Maha

As I take off the coat I realize I forgot to return it to Yusha. 

Yusha.

How is it that we've met after so long but he's able to act totally nonchalant around me? Even after dropping out of school without so much of a goodbye. Was our friendship so meaningless to him?

I sigh and toss the coat on my bed.

I squint as something small, black and shiny pops out.

A flash drive?

I stare at it long and hard. Well, if there's something confidential, surely he wouldn't be carrying it around so carelessly, right?

Out of massive curiosity, I plug it into the USB port of my laptop.

Images pop up. Images of... wait, hold on, ME?

Me in class.

Me on the way home.

Me and Tan and Nat working on some assignment in our school's library.

Someone's been watching me. I feel goosebumps along back.

I snap the lid of my laptop shut as a knock comes on my bedroom door.

"Yes, come in." I choke.

Pop pokes his head inside. "I want to leave right after Maghrib salah. It'll be an educational lecture by Yusha Zaber, and I don't want us to be late."

"What!?" 

Pop startles as yell. 

"What's the matter?" He asks.

"I... I mean, what time is it now? Sorry. I was... testing my voice."

<>

"This thing is way to long." I say, emerging from my bathroom while clutching the skirt of my dress off the floor.

"It's called a floor touch dress for a reason." Tan says with an eye-roll.

"It'll be okay when you wear high heels." Nat says.

I glance at the pair of silver stilettos beside my bed and grimace. "That's not exactly comforting."

<>

Two buzz cut men in trim, tailored suits with a plastic earpiece sticking out of their right ears stand sentry next to the entrance, their faces an impassive mask and their voices so monotonous that they might as well be robots. They look like NPCs in a game as all they seem to be able to say is 'Your invitation, please' before they let someone pass.

The hall inside is spacious and lit by rows and rows of countless spotlights which beam from the domed ceiling. Alignments of blue folding chairs make a seating arrangement for roughly a hundred guests. Photographers have set up their equipment in front of a makeshift stage, while two projectors hang from behind it. Pop and I aren't exactly late, but there are only a couple more vacant seats remaining.

Ten minutes later the hall darkens as the lights grow dim, making the presentation on the projectors more visible. Someone up front tests the mic.

"Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen. I am Henry Preston and I am the president of the youth magazine Caliber." the same person says, "I am so pleased to be here this evening and be given the opportunity to introduce our guest speaker, Mr. Yusha Zaber."

A single spotlight falls on a guy in a white shirt and jeans. Yusha jogs up to the stage and mounts it, a mic wrapped in one hand and waving effortlessly at the audience with the other, as the hall echoes with boisterous applause.

The projectors display an enlarged version of him so everyone can see him clearly. His hair is raked back, his jaw clean shaved and his lips play an easy smile. There is a vitality in his movements which have seemingly captivated the entire audience.

"Hello, I'm the Chairman and the CEO of AIDEN Technologies, Yusha Zaber." Yusha says. He shakes the hand of the president of Caliber, thanks him for the invitation, while cameras blink at them. Then he faces the audience again, "And to each and everyone of you, who are joining me this evening, thank you."

Mr. Preston dismounts the stage and sits down somewhere at the front.

For the next half hour or so, Yusha talks about his company, its objectives, its contributions to our country and beyond, the numerous internship programs it has to offer, its employees' working conditions, etc., etc., while giving strategic tips and advices on corporate decisions, entrepreneurship, and startup business. The kind of stuff Kaif would have undoubtedly enjoyed. He is also prompt in answering any question the audience asks him.

I don't know how many times I doze off and jerk awake in between but suddenly an applause erupts and I realize the speech is over. I muffle a yawn and the lady next to me gives a weird look. I smile at her in response.

"Such a great speech that was, right?" I tell her as everybody stands up, "Made me dream of marshmallow flavored ice-cream."

