Maha

Kaif has a non-negotiable curfew of ten on school nights, which he himself reset to nine. I know what you're probably thinking. Which high-school teenage boy in his sane mind sets his own curfew at nine? You don't know Kaif. He's your consummate neighborhood good boy. But last night he came home well past nine. I didn't even know he came until I saw the sliver of light under his bedroom door. Pop and I agreed not to tell mom what happened. If we did, she'd have made us bake the Reconciliation Cookies. And, while I've got nothing against cookies, I'm pretty sure if there's anything Kaif wants from me now, it's space. Oh, and I didn't tell Pop about the mysterious envelope.

It's Italian takeaway night. We're all scattered in the living room; Mom and Kaif coiled on the sofa while Pop and I on the furry carpet, open Styrofoam containers of food resting on all of our laps. The room is dimly lit by only the golden glow of a corner floor lamp and we're watching Big Hero 6 on Netflix. Pop says how much Baymax's physique corresponds with his own and Mom says Hiro's hair is overdue for a haircut. My parents being typical. I'm not sure I can say the same for Kaif. He hasn't made a single comment on the movie so far, and we're already half an hour deep. I chose this movie because this is actually the kind of movie he's into. He doesn't even cast irritated looks at me when I intentionally slurp my food.

Since morning I've been expecting Kaif to brandish the photos and demand an explanation. I don't know what's retraining him. I bring my takeaway container closer to my face as I shove my spaghetti spooled plastic fork into my mouth while glancing furtively at my brother.

When the credits start to roll, mom and I collect the empty, greasy disposable containers and head to kitchen.

"Maha," Pop calls from the living room, "can you bring me some water?"

"I can try." I say, because I have an impressive history of tripping over invisible feet.

When I return with Pop's glass of water I find Kaif gone. I sigh audibly and Pop looks up with a raised eyebrow. He pats on the spot next to him on the sofa, motioning me to sit. He chugs down half of the water before setting down the glass on the varnished center table and facing me.

"Is there something bothering my peanut?"

I slip my feet out of my warm flip-flops and curl up on the sofa. The TV is showing the rerun of some car race and I watch the cars smoothly speeding along the asphalt track for a few seconds without actually watching them, before muttering, "I'm a huge let down as an older sibling." I see Pop tilt his head from my peripheral vision but I don't look at him. I don't want to see the worry on his face. "Every time I try too hard I feel like I'm kidding myself. Like I'm playing make believe. Wissam made it all seem so effortless. It came so naturally for him. It's almost... not fair. I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't be doing this; constantly compare myself to him. I can't help it."

Pop mutes the TV and shifts on his seat. "You have nothing to be sorry about, Maha. I know Wissam was and always will be a significant part of your life. I know how much you used to look up to him that it's only natural for you to compare yourself to him and try to emulate him. Isn't that how role models work?" He pauses briefly to take my hand in his big ones. "Listen. There will always be trials and errors in this life. You'll just have to keep persevering. You are really strong, Maha. Look at yourself. Wissam's disappearance had been so hard on you but you still managed to put one foot in front of the other and you've come so far. I'm proud of you. Also, Kaif's a smart kid. He's just going though something, which is understandable, given his age. He'll come around when he's ready and then you two will sort things out among yourselves. I know it."

I smile at him. "Thanks, Popsicle."

"Anytime, peanut."

The car race is over and the racers are stepping out of their cars. The screen pans to a particular racer, catching him in the act of pulling off his helmet. His floppy copper hair gleams in the sun as he grins widely. The moment the face registers in my mind my heart stops for the briefest of moments. I blink rapidly a few times. Am I... hallucinating?

"Who... is that guy?" I ask, my voice just a notch above a whisper.

I didn't think Pop heard me. But then he answers, "Him? Yusha. Yusha Zaber. He..."

Pop continues to talk but a second voice obtrudes into my head, tuning him out.

Try searching Yusha Zaber. Google might hold some answers.

Placing a cushion on my lap, I prop my laptop up on it. I press the power button and awaken the PC before typing in my password. Navigating my pointer to Google Chrome, I double-click on the browser. Deliberating on the spelling of the name for a few seconds, I type Yousha Zaber and press Enter.

Showing results for Yusha Zaber

I click on 'images'. 

It's him. The guy from Target.

