Dude, shut up!” I bring my knee closer, fighting the urge to swear.
One moment everything was fine, but my nerves riled up after Red showed up. I seethe in silence, focussing on the sheet until another nudge cracks my patience like a dynamite. Before he has a chance to touch my shoulder I whip around, taking hold of Glasses’s wrist.
“Oh…sorry!” I pull my hand back, holding them above my head.
Glasses pushes Red aside and wraps his hands behind his back. He clears his throat, regarding me with a nonchalant expression.
“It’s understandable. Shall I tell you what might happen to the Earth if action isn’t taken?” His voice is monotone, each word robotic and void of any emotion. “Not really—” I say but he ignores me.
“If neglected, the ozone layer will become too thin; peeling off like the skin of a fruit. The Sun’s rays will make it rot and shrink.” The way he described it built a morbid image inside my head. I stared, chilled from the way he spoke. I guess there was no pretty way to put it, the fires in Australia were getting worse each year.
It’s like the whole Earth was turning inside, splitting cities apart. On TV, some parts of the sea were stained, smeared with a rainbow-looking film because of an oil drill gone wrong.
“Wheww, okay Mr Melancholic. You’re freaking the kid out.” San pushes him aside, and to my surprise he remains silent, retreating into the shadows of the others.
San reached his hand over, smacking my head. “Teaching! That’s it, you’d be a wonderful teacher. Honestly, it’s like being a kid again.” The idea didn’t sound too bad, but then I remembered my cousins. They were a lot younger than me, and asked way too many questions. Not that it was a bad thing but it left me on edge when I had to tutor them. Trying to be patient while they kept repeating the same, incorrect answer and looked at me with those doe eyes didn’t work on me.
I turned to Aarif, “Do you think I’d be a good teacher?” The answer is in his face, pressing his lips into a thin line and smacking his hand to his mouth to stop from bursting into laughter.
“Yikes, didn’t have to put it that way.” I say, playing with the keychains on my backpack; mini figurines of characters from my favourite shows.
“You have to be really patient with children.” Sabr sabr sabr. That’s another thing I still needed to learn, and it was definitely a necessity with teaching. I could be patient, right…? Nothing else was easier but maybe if I just took a chance and made dua before class, praying to Allah that I don’t give up on all the students. In my head I already versed a prayer, tipping my head back.
‘Please, if I become a teacher, give me sabr so I don’t fail everyone out of frustration.’
Aarif snaps his fingers, looping me out of my thoughts.
“Well, don’t you learn balance and all in karate? Or archery? Just practice that.” Easier said than done, it wasn’t just kids. School came with parents. Sometimes nice and other times absolute terrors. If they didn’t wanna own up to their kid’s mistakes, the blame was all on you. I stop playing with the keychains.
“Whatever, I’ll do the rest at home. Did you choose? You’re going to art school, right?”
Aarif pulls out something from his bag, a small box.
“Art school? My parents would freak out.” I blinked a few times, stunned how he gave up so easily.
It was a fair point, most parents didn’t even listen to anything related to art.
Uni was restricted to tangible, one way path careers only. To them, Art degrees were just like abstract paintings; no clear starting point and no ending line. It was like a gamble, or pure luck.
“Didn’t you ask, at least?”
“No way, I already know what they’ll say.” Aarif places the box down, carefully opening it. Inside is a small model of what looked like a plane. He delicately lifts it from the box. I tilt my head, marvelled at how this miniature structure resembled the real thing. There are two wings on either side, bent at an angle; broad strokes of white paint thinly coat the entire structure.
As he places it down, I prop my chin up on the table, gazing over the whole structure.
Below, a set of finely printed numbers had been painted. Aarif smiles, full and bright which only appears when he’s full of euphoria from being creative. He closes one eye, holding it up to his face.
“Like it? It’s a space shuttle. The Orbiter to be exact. It’s kind of like the brains and heart of the entire system.” He goes on to explain the rest of its history, jogging my memory of when I’d heard about it ages ago in a science class. Many of the first space shuttles went wrong, catastrophes took lives and eventually, it had to be put out of use. I always found it crazy that one small error could create an irreversible disaster.
“Sick! What’s it for?”
