"Do you know what kind of questions might be asked in an interview?" Mirha asked as she toyed with her pen, watching Hadi settle down in a chair opposite her and open the spare book she had already placed in his seat.
He was wearing a plain white t-shirt under a zip-up Nike jacket and black pants, headphones were hanging around his neck, his jet black hair were tousled in a careless yet attractive way and his face was a picture of disinterest.
Mirha had to sometimes think what gave her the courage to walk up to him. She had heard gossip about him here and there, from students in her batch and various seniors. He was among the most popular students, insanely rich - which was saying something since most popular students, insanely rich - which was saying something since everyone here was rich - suave, charming when he wants to be, a straight-A student and most importantly, a living, breathing example of 'I do not give a fuck'. But then, she sometimes had to think what possessed him to agree to help her.
There was something fundamentally wrong with this whole thing, so she did what everyone did in these situations. She refused to think about it.
"What kind of interview?" Hadi inquired in a monotonous voice, leaning back in his chair and stretching his legs.
Mirha jumped slightly as his shoes touched her sandaled feet. She cleared her throat blushing and slid back in her seat.
Hadi raised his eyebrows, then slowly straightened up as well.
"Job interview," Mirha said quickly, avoiding eye contact, "as a salesgirl. That huge, fancy mall not too far from here? I applied there a month ago."
Hadi blinked, then slowly nodded. "Okay."
"Anyway, they had hired someone else, but that person just left without warning. So they gave me a call, wanting to know if I was still available." Mirha clarified in a rush, bringing a hand up to tug self-conciously at her scarf.
Hadi shrugged, "They'd probably want to check your confidence. Might give a few lines to take a demo. And, I don't know, might assess your social and communication skills, how easily you get irritated. How long can you be fake polite. Could ask what you know about the products you'd be selling," he finished, easily listing off potential questions as he crossed his arms over his chest.
"Oh," Mirha leaned forward and placed her elbows on the table, looking at Hadi with a small smile and bright eyes, "Well, I am confident, and I guess if I have that I can handle the rest just fine."
Hadi's eyebrows climbed up his forehead again and he spoke with an amused tilt to his lips, "Right. If you say so."
"Oh, you don't believe me?" Mirha's eyes shone with barely suppressed glee as she eagerly continued "Do you know, I once marched to the district counselor's office in our area to complain about the water shortage problem. All the wells had dried up and all the water tanks were empty. It was a nightmare. Everyone was over each other's neck, the stress was intensifying domestic disputes and there was a brawl in every other street. I was fed up," Mirha paused for a moment to chuckle at the memory of the horrified counselor. "So I ranted at the slimy looking, useless man and demanded that he make himself useful. And guess what?"
"What?" Hadi was staring at her with a slightly bemused expression, a change from his usual aloofness.
Mirha squared her shoulders, a grin creeping across her mouth, "The next day we all had water tankers brought from the city in front of our houses. Also, it was found out the tube wells weren't working not because there wasn't any water, but because there was some blockage in its pipes. That was repaired overnight as well. Almost. Everyone was so happy." She chuckled and added a bit timidly, "Though my father was a little angry at me."
Hadi stared at her, digesting the words, then nodded slowly. "Well, an impressive tale. You certainly have guts."
"You're putting it in a nice way. My father said I am exhaustingly single- minded."
Unexpectedly, Hadi gave a soft laugh. "Really? I wonder why."
Mirha chuckled sheepishly. "Then the job is mine to take right?" She grinned at him.
"Sure," Hadi inclined his head, "So, your parents allowed you to be this far from home?" He asked, curious despite himself.
"Um, well," Mirha stammerd, "They died two years ago so..." she shrugged, "they couldn't really have a say."
"Oh," Hadi blinked, surprised. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay. I have my aunt and uncle. They're amazing," She explained, "They don't have children of their own, so they decided to take us in. I left my brothers and sister with them."
"Right," Hadi drawled, gazing at her with a look in his eyes Mirha couldn't quite decipher.
"I'm sorry I take up your time. My father used to say I turn up my radio
without prior warning and he can't ever seem to learn how to turn it off," She laughed, a soft, breathy sound, "Anyway, shall we start?"