The boy who has been sitting right in front of me laughs and glances at me. It takes a few seconds for me to recognize him from this morning. Zayan doesn't even say hi before walking away. But that's okay. Pop would have found it weird and I'm saved the trouble of telling him how I was ambushed by reporters earlier today.

"Come on," Pop says, taking my hand and leading me where everybody else seem to be going as well. Which happens to be up a wide, carpeted stairwell and into another hall, just as grand as the one we left, if not more. Half of it is set up with round white tables positioned equidistant from each other.

Pop seems to be on a mission to introduce me to every familiar face we happen to come across. After meeting half a dozen of his colleagues and their kids, I quietly slip away to wander the hall by myself.

However, wandering comfortably proves to be a challenge when in a pair of foreign shoes with heels two inches high for someone whose feet are designed for sneakers and converses.

I accept a glass from one of the men in maroon shirts, who are gliding through the crowd and deftly doling out drinks on trays, and saunter towards a broad, wooden door. I push it and enter what turns out to be a balcony. Which is just perfect, given some isolation and a breath of fresh air is exactly what I'm craving.

I amble to the edge and savor the peace, but not for long.

"Careful. The wind might blow you away." Someone teases.

I turn around. 

"Lucky for me, I've always wanted to fly. How's your dad?" I add.

Yusha places his hands on the balustrade and overlooks the street below. "Nobody's called to report his death, so he must be all right."

I turn back to facing the street. "We keep encountering each other, don't we? At this rate we might become friends."

"You mean to say we aren't already?" He sounds mock hurt. "Mia?" From my periphery I see him tilt his head a little and sense the smirk in his tone as he says, "You've gotten taller. Eating your vegetables, I suppose?"

"Vegetables are overrated." I cut my eyes at him. "You've grown up as well, shy guy. And playing with the big leagues, I see."

"I guess." Yusha grins. "Although, you sound the same."

"Been pretty comfortable in this disposition to go cultivating for a new one." I take a sip from my glass. "I think you've got some explaining to do. Let's cut to the chase."

"Oh? What about?"

"Let's see." I tap lightly on my chin. "For starters, you can tell me why you sent those photos to my brother."

Yusha looks amused. "I didn't send it."

I pivot to look at him, studying him in the outer lights of the hotel that is making the building glow.

"So?"

Yusha emulates my posture. "So?"

"Who was it?"

"What makes you think I know?" Yusha's tone is challenging.

"The envelope in which the photos came had your company's name and nothing else. If you're not the sender as you claim, then someone is indubitably pointing fingers at you. Didn't you look into it?"

"Now, why would someone do that?"

"I should be asking you that. Aren't you the one who wanted me to meet you here?" I raise an eyebrow. I balance the glass in my hand on the ledge and root around inside my purse and find the pen-drive, "Looks familiar? After all, it fell out of the coat you lent me earlier today. You see, I didn't exactly want to come here. I'm not really cut out for-" I gesture towards the closed doors of the balcony, beyond which a party is in progress, "-Lavish events. But I thought you might want this back." I wave the flash drive and proffer it to him. "I wish we could've done this rendezvous somewhere where I could come wearing more comfortable shoes."

Yusha takes the pen drive and turns it over and over in his hand. "How can you tell that I hadn't simply forgotten to check the pockets?"

"I'm not absolutely positive, since even smart people have their fair share of carelessness. You run a tech company, Mr. Zaber. I don't think you'd carry around something that you didn't want anyone else to see without encrypting it or having it password protected. It's a rookie mistake. But... it wasn't a mistake, was it? You planted the flash drive in your coat's pocket on purpose. And you made the data accessible." I pick up my glass and take a sip. "You wanted me to know you've been watching me. Why have you been watching me?"

"Come on now, are you sure you haven't worked out the answer to your question?"

"Don't be lazy."

"I'm trying to save time."

"You're wasting mine."

Yusha huffs out a laugh. "I'll give you a hint. It's got to do with something that happened ten years ago."