Aarif places it into the box again, “I signed up for this engineering project, I’m thinking of majoring in aeronautics.” Even though it sounds like he’s happy, there’s no denying the longing in his voice to be creative. I can’t fake encouragement, and force a smile. Flying was cool, space was even cooler, but I couldn’t imagine this shy, quiet kid working as an engineer when he had a mind that was hard-wired to be creative.
“Sure.” I say, and slide off my chair. I move too quickly and my whole vision distorts from sitting for so long. “Let’s check out some books, I’ll find something for you to read.”
He lazily follows beside me, rubbing his eyes so hard they go red. The deep circles pulling down his skin look more hollow underneath the light.
The good thing about this library was that it had everything. I mean like the latest comics, a whole section of manga plus the wholesome mix of Islamic literature near the end where it was quieter.
“Which book are you looking for?” Aarif says, tightly holding onto the box as we zig zag through the aisles and stop at a shelf. I trace my finger along the spines conjuring up images of the titles I recognize.
“Not for me, you. Because you need a break, ASAP.” I say, scanning through each one, but none seem exciting. Most are rewritten fairy tales, superhero stories with the ‘Chosen One’ who had no idea he or she was going to be saving the world.
The one Red was holding piqued my interest, and when I read the title a flow of nostalgia surfaced.
A small boy, a telescope and other whimsical characters like a talking rose and a Turkish astronomer. Where had I read it before? “I forgot what it’s called, it should be here somewhere.” I say, taking one step at a time to make sure I don’t miss anything.
“What’s it about?” Aarif says, staring at a section of volumes from different Manga and comics.
I keep trailing along the titles near the end of the shelf, but none resemble the book I was looking for.
“Can’t remember, but I think there was a telescope and a talking rose.” I say.
Aarif walked down the other end, silently leafing through a thick, dusty book that looked as if the pages were about to fall apart. “I’m sad that we won’t be here next year”
I rarely felt sentimental about school, too excited to finally have my own freedom and schedule my own time instead of the long, drawn out school days. At least what came with graduation was taking on responsibility, that’s what I always wanted as a kid.
“I’m not, can’t wait to be out of here, the only thing I’m panicked about is uni.” Apart from that, I didn’t hold onto anything here. Maybe the library and the horses, but not class. Some of the teachers who had no chill, hell bent on making your life at school miserable. To me, school was just one step closer to settling into the next wave of life. That’s how it felt; high tides, and low tides, violently throwing you off balance and forced you to anchor yourself between the currents.
I look at Aarif, nose still deep inside the book and wonder if it’s his way of finding comfort. Being creative meant making your own realities in your head. Whole new worlds that you could tap into by any medium.
I land my finger on a random book, slipping it out. In the small gap where it had been, an eye appeared from the other side. The sight takes me by surprise, stifled.
“Oh! Fancy seeing you here, I was about to take this as well, but you can have it.” San’s singsong voice flows from the other side and I freeze. Footsteps tap against the carpet, becoming louder as he rounds towards our aisle.
“Seriously?” I groan, jamming the book against my head. Their presence was becoming an eyesore.
Aarif shuts the book, slipping it back into the shelf and regards me.
“Same, I can’t believe exams are in a week. All I want to do is stay home and paint.”
I cross my arms and slide down the shelf, placing my head down against my knees. The headache was growing, splintering pain inside my forehead. I place my hand over my ears, steadying my thoughts and felt the sounds numb. Things would return to normal if I remained calm.
“Give me a second, I need to collect myself.” Aarif’s voice is quiet, leaving me for the few moments I need until I open my eyes again.
Glasses crouches in front of me, holding a book to my face.
“Looking for this?”
“Huh?!” I punch the book out of his hand. It tumbles across the floor, pages spill out in a trail.
“You guys can’t just come in here; this is a school. My school.” San doesn’t seem to hear me, directing snide comments towards the loose pages on the floor while Blue gathers them. “Oh shame! Poor book!” He pretends to help out, seemingly more interested in his own commentary.
By the time he’s done, they all circle around me, and Red stands parallel from where I am, backed against the shelf. “You know I was reading some of those pages, do you think books are just piles of useless paper that go out of date?” San says, but I have no idea how to answer his odd question.
