A/N: Beautiful banner is by oceanwaved

———

Hunger.

Pure, unadulterated hunger pulses through my veins. Hunger is the new emotion in this tug of war happening in my body. It is the fuel that is driving my body to insanity. An emotion I can't control. A tug of war that I can't stop.

Eat.

Pray.

Eat.

Pray.

Freaking eat!

Patience pretty girl, pray.

I slam my head against the table and groan loudly before picking up my sad excuse for a draft. I squeeze the paper in my fist and throw it into the waste bin located at the corner of my room. It lands into the bin perfectly, joining it's fallen, ancestors.

Great. Because I'm hungry, I can't even write. Not that I'm a particularly good writer on a normal day but this is a new low, even for me. Hunger as fuel to a tug of war? What the heck am I thinking?!

I groan again and bang my head against the table, ignoring the sting that comes with the impact.

"Getting a concussion won't stop the hunger," I vaguely hear my father say. "Really. I tried it once upon a time. It didn't work."

"Since when do you fast?" I raise my head to look up at him, lips pursed in confusion. His brown eyes twinkle as he walks into my room.

"I was on a diet, thank you very much." He sits on my bed like he owns it. Typical.

My father and I are really close. Ever since my mother died right after giving birth to me, my dad had taken the liberty to try and be a good single father. It worked for a while; just the two of us against the world, eating Chinese take out every day. That is until he fell for my middle school teacher, Georgia, who also happened to have a daughter named Vanessa, and also couldn't cook a decent meal to save her life.

And voila; new family members and a larger bill from the Chinese restaurant.

"What are you thinking about?" my father actually has the audacity to spread his tall, lean body across my bed. He kicks off his shoes and crosses his legs for extra measure. I roll my eyes.

Well, there goes my perfectly laid bed. Ugh.

"Your receding hairline," I reply. I watch as his face turns red and he gives me a sharp look. I stifle a laugh.

"Don't talk about my hair like that young lady, it's your fault. You give me stress with that loud mouth of yours."

"Something I clearly got from you."

He uses my blanket to cover himself. "Whatever."

I laugh and walk over to him. His face looks serene. It's obvious that he's sleepy.

Unfortunately for me, I have the neatest and most comfortable bed in the house. This means that sometimes, anyone could walk into sleep or rest. My father and Georgia aren't an exception to this, despite the almighty king-sized bed in their room.

It's not easy being the neat freak in the family.

Vanessa walks into my room. She sees my father already lounging on my bed and she groans loudly. "What?! Where am I meant to sleep?"

"Your room," my father, ever the hypocrite mumbles.

Vanessa rolls her eyes. "I call dibs on it tomorrow."

"Seniority surpasses dibs," he says yet again. He even cracks an eye open to glare at her.

"Says your hairline," she laughs finally. Then she waves at me and walks out of the room without preamble.

"Why is everyone against my hairline?"

I ignore his question and put my veil neatly on top of my head. "I'm going out for a stroll. Have a nice nap."

My reply is a slight snore.

———

In my neighborhood, a group of hobos normally lounge around a particular lamp post and this lamp post is my destination.

With a spring in my step, I walk down to the hobo lamp post. The hobos, as always, look happy. In a hobo kind of way.

I pull out a small bunch of dollar notes. It's about thirty dollars in total—my saved up allowance. Chocolate chip cookies can go crumble themselves right now; I'm in the mood for some charity. I'm in the mood to help these people.

Plus, Zakat exists. But I'm not rich enough for Zakat so, I'm just going to do this. Yeah.

"Hey, pretty lady. A nice scarf," one of them says to me. He says it in such a way that it's more of a compliment and not a way to mock me or leer at me as most people do. I smile although I keep my distance.

"Thank you," I reply and I quickly toss the small wad of cash to him. He catches it with wide eyes. His friends stare at it.

"Share it amongst yourselves. Have a nice day! Ramadan Kareem!"

And then, I walk away quickly before I watch The Hobo Wars with a first-class VIP ticket.

You know. With a front-row seat.

Very good view. Maybe even 3D glasses.

But...no popcorn. Because I'm fasting.

I ignore the way my stomach grumbles as continue walking down the street to make my way back home.

"Diadem! Hey, Diadem! Steroid Pillow here!"

What the actual fudge...?

I turn around to find Zayn Malik look-alike, walking towards me. His smile is large and he's juggling a lot of grocery bags.

I can't help but smile. Dork.

"Hey Damon," I say. I don't even bother trying to look like I'm not interested. "What's up?"

"Errands. Lots and lots of them. Mr. and Mrs. Hall are going crazy with the snickerdoodles and they're like three thousand miles away on some holiday," he rolls his eyes. "So they sent me to buy loads of flour and butter. And sugar."

"No eggs?" I turn around to keep walking and he huffs as he walks beside me.

"I'm a total klutz sometimes so no," he adjusts the bags. I see the strain on his knuckles and I sigh as I drag two bags away from him.

He sends me a grateful look.

We walk in relative silence. We quickly cross the road. We continue to walk. All in silence.

"So. What do you plan to make for my Iftar today?" I break the silence and look up at him with a slight smile. He isn't really tall but he's taller than I am so there's no problem. I doubt he's even up to Kenneth's six-foot frame.

"That's going to be a surprise," he laughs. I roll my eyes at him but we continue to walk, albeit slowly.

Hmm. Were we walking at this pace before? I swear, we weren't this slow about five seconds ago...

