naturally

Not once had I dreaded being alone.

It’s my first day of senior year. Not the first day, but mine. I have no one to wake me but my best friend who lives next door. Actually, his door is the neighbouring one to mine, just across it.

“Jeio, we’ve missed you at school!”

I hear a loud pounding at the wooden blockade, which thankfully is locked because this guy’s beginning to rip the knob out of its designated location.

“Leiere, I am awake, please stop!” I hear a laugh in response and then his heavy footsteps are fading away. My bother is a difficult lover.

We both drive off around 7:50 and arrive at school relatively early. Performing the ten-second long handshake we do—finishing it off with our middle fingers touching and indexes wrapping around one another forming a complete heart, then a single finger snap—we say the routinely goodbye and I head to my clique.

The diverse, tumultuous and loving people I call my family. Sure it’s only three individuals, but I don’t need nor want a large group of friends; that increases my responsibilities.

One of the three were off on a year long trip until the second Tuesday; Temel.

The other two-Dania and Euonne-are my “extended family,” who also happen to help me interact with someone whom I was arranged to wed. He’s someone I can’t bear the thought of, but have the pleasure of knowing his. He seems to be yelling them out for the entirety of our school to hear.

A voice roars within earshot through the cafeteria and of course, everyone traces the sound to its source. “I missed you, brother!” Leiere smiles and claps him on the back. An exchange of endearments and such are passed back and forth then I am greeted by a visitor.

“Dear Jeio, I am calling to you, because I have a very serious question.” I can’t see anything and I feel warm hands cover two-thirds of my face.

A pair of chairs scrape against the flooring which leave a residual imprint of their immediacy.

No one speaks until I do.

My first instinct is to remove the impediment, but his hands won’t budge. Mighen, the man I married a year ago, never fails to surprise me. “Migh—“ “Ah, ah. Do I have permission to ask it?”

Answering my huff with a quaking laugh, I am allowed to employ my sight again. My glasses are fogged, and I rub at the lenses. Spinning to face him, my arms are around myself, embracing me.

I can’t feel my friends with their fists at their sides, but I’ve seen it all before. At least one or the other is wearing a scowl that compliments the demeaning stance of her counterpart.

“What do you wanna do for lunch?” My stoic expression hasn’t budged. He reflects this with a picture worthy grin, regardless of that rotated tooth facing a canine. He told me he’ll get braces after my mehr, but that was 12 months ago. An ortho appointment was just mildly overdue.

The chivalrous act was likely meant to charm me, but I didn’t understand what it was about certain priorities that he held highly over others. Especially because all I wanted was a cat. My wish was granted, that very same day.

I decided to call her Wave, since she glides up and over me like a symbol of flowing love. Either way, I was the one who agreed to our amalgamation. Am I regretful nonetheless? Oftentimes.

I told Mighen we could go to a place out of town, considering we had no classes post-course four. His troublesome grin was his version of the phrase “deal.”

Because me and him are wed, there is no need for a special chauffeur or chaperone. Did I still make Euonne, Dania and her brother Rayan tag along? Do I need to answer that question?

I plopped into the passenger’s seat and my friends had their phones out ready for plotting. Acoustic songs void of instruments and blues played in the vehicle. Mighen gripped my shoulder affably and finally revved the engine.

Three minutes barely pass when my phone begins chiming. “Leiere, my saviour.” I smile on my line and am sure he rightfully returns the favour. “How’s the dear husband treating you?”

“I’m lucky to be alive.” The driver shakes his head and stops at a red light. “You already left? We were supposed to meet up, you know.”

My brother is oddly sentimental, like me, but I didn’t realise how fragile it makes him seem. I had no problem with this emotional attribute but because I know me—and he is practically my embodiment but in the male form—it’s a funny observation.

“I promise I’ll see you at home, or better yet—” A finger is positioned in the air, acting as a glowing bulb that shines brightly. I was depicting an idea.

