No Conditions, Whatsoever

Coffee and drama

Author's PoV:

Entering through the huge campus gate, Feiha looked around and was greeted by the vastness of her new university. Buildings of different departments stood tall and stretched. Students dressed in fashionable clothes roamed freely, talking, laughing and gossiping. A sense of pride tried to enter Feiha's mind for having made it into such a prestigious institution but she managed to kick the feeling off. She instead said Alhamdulillah, and thanked her lord for blessing her with such an opportunity.

Quinn Institute of Arts, Science & Research, the top most college of the country, and Feiha's dream was finally welcoming her. She inhaled deeply and walked deeper, admiring everything that crossed her sight. Her classroom was in Building 4, Department of English. She could hear her heartbeats, but they were not out of fear or anxiety.

She was, in fact, excited. After completing her graduation, she was determined to get a Masters degree in English and that too from a better university. Being an excellent student that she was, it wasn't much difficult for her to crack the entrance test of Quinn. Her family had been ecstatic, and although they were already expectant of a good result from Feiha, it still came as a surprise when she announced her admission in her targetted institute.

"My flower," her Baba had called her, like he always did. "I thank Allah everyday for having gifted me with a daughter like you." Compliments were nothing new for Feiha but each time her Baba praised her, it was like the most precious achievement for her.

She smiled as the thought crossed her. She was starting a new journey in a new place with new people. The idea made her feel jittery.

Within a minute she found a classroom and grabbed a vacant seat. To her left was a guy. Feiha took a glance in his direction and saw his hair tied in a man bun. He had piercing in one of his ears and small tattoo on his neck. Before she could understand what figure it was, the guy turned to look at her and grinned.

"Hey, new girl."

His voice was loud yet gentle. He eyed her dressing, her blue jeans and long lavender kurta, and a white dupatta that covered her head. "You're muslim, right?"

"Yes," Feiha answered.

"Cool, and may I know your name?" He asked as he checked in the direction of the classroom door to see if the teacher had entered. He hadn't.

"I'm Feiha," she replied and saw him nod. "What about you?"

"I'm Ali."

Feiha's eyes went back to his ear and tattoos. Ali must have understood her confusion so answered her unvoiced question. "Atheist. I'm an atheist."

"Oh," Feiha blinked and looked away. "Sorry, I was just…"

"Curious?" Ali chuckled, "it's alright."

For the rest of the period, the duo didn't talk. The teacher entered, taught and left. Feiha managed to write down all the important notes, and even asked questions to get her doubts cleared. When she got up from her seat, she saw Ali copying her movements.

"You sure are interested in European Drama," he commented as they began to walk out.

"Of course," she shrugged. "Don't you find it interesting?"

"I'm more into poetry. I like layers and hidden meanings. They are enticing," his eyes twinkled as he said those words. "Wanna go and grab some food from the cafeteria?"

Feiha nodded. She had skipped breakfast that day to avoid getting late and now she was hungry. She followed Ali who led them to their destination. It was a big, crowded space with many tables and chairs scattered around. There were three counters, one for beverages, second for meals, and third for snacks.

"Tea or coffee?"

Feiha couldn't drink either. Her doctor had told her strictly not to consume Tannins. "Umm…I'll just have a chicken salad."

Ali showed her a thumbs up and gestured her to take her seat. She obliged and waited for him as he disappeared into the crowd. He came back with her order and an iced tea.

"So tell me, where do you live?" Ali inquired taking a sip of his drink.

"Not far away, it's near Subway 8," they talked as they carried on with their food. Feiha learned that Ali was an orphan who had actually been raised in a Madrasa. She wanted to ask him about how he lost faith in religions but couldn't bring the courage to do so. She let it slide and heard him telling her about the staff and the cultural fests that took place every year in the campus.

It was time for another lecture when their conversation ended. They were about to leave the cafeteria when they heard a dramatic voice.

"Why do you play so hard to get, you jerk?"

It was a girl. She was dressed in flared jeans and a plaid shirt. Her hair was tied into a high pony tail and her face barely had any make-up. But she looked pretty. Her eyes were doe shaped and her lips had a natural pout in them. Her skin was flawless and body shape was overall attractive.

In front of her was a boy. Tall and lean, wearing a simple oversized black tshirt and faded jeans, he stood with his back facing Feiha. She saw him running his fingers through his hair as he looked away from the pretty girl. He was shaking his head.

"Did I ever say anything to give you hopes?" He spoke still not looking at her. Their argument had gathered an audience and everyone was now watching them interact. "Hell, I don't even remember if I have ever called you my friend. You were just a junior to me and you still are. I don't understand what else do you want from me."

Feiha saw the pretty girl's chest heave up and down as her furious gaze studied him. She saw her grab a cup of coffee from the nearby table and she saw her leap forward, tripping on a bottle laid on the floor which she had failed to notice. The girl lost her balance and the cup escaped her grasp. Before she could comprehend the situation, Feiha, who was standing at somewhat close to the couple, felt hot liquid slashing on her right foot.

She gasped. Ali cursed and so did the pretty girl. She heard the crowd whispering to each other before a loud, manly voice broke through.

"How dare you?" It was the guy in the black tshirt shooting daggers at the culprit. His ears looked red and his hands were now in fists. He took steps in the girl's direction, making her shrink in herself. "You'll regret this."

He then turned to Feiha and reached her with a worried expression. "Are you okay?" His eyes looked down at her, scanning her.

That's when it hit Feiha. She knew that face. She knew the man. It was him, the youngest of the Rahman brothers. The one who had stared at her at that wedding. The one with cognac brown eyes.

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Second chapter done and they still haven't met. But have patience, it's a slow burn story. I promise I won't disappoint you. Just trust me.

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