Suddenly, I'm made aware of my surroundings because of the feeling of being watched and sure enough, the feeling never lies. A boy our age walks towards Damon and me, his gaze locked on me. His hair is blond and his eyes glint with bad intentions. I ignore the dread in my stomach as he stops directly in front of me, blocking my path.

Here we go with the stupid comments...

"Where's your bomb?" he sneers down at me. "Out of ammunition?"

I stare up at him but say nothing in reply. I've heard worse. His insult is elementary but his eyes still glint with hatred. I automatically feel mine narrow.

"Terrorist bitch," he spits.

A bunch of grocery bags comes in contact with his face and I watch as he falls down to the pavement, looking shocked.

I'm in shock too. Did I hit him?? I didn't mean to! I'm not even meant to fight, I'm meant to ignore him and let his ignorant comments hit my bulletproof walls! Really!

I blink when I realize the blond devil isn't looking at me. He's busy looking at the person beside me. I slowly cast my gaze to Damon, to see him looking down at him with a face full of disgust and disappointment.

"Dude," blond devil groans while rubbing his cheek. "The actual fuck?"

"Don't say vulgar stuff around her, she's fasting," Damon raises his bags of groceries and the boy pales. "Don't even look at her. Scum like you would only taint her."

I stare, wide-eyed, at Damon. He isn't particularly big but he has a very intimidating stare.

He just smacked someone with a bag full of flour for me. That's touching. And...cool.

I hide a smile and I tap Damon's hand lightly. "Let's go."

Damon nods and raises the bag of groceries in a threatening manner. The boy flinches and backs away. I chuckle.

Finally, Damon and I continue on our way. "I can't believe you slapped a guy with a grocery bag full of flour."

"Well, I didn't want to use the bag full of butter?" Damon sheepishly laughs. He suddenly looks five times more attractive and I can't help but let the warm feeling in my gut expand.

"Thanks. For standing up for me. You didn't have to but it was really sweet." I look up at him again.

"It's no problem. Plus, I think I kind of saved the guy. You looked ready to bite his nose off," he gives me a wary look. "I mean, literally."

I laugh and roll my eyes at him. We stop in front of Halle Café and I give him back the bags. He collects them with a grateful look on his face.

"You aren't coming in?" he raises both eyebrows. I have a feeling that his intention was to raise one. Oh well.

"Nope. I'm kinda...hungry. I'm not going to listen to my stomach cry as soon as I inhale the sugary goodness," I look down at my watch. "Besides, it's almost time for Asr."

"Asr...?"

"Late afternoon prayer," I laugh at the look on his face as he finally gets the meaning. "Thank you for slapping the blond guy back there."

"Thank you for helping me carry the bags. You're a lifesaver," he smiles. "Do you want me to deliver the food to you?"

"Yes please," I practically jump in glee. "Bring it around eight-thirty. That's when I'll be able to eat."

"No problem. See you then, Diadem."

"No problem-o, Steroid Pillow."

We stand there for a few unnecessary seconds, just smiling and grinning to ourselves. We must look slightly insane.

I break out of it first. "Later."

I quickly cross the road, jog to my front door, open it, slip inside and slam it shut before he can say anything.

Smooth, Paulina, smooth.

———

I open the front door and basket full of food makes me laugh. Damon isn't anywhere to be seen so I pick up the basket and carry it into the house. My family members are busy living their lives; Vanessa is busy playing her guitar in her room and my father and Georgia are busy watching old episodes of The Big Bang Theory.

I take my basket of food to my room.

I start going through the items in the basket as soon as I'm settled on my—thankfully empty—bed. Damon is very thorough. The packs are labeled with the names of the food and when they should be eaten.

Samosas: suhoor. I made them extra spicy so watch out.

Rice and beef stroganoff: Iftar, the main course. Let your taste buds do the salsa. Get it? Salsa? Getttt it? If you don't, I revoke our fast budding friendship certificate.

Chocolate coated strawberries: dessert for Iftar. You're welcome.

Snickerdoodles: a thank you gift for helping me out with the grocery bags. And for keeping me company. And for giving me the opportunity to bitch slap a douche with a bag of flour (oh, I just cussed. Forgive me)

I laugh as I roll my eyes at every single note. What a dork.

Finally, I come across one last note. It isn't attached to any take away pack so I sigh and slowly pick it up.

Sorry that we couldn't see each other. Emergency call from home. Sisters are a pain. I'll see you tomorrow.
Also, if you need to talk, here's my number: ****-****-****
PS: Did I tell you that I think you looked really pretty when you were glaring at the blond douche? No? Oh, okay. You looked really pretty.
PPS: If the last part didn't make you blush, burn the note. I'm serious Diadem. Burn it.

I laugh and retract my diary from under my pillow, and place the note inside for safekeeping. Then I get my phone and save his number: Steroid Pillow.

Call me hooked but I don't bother to follow the three-day rule thing at all. I start forming my text as I shovel a spoonful of heavenly rice and beef stroganoff into my mouth. I can't ignore the way my tongue moans.

Finally, I press send and I wait.

The reply is instant.

Me: Steroid pillow thinks he's smoother than mayo.

Steroid Pillow: Diadem, really, you have to get me a better nickname. What about Smooth Talker?

Me: Smooth Steroid? Lmao.

Steroid Pillow: ...Nevermind.

I have a very strong feeling that my phone bill is going to be a thorn in dad's existence.

Just a hunch.

a/n: and scene! How did you like this chapter? Was it good enough for you? I hope so.

Vote, comment, share?