My eyes wander to the shelf in front of me, glancing at the line of books. Some tightly bound and shelved while others frayed, gathered with dust over the years. “I don’t get what you’re saying.” I give an honest answer, and he fiddles with his watch again. It always seemed like he was in constant movement, unable to be still.
“They’re all a waste of time.” Red shuts the book he was previously holding with one hand and tosses it to the floor. It’s the one I’d been looking for the entire time. As a kid I’d read it every night, but my memory is fragmented as I try to recall the plot. When I try to reach for it, Red kicks it several feet away. The more he spoke, the less I understood what he was getting at. Why couldn’t he ever interact without being a huge jerk?
“You shouldn’t disrespect books like that,” I say. The book is nudged underneath the shelf, way past everyone.
“Oh yeah? Haven’t you ever considered it’s because of all these stories and fiction you haven’t been able to focus?” He pulls something from his pocket–Aarif’s plane.
“How did you get that?!” I don’t hesitate, running forward to yank it back. It slips from his harsh grip.
The plane falls. Wings snap as it hits the floor and splits into debris. “Your friend clearly didn’t put much thought into the structure.” The pieces clutter around my shoes. Black and white pieces crumbled on top of each other.
“Better think twice before trying to argue with me again, Yaseen.” I felt my pulse pop in my ear listening to him, twisting the hem of my shirt in my hands.
A crooked smile appeared over San’s face and the colour suddenly leeched out of all of them. One by one their figures became silhouettes, drifting away. The world becomes black, and the heat of summer stings my skin. A shift in my footing makes me lose balance. Someone pulls at my arm; the jerkish movement makes me stumble back.
I blink, watching the library come into focus. Aarif’s beside me, holding onto the shattered pieces of the shuttle. The bell rings, echoing through the school. I’m standing alone, watching my friend walk with his head down, staring at the broken pieces of the shuttle.
The landscape shifted underneath the sunlight, long cords of sunshine elegantly straying along the grass. Several of our horses trot across the fields, their long manes shining in the summer heat.
I pulled on my riding boots, guilt heavily laced through my movement and walked towards the instructor for our last class.
A black stallion stood beside him, grazing the grass. The instructor twisted the reign looped through his hands as he spoke, glancing at the horse and us.
Horse riding is one of my favourite lessons. It’s the perfect way to end school because once they trusted you, it was like having a friend for life.
Today though, I couldn’t focus. All I could think about was the shuttle; repeatedly snapping like a fragile branch in my hand. Aarif’s face stared back at me in shock.
The instructor cleared his throat, allowing us to begin the lesson. His voice stirred me out of my thoughts, saying my name until it registered. “Yaseen, why are you still standing there?”
I muttered an apology, raising my hand above my forehead from the harsh light. I jogged towards a white mare in the distance, Melati. She was born here; raised as a foal. Everyone adored her gentle nature, long white mane gleaming like silver fluid. Melati trotted along the fence, slowing to graze the grass.
There was something tranquil about the pasture at the end of a long day. Being out while the breeze cut your cheek instead of being cramped inside a classroom with several other students.
Horses could be temperamental at times, but they were loving and sweet creatures that needed to be approached carefully, patiently.
“Hey buddy! I missed you, hope you remember me!” My voice feels hoarse as I approach her, reaching my hand to touch her face. Melati’s ears pin back, and she trots away. Bad sign. Why was she hesitating today?
“Okay, look. I’ve kinda had a bad day, can you please cooperate with me?” I slow down my pace, attempting another approach.
Melati snorts, turning around. I feel like an idiot standing with my arms above my head.
“Are you listening to me?!” She’s further across the field now, completely ignoring me. Ouch.
It was one thing being hurt in a fight but getting ignored by a horse? Feelsbadman.
Great, everyone was pissed off at me today. I jogged up to Melati, halter in one hand and tapped her back but she jerked away.
I should’ve taken it as a sign and left her alone. Instead, I stubbornly pull the reins over her head while she squirms.
“See? That wasn’t so bad, right?” I lift my foot up to the stirrups preparing to mount. Just as I put my weight into the stirrup, Melati jolts forward into a speedy gallop.
“Hey, stop!” I’m pulling at the reins now, screaming for my damn life.
Grass and sky collide together like a mashup of colours, making my stomach flip.
