Love from A to Z(10)
From behind the cart, I had glimpsed the blue-hijabed girl. She’d been watching something on the screen in front of her, so she hadn’t seen me.
? ? ?
Even though I had made up my mind to try one last time, I fell asleep until the flight landed in Doha and the guy beside me nudged me to get a move on. I picked up my duffel and got in the exodus line, thinking of Dad and Hanna.
The Doha airport was so quiet that the whir of luggage wheels formed a hum that accompanied those of us who disembarked. It followed us to the visa counter and then to the luggage carousel.
I glanced around a few times but didn’t see the girl from the plane.
Real strange. First, that I saw the journal, and, second, that it was preoccupying me so much.
At the luggage carousel, as the belt went around empty, awaiting the luggage, I put my hand in the pocket of my jeans and pulled out the azurite. It was kind of small, but it was the deepest blue one at the shop, and I knew Hanna would appreciate that the most.
“Found something?” Girl in blue hijab. Smiling.
“No, just a gift for someone.” I held up the rock, hoping my face hadn’t lit up too much at the sight of her. “She’s a rock connoisseur.”
“Nice.” She nodded. “There’s my luggage.”
She left to grab an orange suitcase off the carousel. She pulled up the handle and slid her carry-on onto it so that she only had one item to pull behind her.
And then she didn’t come back but just waved at me before heading to the wide, automated exit doors.
I felt a need to raise my voice to ask her name or her Instagram, but it was so quiet in the place.
I also realized I’d let my guitar go by on the carousel.
I decided I’d let it go around again.
I walked fast enough to catch up with her just as she reached the doors.
I just need her name.
The arrivals doors flung open to reveal those waiting.
And there stood Ms. Raymond.
I turned back to the carousel, back to my guitar.
? ? ?
Ms. Raymond was my teacher in the fourth grade at Doha International School.
I had no idea why she was here at the airport now, but it was unnerving.
The folded paper in my duffel, the one with my diagnosis, flew out and punched me in the gut.
It literally didn’t, but that’s what it felt like.
ODDITY: FIRST IMPRESSIONS
How do you decide you like or don’t like someone? Like, when you meet someone, there’s a point when you form one of two thoughts: I like this person enough to want to know them a bit more or STOP! Go no further in your attempts to know this person.
For me, it takes at least four times being around someone. I like to let things unfold, so I rarely rely on first impressions. I’m generally a four-impressions kind of guy.
First impressions don’t reveal anything. They’re just about you—well, the person looking at someone, listening to them, observing them—projecting your own self to assess another.
I guess I’m trying to say it’s okay I didn’t get her name.
ZAYNEB
FRIDAY, MARCH 8
ODDITY: THE COLD
BY THE TIME I WOKE up, I was in a better mood. The uneventful flight from London to Doha—uneventful except for the fact that the cute guy from the airport said salaam to me!—and the three episodes I’d watched of Sweet Tooth, a dessert-making show where there’s no talking, just music and people making complicated desserts step-by-step, had calmed me down a lot.
Then, to see Auntie Nandy! The hug she wrapped me in as soon as I got out of arrivals had almost swept me off my feet.
Auntie Nandy was Mom’s younger sister, but she was taller and had a more squarish face, with a prominent jawline and a big smile. Ever since I could remember, she’d worn her hair in a pixie cut.
She was no-nonsense but in a super-kind way.
The entire ride to her place from the airport had been me listening to testimony of how much she’d missed me, how she’d watched every Instagram story I posted (mental note: remember this), sometimes several times, and how she’d felt like she’d won the lottery when my parents agreed to let me come visit her earlier.
Basically, I was engulfed in love.
Cute guy saying salaam, eating desserts with my eyes on the flight over, Auntie Nandy professing her love—this almost erased the dumpster fire Tuesday had been.
But while Auntie Nandy is warm and cheerful, her apartment isn’t.
Exhibit A: Cold spaces.
Her place is hard and crystal clear and unforgiving. Each room has windows from the ceiling to the marble-tiled floor, with glass tabletops and steely reflective surfaces everywhere to further emphasize the clean, cold clarity of the space.
It’s like a crisp-suit-and-cufflinks-wearing stern man lives here instead of a smiley, talkative aunt who calls me Zoodles.
Last night I’d rolled my luggage into the minimalist guest bedroom—white-duvet-covered bed framed by a huge, mirrored wardrobe, sleek with no knobs or handles—and promptly unzipped my carry-on suitcase to pull out some essentials.
I knew it had been a good idea to pack Binky and Squish.
The cuddly factor was a must in this place. Especially after my soul had been drained over the past few days.
As I set Squish on the night table, I realized on first sight of it, someone might gag and pick it up with two fingers to hurl it into the nearest garbage can. But if they looked carefully, past the matted brownish-gray fur and squished ears (hence the name), five letters would come together to form in their heads: L-O-V-E-D.