“Write from memory.” Professor Amrita’s voice was sharp and definite in the classroom. “The act of remembering is a must.”
“Good morning, professor,” The voice announced.The first thing Rayhan noticed were the knee-length boots. He grimaced.
He looked up to the familiar figure. Deen Esfur grinned at the class. He wore a white button-up shirt layered with a warm gray knit sweater and his constant black trench coat. Today, he had paired it with black pants that hung loosely over his frame.
Rayhan looked as if he had rolled straight out of bed (he had not). Deen on the other hand was dressed for a mayor's speech.
Rayhan waited and hoped that the footsteps would pass by him. They did not. He watched as Deen removed and placed his folded coat on the chair. In the next few minutes, he had settled right next to Rayhan.
“Alright, let’s begin.” The professor said. Her chalk screeched on the board and Rayhan flinched. He hated that sensation.
“Looking at you hurts my head.” Rayhan whispered. It was not an exaggeration.
“Not a surprise, my beauty surpasses human expectations.” Deen replied.
“What an absolute knuckle-head.” Rayhan said.
For the rest of the lecture, he tried his best to forget Deen’s existence but it was impossible.
When he moved in his chair, Deen tapped his pen over his shoulder. The professor droned about the history of the city’s four coasts, the mysterious woods and the importance of archivists in the royal court.
“They were charged in recording the mysterious objects and treasures the King would...”
His vision blurred and the professor’s voice was replaced with other sounds. Rayhan found himself counting Deen’s silver rings. To which the latter responded by placing his fingers on Rayhan’s side of the desk. Rayhan felt his cheeks warm. He swatted Deen’s hand making sure the professor was not looking at them. Oh he was back to reality, for sure.
“Submissions at 11:59, not a minute more.” The professor announced. “Partner up with the one sitting next to you.” Rayhan groaned.
“It’s your fault!” Rayhan said once the professor had left. He had ten more minutes before his next class. In the moment, he did not care.
“Do you even know half of what she said, Hatim?” Deen responded. “Your eyes were everywhere but on the board.”
“Just because I’m not in the same position for one hour doesn’t mean I’m not paying attention.” Rayhan fired back.
“Right, I bet you know more about my fin—”
“Oh shut it you asshole.”
“Because you sordidly...”
“Sordidly? Who even uses that word, you pretentious fucker...”
“...insist on acting as if being paired with me is the worst thing ever, I have to remind you that I topped past term.”
“Do you see the amount of empty seats? Why did you have to sit next to me of all places...”
“Hatim, I always sit in the front, you should know that.” Deen raised his voice.
“Why would I know something like that?” Rayhan replied.
“For fucks’ sake, this isn’t even a huge concern.” Deen said.
“I don’t want your name on my paper!”
“You’re so petty.” Deen scoffed. “Aren’t you getting late for Murthy?”
“Ah fuck, it’s all—”
“—my fault, I know.” Deen finished.
Rayhan stuffed his notebook in his bag, trying to make space among the loose sheets, coins and stationery.
Deen sighed. He picked the bag and flipped it over.
“Oh you devil–” Rayhan began but stopped. His eyes found the glimmer of gold and he quickly snatched it from the pile. He stuffed the warm circle into the pocket of his coat. If Deen noticed his motion, he did not comment on it.
“This is why you need me,” He said as a matter of fact.
Rayhan ignored his comment. Deen arranged the papers, followed by books and then the small items into a little pouch he took out from his own bag.
“Why do you have to be an archivist? You could be anything else.” Rayhan murmured. This had been the only thing on his mind. Ever since he had seen Deen walk into Professor Amrita Sharma’s, Introduction to Archivist class with a smile as wide as the Al-Nair sea.
“I’m glad you think so highly of me, Hatim. But as you rightly said, I can be anything, including an archivist.” Deen said.
To this, Rayhan had no reply. He picked his bag and moved as quickly as possible. The world would really have to end for him to thank Deen Esfur.
“Are you signing up?” Eli asked. Rayhan was still fuming from the morning interaction with Deen. He couldn’t imagine having to ask Deen to hang out after class.
They were both standing in the corridor staring at the board in front. It was filled with extracurricular activities, paper announcements, and a poster for a fashion show (surely Deen would participate). Rayhan focused on the job posting section. Soon, he would have to pick one.
District 11 is seeking an enthusiastic and detail-oriented Archivist Assistant to join our team ... As an Archivist Assistant, you will work closely with our District 11 Head Officer, Aswad Naderi ...
“I haven’t decided yet.” Rayhan replied.
“My father insists on joining the 11th.” Eli responded at the same time. “I don’t understand why.”
At this, Rayhan turned to face him. He had an inkling of understanding why but he did not admit it. Eli Masfud’s dark hair was gone, replaced with a buzz cut that put more emphasis on the sharp lines of his jaw. He had started to fill in the shoes of his father at the age of
twenty-four. His hands were digging into the pocket of his dark jeans. A metal chain hung from his neck and disappeared below his t-shirt.
With his hair cropped this short, Rayhan could spot the twin lines on his scalp. A plain reminder of their childhood squabble.
“Admiring your work?” Eli teased. He clicked a picture of the bulletin board.
“No,” Rayhan said before the past memories flooded in. “You never wore your hair so short before.”
“It’s a new year.” Eli said. His cheeks were rosy from the cold. When his phone rang, he swore softly.
“Gotta go.” He said. “See you around?”
Rayhan nodded. He watched in fascination as Eli rushed away. It never failed to amaze him. Everyone had someplace to be, except him.
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