Boy vs. Girl (18 page)

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar figure on the other side of the road. It was Shazia! He couldn't manage more than a glance in her direction as he sped past and he saw her call out to him – then freeze at the sight of the boys pursuing him. Within moments, he had left her far behind.

It had been a long time since he had run this fast. And he hadn't eaten since before dawn. He could feel the strength begin to drain out of his body. He looked behind him and saw that Maj and another tall lad were gaining on him. He would have to shake them. Seeing an alleyway to his left, he quickly turned and ran along it, scraping his arm on the wall as he squeezed past an abandoned car with flat tyres. He could hear Maj and the other boy calling after him, their voices bouncing off the alley walls.

But the alley was a dead end. Ahead of him was a wall, a high wall, too high to jump over. There was no escape.

He turned to face them and was immediately knocked backwards off his feet by the power of Maj's angry fists. Pain shot through his body, like fireworks, exploding, ending in a shower of stars. He didn't know what was hitting him or where. At first he tried to hit out, to fight back but he eventually retreated to covering his face with his arms, his hands holding his head, curled up in the foetal position as the fists, bats and boots beat a rhythm on his body.

All of a sudden, through the din, he heard Maj
shout, “Enough!” And the beating stopped.

Faraz stayed curled up on the floor, the scent of blood, sweat and tarmac filling his nostrils.

Maj pushed him over with his foot and stood on his shoulder pinning him down. Faraz cried out with pain and tried to break free but Maj knelt down until his face was inches from his. Maj smiled and his scar twisted as the skin pulled.

“Now, Pretty Boy” he hissed softly, “let me show you what an artist I can be…” He took something out of his back pocket.

And Faraz saw the lamplight glint off the switchblade's sharp edge.

He closed his eyes then.

O Allah, help me now!

He felt the knife point press into the skin under his eye and the searing pain as the blade sliced his skin.

* * *

The mall and everything in it began to sway and move in slow motion when Farhana looked into Malik's eyes. He was only a few steps away so she could see his face clearly, could read the expression
in his eyes. The shock of recognition, then the blur of incomprehension was clearly etched on his face.

He took slow steps towards her, his eyes searching hers for an explanation, for a sign. “Farhana?” he whispered, his voice hoarse, so unlike his usual self-assured tone.

“Yes, Malik,” she answered softly, “it's me.”

Malik's eyes swept over the white scarf, the bare nails, the long skirt.

“What…?” He couldn't find the right words to say. “Where did you go? Why didn't you return any of my calls? What's happened to you?”

He looked behind him and saw Robina standing there, an arch look on her face.

“See what you've been pining for, Malik?” she purred. “There's nothing there any more…”

“Robina, get lost!” he shouted at her.

Farhana saw her triumphant façade crumble and she seemed to shrink slightly. Still, she put on a brave face as she looked over at Farhana.

“I guess he really
is
crazy about you, huh? So, you've won…”

“Robina, would you just shut up!” Farhana glared at her one-time friend. “There are no winners here, don't you understand? We're playing a losers'
game, all of us. The saddest thing about you is that you refuse to see that. To be honest, I pity you. You're trying so hard to become your sister that you're losing yourself – and everything that we ever liked about you. I suggest you take a long hard look at what is really important in your life and fix up before it's too late.”

“I-I don't need to take this from you!” spluttered Robina. “Who do you think you are anyway?”

“I was,
am
, your friend, Robina, and I'm the only one with the guts to tell you what everyone else can see. You'd better take it from me before it's too late and you find yourself stuck in your own delusions, surrounded by haters and fakers who don't give a damn about you!”

Farhana saw the hurt in Robina's eyes before she hardened them and tossed her hair out of her face and put her hand up to Farhana.

“Whatever!” she snapped before stalking off towards the entrance.