The images are of him in different attires and poses, varying angles and expressions. I go back to 'All' and bring my attention to the first result, which is Wikipedia. My brows knit and my finger hovers over the mousepad. If this guy has a Wikipedia page dedicated to him then he is somebody. Obviously. Like I didn't just fudging see on the TV like five minutes ago. Ignoring the blooming uneasiness in my stomach, I click.

Yusha Azlan Zaber (born 8 October, 1991) is an American racing driver and the founder and CEO of his own company, AIDEN Technologies. At the 2008 Australian Grand Prix, when he was 17 years, 132 days, he became the youngest driver to compete in Formula One. Presently, he competes in Formula One for Mercedes. In Formula One, Yusha has won three World Drivers' Championship titles, whilst securing the third-highest wins (58), pole positions (84) and podium finishes (111), among others.

AIDEN Technologies? Wasn't that...?

I grab my phone and tap on the photos icon. I tap on one of the pics of the envelope I snapped before returning it to Kaif and zoom in on the company trademark at the corner.

Yes, it's the very same company.

But how on earth did Yusha get his hands on those photos? And why send them to Kaif?

I resume reading.

Born in Phoenix, Arizona, he and his family moved to Manhattan, New York, when he was five. Yusha was signed to the Mercedes Junior Team in 2006, at the age of 15.

I down-arrow through some of the fat paragraphs spattered with Yusha's overwhelming achievements, until I reach the following heading:

Early life and education

Yusha was born on 8 October 1991 in Phoenix, Arizona, USA. He and his family move to Manhattan, New York, when he was five. Yusha comes from an elite American family. His parents are Real Estate developer Ayman Zaber, CEO of Domino Corp, and former Vogue Magazine journalist, Famya Eva Zaber (deceased). Yusha had an older sister, Yamira, who died a sudden and mysterious death in late 2004.

Yusha went to Mellow Ridge Middle School. At age 14, Yusha left his home on his own volition. After that, he did homeschooling (ironic) while pursuing his dream occupation as a racing driver. In addition to racing, Yusha took up kickboxing to keep in shape.

Note to self: run away from home to become a prodigy.

Also, Mellow Ridge? I went that same school. Do I know him? But, then again, that was light years ago. I can't even remember what I have for breakfast sometimes. Let alone someone from my middle school. I scroll down.

IT Career

In early 2010, Yusha set up his own IT company, AIDEN Technologies (AIDEN short for Artificial Intelligence Developing Engineering Networks). Tabloids have endowed him as 'a real visionary' gifted with the technical insight to design innovative solutions in the rapidly altering IT world. Over the span of a few short years, Yusha has built AIDEN into what is now a globally recognized IT training organization.

I cough and choke on my spit.

Dude, you're only twenty-four. Give it a rest. The guy must have Bill Gates as his role model since he could walk.

Scroll. Scroll. Scroll. (Oh my god, this is never-ending.)

Wealth and Personal life

Yusha avoids answering questions about and commenting on his personal life. Hints of estrangement between Yusha and his father, however, has been picked up on during social events. Media speculations say Yusha may have decided to close himself off after the demise of his sister and mother.

In 2014, Yusha was ranked as the richest American sportsperson below 25, with an estimated personal fortune of US$71 million and a net worth of US$142 million.

The digits are making me dizzy and I snap the lid of my laptop shut, willing my bed to swallow me up.

Deep breaths, Mia. Deep breaths.

This is unbelievable.

This is ridiculous.

This is...

YA ALLAH, I CHANCED UPON A CELEBRITY TWICE A DAY AND I CALLED HIM A BLUDGERING MONKEY AND A FRAUD.

After a long, indecisive moment, I re-awaken the laptop and scroll to the top where there's a picture of Yusha. I cough lightly into my fist.

"I'm sorry for the offensive comment," I say, staring at Yusha's face, "but, contrary to popular belief, not everyone keeps tabs on celebrities. Also, I get that you're some millionaire and ten dollars may be of insignificance to you," I continue like I'm speaking to an actual person, "but it's still money and that amount can mean a lot to someone else. So, I've come to the conclusion that you kind of deserved the way I treated you." I smile, feeling better. Then frown. "I still don't know what your deal is with the envelope, though."

My eyes flick to his name and I keep them trained on it. Yusha Azlan Zaber. Then a cog shifts in my head. I blur out all the letters of his name except the initials.

Y               A              Z

I knit the letters together in my head.

And, just like that, the name which has been buried ten years deep into my past, jolts to life.