Post your reactions as you read!

First draft: July 2018

"Hey Niall," Claire called as entered the kitchen. "Where's Zayn?"

"In his room," Niall replied. "He said he had to pray."

Claire's brow creased. She fixed the strap of her bag on her shoulder and leaned against the counter, still not used to her brother's drastic change of belief.

"They've got quite a lot of prayers, don't they?" she asked , sounding a tad intrigued.

"Yeah," Niall replied, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Five times, at least."

Claire blew out a breath.

"That's a lot!" She stepped away from the counter she was leaning against. "I wonder how he even manages to remember, let alone stick to the schedule."

Niall laughed. Claire casually walked out of the kitchen. Once sure no one was watching her, she sprinted up the steps to spy on her brother. She liked watching him do the new ritual. It was an unfamiliar display of standing up, kneeling and then bowing down in a calm, disciplined sort of a way that she was not used to see him do. Her brother was often involved in more aggressive, energetic activities, focused on bringing forth his raw power, speed, vigor and agility.

To see him practice something so quiet and tranquil was a nice change. Claire smiled as Zayn settled down with his feet folded under him and his hands place just above his knees.

"What're you doing?" Niall chuckled next to her ear. Startled, Claire quickly jumped away from the crack of the door through which she was watching Zayn.

"Shh! He's praying," Claire whispered.

"Then don't disturb him," Niall whispered back, sounding amused.

"I'm not!" she defended. "I'm only watching."

Claire crawled back to her spot next to the door. Finding her behavior cute, Niall kneeled besides her, trying to see what had her so enthralled. He was surprised to see Zayn laying on his back, tossing a football up into the air and then catching it absentmindedly, his gaze firmly fixed on the ceiling. He seemed to be muttering, judging by the slight movement of his lips.

"Err, is this part of the prayer?" Niall asked, his brow furrowed.

"I don't know." Claire blinked, equally bemused. "Maybe . . ?"

"Seems like a perfect religion for a footy-player," Niall commented, watching Zayn toss the ball and catch it, repeatedly. "Anyway, let's not invade his privacy anymore."

Niall backed away and got up to his feet. A while later, Claire too decided to stop being a creep as well.

***

Zayn tossed the football and caught it.

I'm trying, he frowned at the ceiling. Ya Allah, I'm trying my best, but it's not working out the way I want it to.

Zayn tossed the football again. 

He knew the proper way of asking Allah was to sit down and lift his hands to the heavens with his palms facing up, but he always ended up walking around restlessly or lying on his back. Robert said it was alright, because the prayer was basically a connection between the heart and the Creator, so Zayn did not bother too much about the physical etiquette of praying.

Right now, he was complaining about the girl he loved.

I'm not exactly complaining, Zayn pouted at the ceiling, but You know my struggle. You've wired me this way. I'm not removing blame from myself, I'm just saying, I can't help myself around her. I'm struggling to hold back. She so cute and hot at the same time, I –

Zayn groaned.

You know what goes through my head! It's been more than a year now! Our nikkah is several months old, we've been on five outings, and I haven't kissed her even once. What am I saying? We don't even hug each other. I can sense that she's still not comfortable with my touch. She doesn't even hold my hand, not unless I am the one reaching out for hers first. Then she keeps it for a while, but I know she's only doing it to spare my feelings . . . 

Zayn sighed miserably.

. . .I just wished she'd love me back.

Toss and catch. Toss and catch. Toss and catch.

I'm not complaining, by the way, just venting out, Zayn pursed his lips, I'm grateful that she's at least letting me stay around her. It's a miracle that that has happened. I know You made that possible . . . and I'm trying to stay patient with whatever You've planned for me, but . . .

Toss and catch.

But if You would, maybe, hack into her heart a little? Like, tune her emotions so she'd love me back? Or, maybe show me how I can win her over? Or, at least, at the very least, guide me to something that would ease her nerves so she lets me hold her. . ?

Toss and –

Beep.

Zayn groaned when he turned to his phone and the ball landed on his cheek painfully. It bounced off of his face and under the bed. He sat up to reach for his phone lying on the side table. His features lit up and his heart started racing to see a text from Salma.

"You see this?" he said, staring above him while his finger pointed at his chest. "This is the effect of one text from that perfect human bee You created. This thump-thump is going berserk already. And I haven't even read the text."