Farhana watched her go. Robina had a huge ego and was prouder than a peacock, but she wasn't dumb. Hopefully, she would come round…

“Farhana..?” Her attention turned back to Malik. As she turned to him, a lock of hair slipped
out from beneath her white cotton headscarf. Malik reached over and she closed her eyes as she felt her hair, and his fingers brush her face as he pushed it back.

She could have him back now if she wanted, she knew that. All she had to say was ‘yes'. Her heart formed the words before her mouth opened.

“No, Malik,” she said at last. “I can't.”

Malik's face fell. “Is it because of Robina?” he asked then. “That stuff she told you, it wasn't even true! It's you I want. You're all I ever wanted….”

Farhana's heart clenched.

Oh, what a test. What a test!

But she took a deep breath, swallowed hard. “I'm sorry, Malik,” she said. “When Robina told me about you and that girl, I didn't know what to think. I'd always known that I was taking huge risks by getting involved with you – or anyone! But her story seemed to confirm that I was doing the wrong thing. That it wasn't worth it; that
you
weren't worth it….

“But this scarf, my Islam, doesn't have anything to do with all that, not really. This is about me. This Ramadan has made me think about a lot of things and I've decided I want to be a proper
Muslim, not just in name, but in what I do as well. I know that must be hard for you to understand but maybe you will someday…”

But Malik wasn't having it. Farhana flinched when she saw the angry hurt in his eyes. “You know what? It
is
hard for me to understand! I
love
you! How can that be wrong?”

Farhana turned away then, trying to hide her face.

“Farhana, look at me! You're trying to make this into something ugly, like I'm sort of perv or something. You know those things I said to you, those things I wrote? I have
never
said them to any other girl, ever! People look at me and think, ‘yeah, he must have girls throwing themselves at him, he must get around,' but they don't know me. They don't know that I'm not into all that. You know me – you should have known better than to believe a girl like Robina…”

“Malik, what do you want me to say?” Farhana was shouting now. “You know the rules; you know that, as far as our religion is concerned, we shouldn't even be seeing each other! So what, you want to
marry
me now? Get me to run away with you? Can't you see? It's a dead end, Malik,
a dead end…”

“No, Farhana,” he replied, “it doesn't have to be a dead end! We can make this work, I swear we can…”

“How can it work, Malik?” Farhana asked sadly. “Look at me. I've come so far. I'm praying, I'm wearing
hijab
, I'm trying to do what I should as a Muslim. And I'm happy like this. We're not on the same wavelength any more, Malik. We want different things, you know we do…”

Malik listened, not saying a word. When he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. “I want to change your mind. I love you and part of me doesn't give a damn about whether it's right or not.”

Then his voice fell and he looked away.

“But then I know that you're right. That you're doing the right thing. I know our religion as well as you do. And I know you: once you've decided something, that's it.”

When he looked up at her again, his eyes shone with tears and a new respect.

“You always were the strong one, Farhana, no doubt. That's what makes you so special…” And he turned away, his eyes shut, fists clenched. “I'd better go…”

“No!”
Farhana's heart cried out in agony. But she bit her lip and kept silent, even as every muscle in her body strained to call him back.

Bismillah. This is the way it must be
.

“Malik!” she called out when he was a few steps away. “
Asalaamu alaikum
?”

“
Wa alaikum salaam
,” he replied over his shoulder and, after one last look, he walked away into the crowd.

As Farhana walked out of the mall, into the street, the wind whipped the tears from her eyes.

Or it could have been the raindrops as they fell, splattering, from the heavy skies.

* * *

Faraz was lulled by the motion of the car. He couldn't quite believe that he was on his way home in a car with Shazia, the girl of his dreams, and with Imran, not after what had happened. His mind ran over the events of the past thirty minutes.

Just as Maj had started to carve up his face, they had heard a voice, loud and gruff, bouncing off the alley walls.

“Oi, what's going on over there?!”

Three policemen and a community officer were at the bottom of the alleyway. With them, panting and out of breath was a pretty, plump girl in a black scarf – Shazia.