We end the call after an “I’ll see you there.” Mighen huts the accelerator, and we continue our journey. He speaks to everyone in the back. “What are you three in the mood for?”

Answers rush out at once. “An escape plan,” Dania says in all seriousnes. “You keeping Jeio safe,” Euonne blurts out. “Anything you’re in the mood for, brother.” Rayan doesn’t seem to get the memo.

I know it’s a childish approach to want my friends alert at all times when I’m the one who told the groom that ‘I do.’ He’s now hung on another branch of our family tree. Leiere’s best friend; my best friend’s best friend.

Me and my brother negotiated on moving in together after graduating high school. Personally, it was for more time to myself, but the burden of needing to be married so soon won over my honest desire to wait.

I remember when I first developed feelings for Mighen, but marrying him was something I never imagined to pursue. At least not until after maturation. What can I say? I'm full of surprises, as is he. What we were doing in front of a café, was the most time-relevant.

There was a small vestibule inside of the miniature building where we had to book a table. I counted maybe eleven of them, and what was there to book? Most were filled, but I saw a nice one or two with a good view of the foliage filled scenery outside.

“Why couldn’t we get that one?” Dania throws her arms up, catching the attention of the cashier. Her burgundy hijab is wrapped tightly around her neck, tied in a simple bow. Rayan grips her shoulders trying to diffuse the temper she’s nearly ignited.

Mighen turns to us. “How does seven minutes sound?” A family of six blow past us with friendly smiles and excuse themselves.

As the table is being shined and the chairs, dusted for us, we are sat on cushioned benches. He isn’t shy, Mighen, but though we were sat directly beside one another, I was surprised by his lack of urgency to have my hand in his.

Usually I fight it, causing a scene. I understand his reluctance, but am less than enthused that he made no attempts at it. I look over at him.

The fuzzed patch of hair on his chin was ever growing and a moustache well present. My baby face made us seem like a couple with quite the gap. His birthday is only a month before mine.

Across from us, I see Euonne whispering to Dania and I lock eyes with her. She whips out her phone. ‘Are things actually going your way right now?’ Her expression of shock is shown on her curved mouth and eyes in dilation.

I shake my head and let my smile shine. Seven minutes pass briskly and I am holding onto a hand that dwarfs mine, one I let go of as soon as I’m stood. I already miss the warmth.

His hand moves to the small of my back, and Mighen is directing me to my seat. He sits opposite of my spot and flashes an ivory toothed, crooked grin.

I don’t hate him. Ipso facto, it is the exact opposite, but I am an awkward girl who doesn’t know yet how to operate in the relationship. He sees this, and he accepts it.

There are numerous miscommunications, and I’m not sure how authentic any of them are, but he’s a pain. When something hurts so good, I let it continue. That is how our marriage has been for the past 363 days.

My twin, Leiere, and Mighen’s mother encourage me to be with him as often as I’d like. He gifted my mehr generously and offered to ‘bless’ me with much more, but I’ve politely declined more than eight times over. “There’s always the future.”

The four words replay in my head because the sound of his voice was so hopeful.

I move on from this thought bubble; now dispersed. It isn’t only his parents who are in a lucrative position. Although he only works weekends,—sometimes including Friday afternoons through evenings—Mighen owns 25% of the Devis-Ayyad Department of International and National Pursuits.

It will undoubtedly be given to him after his Father retires, but we aren’t sure what will happen after that. I do not want kids. Not that I feel pressured to have them, but if passing the business down is a hereditary thing, it might lead to that. “The child I won't have can't hate me for being the mother they wouldn't want, nor deserve.” I’ve told many a group, but I’m also only seventeen.

I am constantly reassured to take my time and focus on school before children. That of which I was doing fine on my own, but while knowing the wealth that trails Mighen, I also don’t necessarily need to work and have had many…“arguments” with him about this. I want to do more in life without the burden of creating it, so I will; In Shaa Allah.