There are not a lot of things I keep account of by date and time. So as I gaze into Yusha's grey twin moons, there's no mistaking what he's hinting at.

But I take a deep breath and then snort.

"You expect me to remember something that happened a decade ago? You're expecting too much."

"Allow me to refresh you memory." Yusha says, unfazed by my acting. "Ten years ago, two eighteen year-olds disappeared. A girl and a boy. They used to go to the same school. The girl was from a pretty well-off family and her last name was Zaber. The boy used to play for his school's football team. One guess for the boy's name."

I fold my arms over my chest. "What game is this?"

"Mystery." Yusha answers simply. "And perhaps crime. We can add more tags as we go along."

"We?"

"We." He confirms with a smile. "You and me."

"Sorry, I'm not quite following."

"I'm investigating her death. The girl's. Yamira's. My sister's." Yusha adds. Then he exhales. "And I was hoping you'd help me."

I must've found the situation hilarious because I'm laughing. "Ten years ago," I taste the dried lipstick as I wet my lips, something I do to stall or prior to saying something dramatic or suspenseful, "I befriended a boy. I thought we'd gotten close. Then one day he left without telling me. Now he's back, not because he wanted to see me, but because he wants my help."

"Sounds like you missed me."

"Don't be disappointed. I had someone else to miss."

"Aren't you going to ask why I'm investiga-"

"No. That's your business. I don't care."

"Your brother's disappearance could be interlinked with-"

"Or it could just be a coincidence! The police thought it could be related too. They didn't find anything substantial. Yamira died. And Wissam just... he just disappeared."

"He could be alive." Yusha says softly, tentatively.

"Or he could be dead and buried somewhere." I close my eyes briefly and face away from Yusha. "Wissam wouldn't just run away. He wasn't rebellious. Look, I don't want to talk about it anymore, okay?"

"I know it's cliché, but people aren't always what they appear to be. People can pretend. People can be manipulated. And, most importantly, people can lie."

My fingers curl around my glass in such a death grip that I'm surprised it doesn't break, despite how delicate it seems.

Then I smile. Besides me, Tan would've known what the smile means.

"I bet you have a whole closet of white shirts like this one," I say, motioning to the one he's wearing. "Don't you?"

Yusha blinks. "Yeah. Why?" He looks perplexed at the spontaneous change of topic.

I know it's petty. I know it's immature. But I also know that it's perfectly natural to trip when you're in high-heels and a floor-touch dress. Especially for the likes of me.

"Because I want to do this."

Two seconds later, both Yusha and I look down at his chest where there is now a wet, burgundy stain on what, moments before, had been an immaculate white shirt. And then at the glass within my hand.

"Oops." I say, totally not sorry. The wet shirt clings onto him, making the skin underneath visible, and I think maybe his face would have been a more appropriate target to spill my drink.

Ten years ago, Wissam wasn't just a missing person. He was also a murder suspect.

Yusha doesn't shout. He doesn't get angry. He simply plucks his shirt off his chest and phlegmatically examines the damage. "I know this is out of the blue. I know you're protective of your brother. But, if our roles were reversed, would you sit back and do nothing despite knowing your sister did not actually die in a car accident after overdosing on drugs but could in fact had been murdered?"

"The police-"

"F**k the police!" I jump as Yusha snaps. He recovers just as swiftly, dragging his hand down his face. "Sorry. It's just... the police aren't as righteous as you think. They can be threatened and bribed just like everybody else." Yusha sounds angry as he adds.

"What makes you think-" My phone rings inside my purse. Pop.

Yusha pulls out a sleek leather wallet from his back pocket and a card from within it, and proffers it to me. "Let's meet again sometime this week. I'll answer all your questions."

I start towards the balcony's door. Halfway, Yusha says, "Also, I'm sorry. For spying on you."

I flick a look at his stained shirt. "Have fun going out there like that."