A miniscule, yet seemingly genuine smile etched its way across Hadi's face. "Yeah," He said as he leaned forward to flip through the pages of the computer science textbook kept in front of him. "So where did we leave on Wednesday?"
"Umm ... oh," Mirha looked up suddenly as she remembered something, "I heard the senior year students are having a costume party. What will you be dressing up as?"
"Aladdin." Hadi drawled without glancing up from the book.
---
Mirha stared, slightly gobsmacked, at the uniform the lady was holding out to her.
Friday had been going by brilliantly. First and foremost, the tiny canteen she had been frequenting to avoid the main cafeteria ever since the Bilal incident had finally served some quality breakfast.
Then she had gotten the call for the job interview, and it was like a huge weight was finally going to be lifted off her.
Then there was the wonderfully fruitful study session with Hadi. He was a surprisingly patient, understanding, cooperative and creative teacher. He would give relatable examples and would explain in a way that left absolutely no confusion about the particular concept. He would start from the basics and cover every nook and cranny and most importantly, he would repeat everything in Urdu.
He was truly a blessing and Mirha couldn't be more grateful to him.
But now, the fact that she would have to wear a waist length half sleeved red T- shirt and black pants and nothing more over it, was going to ruin her perfect day.
She couldn't believe she had been so utterly stupid and not seen this coming. Every other girl here wore the same clothes, why had she not known she would have to wear it too.
She had just stupidly, naïvely thought they could wear anything they want and that they had a choice.
Is your head stuffed with straw Mirha?
She mocked herself as she resignedly took the T-shirt and pants and trudged towards the changing room with heavy footsteps.
Highly uncomfortable and nervous, she tried to pull the shirt down to her knees but of course it wouldn't stretch up to that extent.
Feeling self conscious and strangely guilty, Mirha went to take her position by the cosmetics aisle, watching the buzz of people milling about - talking amongst themselves, gazing at the various items of their interest - with her shoulders almost touching her ears with uneasiness.
The next week passed in a blur. The only vaguely interesting aspect for Hadi were the tutoring lessons with Mirha.
Interesting because Mirha was nothing like he had thought she would be.
A part of Hadi had been hoping that she would turn out to be weird, annoying, dumb as a doorknob, opportunistic and fake. In short, exactly the makeshift, pious hoe Bilal had proclaimed her to be. And totally deserving of whatever deceit and bad luck was coming her way. But that wasn't the case at all.
Mirha was ... charmingly animated.
She would talk and talk until explicitly told to stop. But she wasn't a gossipmonger like Sasha and Leila. She would regale to him extremely amusing tales about her village and what she and her siblings used to get up to. Like that one where she complained to the district counselor.
She would gesture, very vigorously, on every other word and would even do voices sometimes. She would get this twinkle in her eyes everytime before she started another story, and she would laugh at the funny parts as if they were happening right then.
She would whoop slightly and lean forward and grin at him whenever she got an answer right. She would sometimes ask the dumbest questions and other times ask something so out of the box that it would get himself thinking
It was absurd.
Hadi Maher was a cool, aloof
dispassionate person with a devil-may- care kind of air around him. He wasn't chatty, friendly, kind, or particularly empathetic. He was sarcastic, brutally honest and definitely a genius. He wasn't especially funny or cheerful, and he definitely wasn't stupid.
Yet his recent actions practically screamed otherwise. He was going against everything he was defined by. He seemed to have turned over a new leaf without his own consent or knowledge. He was going mad.
Why else would he start enjoying Mirha Qadeer's company?
Bilal asked him the day before the costume party where he kept disappearing off to. He would love to say he thought long and hard about it and then made the right decision in
telling Bilal the truth.
But hell, he had felt like a deer caught in headlights. He didn't even know why he was feeling guilty when he was doing exactly what Bilal had asked him to do.
So he had blurted it out. Just like he had blurted out every other secret he had ever tried to keep from Bilal before.
He had told him that he was giving Mirha stc, and that he was simply acting upon the promise he had made.
Bilal had grinned at him like Cheshire cat and looked at him with such loyalty and affection, it had made his heart constrict with shame and guilt.
What was he doing? And why the fuck was he doing it?
Why wasn't he being honest the one time it actually mattered?
You're fucked Hadi Maher. Absolutely fucked.
---