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Hyacinth quickly shook her head, saying wryly, “I’m not, actually. Maybe I should be, and I’m being an idiot, trusting him too much, but no. I’m not, Mrs. B.”
“Then what’s wrong?” Mrs. Bauer asked simply.
“Nothing in particular...” Hyacinth shifted restlessly in her seat.
Weeks had already passed since the sheikh had gatecrashed the garden party, and even now, a part of her found the whole thing surreal. She had never been the type to undervalue her own worth, but she had never been the type to dream foolishly either. She knew what she didn’t deserve, but was Sheikh Rayyan Al-Atassi someone she did deserve?
Looking up, she was about to speak when she noticed the drawn look on her homeroom teacher’s face as the older woman scrolled on her phone. “Everything okay?” Hyacinth asked uncertainly.
“Yes, of course.” Mrs. Bauer quickly put her phone down, but not quick enough for Hyacinth to miss the name on the message sender field.
Hassam.
Wasn’t that the name of Mrs. Bauer’s husband?
Taking a deep breath, she decided to simply get it out in the open and asked bluntly, “Lovers’ quarrel?”
Mrs. Bauer’s brows shot up. “Excuse me?”
“The text message,” she admitted somewhat sheepishly. “I saw it was from your husband.”
“Why you little—-”
“I couldn’t help it,” she protested. “I was curious!” She then added right away, “Is it what I think it is then?”
The older woman shot her a cold look. “Have you not been taught about respecting other people’s privacy?”
Hyacinth nodded sagely, saying, “So it is a lovers’ quarrel.”
“Mind your own business!”
“Care to tell me about it? Maybe I can help—-”
The older woman raised a brow. “And what would you know about love?”
“How about you tell me what you know,” Hyacinth bargained, “and I’ll tell you what I know.” The words were meant to be a joke, and she had thought the other woman understood this, but Hyacinth was stunned speechless when her homeroom teacher actually took her seriously.
It’s when the idea of him stealing a kiss makes you smile.
It’s when the prospect of losing him to another woman makes you sick to your stomach.
It’s when the thought of him in pain makes you want to hurt for him.
Hyacinth was at a loss. That was way, way, way too deep for her.
“And most of all...”
Mrs. Bauer slowly pulled the loose sleeve of her abaya all the way up to her elbow until a small, plain rectangular tattoo was revealed.
“This...”
Hyacinth tried not to keep her confusion to herself. What the fuck was that? It was no different from all the temporary stamps she saw being used by cinemas and concerts, just minus the words.
“Even when it’s no longer yours, you want it to still be a part of you.”
Hyacinth’s eyes widened.
Was Mrs. Bauer saying – her husband had left her? Or that Mr. Bauer no longer loved her?
Countless questions threatened to tumble past her lips, but before she could say a single word, her homeroom teacher’s alarm went off again, and the moment was ruined.
“Mrs. Bauer—-”
“Thank you for dropping by, Hyacinth.”
The older woman’s voice was brisk and firm, the kind that was heavily underscored by the words ‘DROP IT’, and Hyacinth reluctantly did as asked.
Seek counsel of him who makes you weep, and not of him who makes you laugh.
The words came from a book Anisah had gifted her when she was young, a collection of proverbs that Anisah had unconsciously found herself relying on when her own words failed her. They always rang true, and the present was no different; Mrs. Bauer’s pain was not her pain, and to speak a single word of discomfort would only be a sign of disrespect.
Even so, Hyacinth couldn’t stop herself from worrying, and the whole bus ride back to the palace was spent reviewing the older woman’s words. It was just so unlike Mrs. B. to show weakness, and she wondered if it was something she should speak to the sheikh about. She might not be able to help Mrs. B., but the sheikh was different. Right?
Thoughts of Mrs. B lingered in her mind even as she joined Anisah for dinner and worked on her school paper afterwards. It was about eleven in the evening when she decided to call it a night, but instead of heading to bed, she found herself slipping out of the apartment to make a call.
Pick up, sheikh.
But her calls – all four of them – went straight to voice mail.
And out of the blue, fear – invisible, palpable, and carnivorous – crawled down her spine, telling her what she shouldn’t know.
Rayyan.
Eight
Even though it was far from the first time he had seen his esteemed employer take part in undercover raids, Gadi still felt the same sense of wonder as he watched Sheikh Rayyan Al-Atassi effortlessly blend with the rest of the black-outfitted members of S.W.A.T.
Praise Al Afea for his courage!
