Present time)

After reaching my hostel, I took a shower and offered my Salah. Then, I decided to cook a meal for myself. I had grown tired of eating the same hostel food over the past few years, so this year, I finally mustered up the courage to start cooking on my own. That's why I canceled the meal service.

To be honest, my cooking skills were horrendous when I first started 🌚. But after countless attempts, it's finally somewhat edible now 😅.

Today, I’m making one-pan pasta since it’s almost 4 PM, and I don’t have time to prepare a full-course meal. The kitchen is filled with the delicious aroma of mushrooms and garlic,,yummy...

Just then, Piku walked into the room, sniffing the air. “Girl, are you cooking pasta without inviting me? Now I’m upset," she teased.

Smiling, I replied, "I knew you’d come for sure, that’s why I didn’t tell you. Now taste the sauce and tell me how it is."

Piku is not only my hostel mate but also a batch mate and a good friend. She’s studying in the philosophy department at the same university as me. She’s charming and a total foodie, always willing to taste my creations: even the disastrous ones from my early cooking days.

She took a spoonful of the sauce and tasted it. "It’s delicious," she said, making me feel relieved.

Thanks Allah!

After cooking, we headed to my room to eat. I hate eating alone, so we usually eat together almost every day.
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After eating, I head to the kitchen, wash the dishes, and make myself a cup of coffee. Wrapping a shawl around me and grabbing my phone, I lock the door and make my way up to the rooftop of our hostel to enjoy my coffee.

The view from up here is simply breathtaking. On one side, you can see the river, calm and serene, and on the other side, the bustling city stretches out before you.

Sipping my coffee (I’m a coffee lover 😉), I lose myself in the beauty of the moment. But suddenly, I notice a girl on a nearby rooftop chasing a boy with an umbrella in hand. They both seem to be in school uniforms.

She finally catches him and starts hitting him with the umbrella while he, with a smile on his face, holds his earlobes as if apologizing. After a moment, the girl stops, says something, but whatever the boy replies with seems to anger her even more. She runs after him again, and he darts off, laughing mischievously.

Watching them, a wave of nostalgia washes over me, reminding me of someone I wish I could forget. His smile, those honey-brown eyes—they haunt me, like a stubborn memory that refuses to fade.

He’s become a lingering presence in my mind, a disease I don’t want to cure.

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(Flashback)

I replied to him, "Why should I be angry? It's not like we're friends, right?"

He made a puppy face and asked, "We're not? Are you sure?"

I looked at him and sighed. "I don't know. If we were friends, you should’ve talked to me a long time ago."

Running his fingers through his hair, he explained, "I wanted to talk, but your friends were practically ogling me every time I tried to get close. They were scary. Maybe you didn’t notice because you were too busy listening to whatever gossip they were blabbering about."

He paused for a moment, then added, "I also called you a few days before summer vacation, but you didn’t reply. Maybe you were angry, or you just didn’t hear me."

I was surprised. He had called me and wanted to talk? Where was I during all this? Here I am, accusing him of not speaking to me.

"Hey, are you there? Still mad at me?" he asked, lightly tapping my shoulder.

I quickly replied, "No, I’m not mad. Sorry for misunderstanding you."

He waved it off with a smile. "Forget about it. Come with me to the field. You’ll be bored here alone anyway. I’m practicing for the football tryouts soon."

"What will I do there? I’m not playing football," I pointed out.

He laughed. "Dummy, you don’t have to play. Just come watch me practice and tell me if I’m doing it right."

'How would I know? It’s not like I know that much about the game,' I thought to myself.

"Are you coming, or do I have to drag you there?" he said, half-serious. Reluctantly, I followed him to the field and sat on a bench nearby.

He started practicing, and I watched him. I didn’t know much about football, but I could tell he was doing well.

After about 15 minutes, he came running towards me, a smile on his face. The sunlight hit his features, making his honey-colored eyes glisten like liquid gold. I was mesmerized for a moment.

"How was my practice? I’m doing great, right?" he asked enthusiastically.

Still caught in the haze, I blurted out, "They looked beautiful… I.. I mean, it was great."

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So, how was this chapter?