Maj's boys had all scattered like cockroaches as the policemen began to run towards them. They had used the bins to clamber over the wall and make their escape. A couple of the officers had climbed the wall after them.

In a moment, Faraz was surrounded by uniforms and strong, reassuring arms. He had tried hard to focus and then the community officer's face swam into view. It was Imran, the director of the Muslim youth art organisation.

“Faraz?” Imran was incredulous. “What happened, bro? Who did this?”

But Faraz just shook his head. He didn't want to talk.

“Where's Shazia?” he asked, shakily.

“This young lady was very brave,” said one of the officers. “She's the one who found us and told us what was going on. It's safe to say that, if she hadn't, you would be in a right state by now…”

“Shazia?” Faraz whispered, gazing up at her.
“You saved my life?”

“No, silly,” she said, softly, “just your face…”

Faraz's heart sang with joy in spite of his aching limbs. Now all he wanted was to get home. But the policemen wanted some details before dropping him home.

Then Faraz became evasive. “I don't know,” he kept saying. “I don't know who they were…”

At last, they let him go and asked Imran, who worked with them as a part-time Police Community Support Officer, to take Faraz and Shazia home.

“They both live near me,” Imran told them.

Faraz and Shazia didn't speak in the car. Both of them felt shy now that the excitement had died away. Imran kept shaking his head, muttering to himself, talking about ‘the youth'.

Faraz wasn't really listening. They dropped Shazia at her house first. Imran ran up to the door to explain why he was bringing Shazia home. At the door, Shazia gave a little wave.

“
Asalaamu alaikum
, Faraz,” she called softly. “I'm glad you're OK, really glad.”

Faraz grinned then winced, his head still hurting.

When they got to his road, he asked Imran to drop him a few doors down from his house.

“I need to come in and see your parents, Faraz,” he said sternly.

“Oh, they won't be home now,” replied Faraz uneasily.

Imran gave him a hard look. “Of all the kids I know, Faraz,” he said at last, “you were the last one I expected to be mixed up in all this stuff. I won't lie: I'm well disappointed, bro. What are you covering for those idiots for? Huh? Because of some warped code of honour?”

And Faraz remembered Skrooz's expression:
izzat of the streets
.

But Imran wasn't finished: “There are too many kids throwing their lives away for this stuff, Faraz. You've got more to give than that!” He looked away and unlocked the car door. “I'll be round tomorrow to have a word with your mum and dad. You'd better go get yourself cleaned up; the police will want to talk to you again tomorrow. I hope you'll have something sensible to say to them.”

And he was gone.

Faraz waited for him to go before turning towards his house.

* * *

While Faraz was walking up the street, Farhana was getting off her bus on the other side of the road. The rain fell in a steady drizzle, mingling with her tears, blurring her vision.

OK, now, pull yourself together, Farhana,
she thought.
What's done is done… no regrets. Bismillah…

There was a delivery van parked next to the bus stop and Farhana found herself behind it. Taking a deep breath, she looked across the road, getting ready to cross. And her eyes fell on a familiar figure walking towards her house. His face was lit up for a moment by the street light.

“Faraz!” she cried out, her heart soaring at the sight of him.

All she wanted to do was cry on his shoulder, to hear her tell her that she had done the right thing, that everything would be all right. She rushed out into the road to meet him.

She didn't see the car.

* * *

Just as Farhana stepped out into the street from behind the delivery van, a car's lights lit up the rain-drenched road and it screeched into motion. It took Faraz just a split second to recognise the face behind the front wheel. It was Skrooz and he was glaring right at him.

Then everything started to slow down, down, down, so that Faraz could see every little thing that happened next.

Farhana's bag as it bumped her leg as she ran out into the street.

The look of pure evil on Skrooz's face as he pointed towards him, his mouth open in a bellow that seemed to rip through Faraz's body.