AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Outside, Tarif was walking down the glass-walled corridors of the freshmen’s hallway when he chanced upon the curious sight of five students rushing out of a classroom, all white-faced and jittery. The sheikh lowered his head as they walked past him, the tail end of their conversation drifting to his ears.
“Even if she hadn’t offered the withdrawal card,” one of the boys shared in Rami, “I’d still have left.”
“Same, dude,” the boy next to him averred feelingly.
“My older sister already warned me about Professor Kahveci,” the lone girl in the group revealed with a grimace. “I thought she was exaggerating but obviously—-” The girl gave a light shudder. “I think I’ll just re-enroll next sem under the other prof.”
Their voices faded in the distance, and his lips twisted at the irony of it. While those five kids couldn’t run fast enough to stay as far away from Anisah, here he was, desperate to get as close as he could to her –
And so far, nothing was working.
The sheikh stopped before her classroom, its two-way windows allowing him to observe Anisah without being noticed. With her stern-looking glasses in place, her hair once again concealed under a hijab, and her tall, elegant form sheathed in a dark, shapeless abaya, Anisah looked every inch the teacher no one would want to have.
When Anisah turned her back on the class to start writing in bullet form on the chalkboard, her students furiously copied every word, their heads bobbing up and down and pen-wielding fingers moving in a blur. It was clear that her students were all afraid of her, but their spellbound expressions also told him that they weren’t hanging over her every word purely out of fear. Anisah knew what she was talking about, and her students were smart enough to appreciate this.
Tarif reached for his phone inside his pocket, hesitated for a moment, and then thought, Why the hell not?
The sheikh took his phone out.
Click.
He glanced at his phone after taking the photo, and his face became expressionless. In his thirty-plus years of existence, this was the very first time he had cared enough to take a woman’s photo. And for it to be Anisah Kahveci—-
He remembered how last night had ended, with Anisah so mortified at having been caught in a compromising position that she couldn’t even make herself look at him as she grabbed her sister’s hand and started dragging a confused but grinning Hyacinth towards the doors.
‘I’m so sorry, sheikh,’ the younger woman had called out to him with mischief sparkling in her eyes. ‘I’ll remember to, umm, knock next time.’
Over Anisah’s groan of embarrassment, Tarif had answered back politely, ‘Please do so, anisdi. I will not appreciate a similar interruption next time—-’
To which his lovely puritan had let out an appalled gasp just before whirling around to glower at him. “A bit more discretion would not be amiss, Your Highness!”
The memory had the sheikh’s lips twisting in a wry smile. She had warned him not to do anything to make her fall in love with him, but did she not see that she was as much a danger to him as well?
Had the damn woman even paused to think of how Tarif hadn’t touched another woman ever since she entered his line of sight?
And for the coup de grace, she had now reduced him into secretly taking her photos like he was no better than the stalker next door.
Tarif shook his head in chagrin.
Ah, my sweet. Do you not see the irony here?
The way things were, maybe he should have set the same conditions as well. Or maybe just that last one would do.
You must promise not to do anything that will make me fall in love with you.
Because God knew...
Someone like him, whose only idea of love was his own mother’s selfish, twisted, and depraved version of it –
Someone like him was bound to fuck things up.
****
Anisah severely repressed her smile as she watched her students simultaneously breathe a silent sigh of relief at the sound of the bell ringing. She knew it was terrible of her, but she really did quite enjoy terrorizing the adorable little brats.
“Please review Lesson 2 thoroughly; we’ll have a graded recitation on our next meeting.” When the class started to groan, she raised an inquiring brow, asking sweetly, “Perhaps you would prefer a quiz instead?”
Identical looks of horror greeted her words, and then everyone was vehemently shaking their heads and assuring her that no, they absolutely did not prefer a quiz to a graded recitation.