He flopped back on his bed, unlocking his phone.

MyBee: Assalamo'Alaykum ^^

Zayn felt his body buzz with energy. He grabbed a pillow and slammed it on his face.

"Argh! I love her so much," he muttered, "Just one little kiss, please!"

Groaning at his fluttering heart, he flipped over his back and tried to type a normal reply instead of saying what was going through his head.

Zayn: Wa'Alaykum Assalam. What's up?

He started counting the seconds in hid head, desperately waiting for her reply.

Beep, and his heart exploded into another round of fireworks.

MyBee: Nothing much, just James and Dean driving me crazy.

Zayn chuckled.

"Want me to rescue you?" He smirked at his phone as he typed a response but she beat him to it with another text.

MyBee: James asked for your number. Is that alright?

Zayn paused, frowning. What was that rat up to?

Zayn: Sure . . .

***

"Thanks!" Salma smiled when Zayn handed her a cup coffee.

"Always a pleasure, Bee, always a pleasure." Zayn smirked.

"Bruh!" Niall chuckled at him.

Zayn turned to him, annoyed, but Niall had already started walking away to his class. Huffing, Zayn followed after him.

"Did James call you?" Salma asked, falling in step with Zayn.

Zayn took a sip of his drink, strangely aware of her soft, warm hand, stuffed inside her coat pocket.

"No." Zayn looked away, telling himself taking her hand out so he could hold it was not a good idea. "Did he mention why he needed my number?"

"He said something about giving you tips to score more goals or something."

Zayn turned to her, incredulous. He could not help the laugh escaping his lips.

"Look, Bee, I mean no offense, but Thomas giving me tips is like me telling Ronaldo or Messi how to score!"

Salma rolled her eyes.

"I don't know, alright." She huffed. "They were just being weird anyway."

"Anyway, are we still going out today?" Zayn asked.

"Yeah, sure." Salma shrugged.

Zayn smiled, telling himself that was enough of a response but then he could not help himself and held his hand towards her. Salma backed off a little, blinking at his hand, then smiled. Rolling her eyes, she took her hand out of her pocket and placed it into his outstretched hand.

Zayn beamed at her, trying hard to ignore how her fingers stiffened the moment he wrapped his hand around it. Salma, on the other hand was doing her best not to focus on the warm, tingling sensation shooting up her arm from the hand in Zayn's grasp. In an attempt to distract herself she tried to figure out what could James be up to?

"I heard he took you out the other day?" James had inquired casually, munching on bag of chips.

Salma, who was curled up on the far end of the couch, tensed, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

And every working day after that, she added in her head.

"He did," she replied shortly.

James nodded, staying quiet for a while before clearing his throat.

"So, he's behaving himself?"

Salma felt a smile stretching on her lips.

"Why do I have a feeling that everyone's just waiting for him to put a toe out of the line?" she said amused.

"Because he's an ill-disciplined brat, and I don't know about anyone else, but I'm just looking for an excuse to fight someone. I'm bored."

Salma chuckled.

"Don't go stirring trouble for yourself, Thomas."

"Yes, mother!"

Salma stuck her tongue out at him.

"Aw, she's so mature," she heard Dean coo as he came out of the kitchen to join the two. "And that was great dodging the question right there." He lounged himself on the adjacent couch. "You didn't tell him if Zayn was treating you right."

"Eavesdropping is a sin, you know." Salma raised a brow.

"So is lying." James added

"I didn't lie. That was just an unintentional dodge," Salma replied matter-of- factly. "And to answer the question, Zayn's been really nice and understanding –"

"Um hm," James hummed his disbelief.

"Is he now?" Dean chuckled.

Salma scowled at the pair.

"What does that mean?"

"How's his patience doing?" James asked, his eyes fixed on packet of chips in his hands.

"Great?" Salma shrugged, making it sound like she had absolutely no clue.

The two boys exchanged a look.

"Poor thing," Dean muttered.

"Wish I could say, serves him right," James added.

"Guys, what's going on?" Salma stared between the two, an eyebrow raised skeptically.

"Do you like him?" James asked suddenly, catching her off guard.

"Whoa! Whoa! We're not having this discussion, Thomas!" Salma sat up straight, holding her hands in surrender position. "Nope! You're boys –"

"Calm down, he meant in general," Dean cut in. "As in, is he finally off your 'to slap on sight' list?"

"Yeah, that exactly." James shrugged. "Is he slowly easing into your 'to kiss on sight –" James broke up mid-sentence and jumped away from Salma. "DAMN THAT AUTO-CORRECT! I meant 'to kill'! I meant 'to kill'!"

Salma fixed him with a heated glare before lowering her raised fist and turned away in annoyance. She was feeling terribly unnerved.

"I don't appreciate this," she said crossly. "Keep to your limits!"

"Gah!" James cried, exasperated. "Did you want me to say 'to kiss on first – okay nevermind!"

James jumped back on the couch and resumed choosing chips out of the packet, ignoring Salma and Dean's glare. None of them said a thing for a while. James glanced at Salma out of the corner of his eye. He saw Dean doing the same. The two had sensed that Salma was deeply bothered by the discussion and they were in for another lecture on 'what's considered inappropriate when talking to Muslim girls'.

James rolled his eyes. Not wanting her to storm out in annoyance, and get Alley or Uncle Dawood to sit them down for a talk, he decided to placate her.

"So . . ?" he began, making Salma turn to him angrily. "Is he, you know, out of the to-slap list?"

Dean muttered his disbelief while Salma's eyebrows shot up. Was he for real?

"Yes, he is!" Salma snapped, annoyed.

The two boys exchanged another glance.

"Then you're around him quite a lot?" Dean asked.

"Yes - no, not quite a lot but – what're you guys on about, anyway?"

The boys turned to each other, disregarding her questions.

"He's struggling," James muttered, focusing on his snack.

"I can't believe I feel bad for him."

Salma shot to her feet and rounded on them.

"Alright, enough with the cryptic commentary! Tell me what do you know!" She demanded. "Spill!"

"Err. . ?" Dean trailed off before both the boys tipped an imaginary glass in the air, spilling its content.

"For Allah's sake! I'm --"

"Here's the thing Sallabae, he needs help," James interrupted calmly. "Pass me his number, will you?"

"What?" Salma features contorted with confusion and incredulity.

"He's failing to hit his targets," James said matter-of- factly. "And it might end up frustrating him and if that happens, there's a chance he'd take it out on you, and I don't want that."

Salma raised an incredulous brow.

"He's talking about football, Sally!" Dean sighed impatiently. "Have you seen his performance lately. It's horrible!"

"Uh huh," Salma said, not buying it. "He hasn't been playing at all, as of late."

"Exactly!" James exclaimed. "Because he's been benched!"

"No, he's out injured, sweetheart." Salma smiled at him sarcastically.

"Just give me his number, woman!" James snapped. "I know more about what's going on than you. He's struggling! Do you want him to turn into moody imbecile that he is?!"

"Don't call him that!" Salma snapped back.

"Oh, come on, you're just –"

"And you might want to change that tone of yours when you talk to me," Salma challenged further.

"I –"

"Look, he's in trouble and we don't want him taking it out on you, which is possible considering you're around him a lot," Dean quickly intervene, realizing she was getting agitated. "Just let us help the lad out."

Salma eyed the two boys trying to catch the lie.

"Also, apologies for the tone, my Queen," James quickly added. "You know, you're the boss here. I'm an unworthy pleb."

"You're overdoing it now," Salma replied, biting back a smile.

"Anything to get what I want, yeah?" He winked.

Dean shook his head.

"I live with this monstrosity. Imagine!"

"I feel your pain." Salma patted his shoulder in consolation.

"Yes, yes, we are all sad about it . . . now the number, if you please, Your Highness?" James smiled at Salma. "Dude really needs my help."

Salma let out a breath. They were driving her crazy. One minute they were drilling her on how Zayn was around her and the next, they were discussing his football performance and how he needed help with that. She caved in after a while, throwing her hands up in defeat.

"Oh, alright then." She had sighed before turning on her feet to grab her phone from upstairs. "Give me a minute!"

"Take ten!"

Author's Note:

So what is James and Dean upto? 0.0

Vote, comment and share!

Drop by my patreon to read up to chapter 81. Thank you for all your support! ^^

Lots of Love

J.