Clueless Love

It is lunchtime and I am meeting up with my best friend Fatima in a restaurant not too far from where we both work. I observe Dhuhr (afternoon) prayer before going to meet her. Emma and I arrive at the place before Fatima. We order our food while waiting for her. I order buffalo chicken wrap with homemade ranch salad and a glass of water. Emma orders chicken cob salad with a watermelon smoothie.

“So, how is work?” I say and take a bite of my food.

Emma and I don’t work in the same department. She works in the administrative department while I work in the programming department.

“Work is fine other than the fact that my supervisor can be overbearing at times.”

“Sorry, I know how that feels.”

“He is so annoying that sometimes, I wish I could knock some sense into him.”

“I can imagine you doing that to him,” I chuckle.

“Thank God, I only have to work under him for a year.”

“That’s right, your internship ends after a year.”

“Yes, it does.”

“I just remembered I have a basketball game on Saturday, would you like to come?” I say recalling we have a match this Saturday.

“You play basketball?” Emma asks, looking shocked.

“Yes, I do. And I understand why you are surprised. I don’t come off as someone who plays sports.”

“Yeah, you don’t.”

“I know. I would have you know I am an athlete,” I say smiling.

“Wow, if you hadn’t told me I would have never guessed.” Emma says still looking a bit surprised.

“I hear that a lot.”

“Which other sports do you play?”

“I play volleyball, I run and any other athletic sport.”

“That’s nice, and you can count me in on Saturday. I will bring all my cheerleading spirit with me,” Emma says smiling.

“Alright, I will send the address to you, and Fatima is here,” I say as I see Fatima stepping inside. I wave my hand so she can see me. After turning a few times, she spots Emma and me and walks toward us.

“As-salamu Alaykum! (Peace be upon you)” she greets coming up to hug me before sitting down.

Fatima is dark skinned and 5 feet 6 inches tall. She is of Somalian heritage but born and raised in America, so that makes her first generation American.

“Wa Alaykum salam! (peace be upon you too)” I reply hugging her back.Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

“Wa Alaykum Salam, Fatima,” Emma says hugging her.

“Hey! You can say it well now,” Fatima says smiling.

“I learned from the best,” Emma says winking at me.

“Babe, you won’t believe who my boss is,” I say to Fatima.

“Who?” Fatima asks getting all excited.

“Ismail!”

“Ismail, Ismail?” Fatima says with a knowing look.

“Yes Ismail, Ismail.”

“How?”

“He is the CEO of the company.”

“You are kidding me, right? Babe, tell me the truth.” Fatima says taking a little bite from my food.

“Hey, don’t touch my food and I am not joking.” I say hitting her hands away from my food.

“Can I ask something?” Emma says looking confused.

“Yes.” Fatima and I both answer.

“Why is it a big deal?”

“It’s a big deal because that man has gotten Umit fired three times,” Fatima says.

“How?” Emma says looking at Fatima and me with disbelieve and shock.

“When I was at university, I had three part-time jobs and got fired from all of them because of him,” I tell, remembering how I lost all my jobs because of that man.

“Did he own all the places you worked at or something?” Emma asks, looking confused.

“No, he did not. Unfortunately for me, every time he came to a place I worked, I poured coffee on him. I never did it on purpose, but it always happened. It’s like anytime he came I would always get distracted, and it always got me fired. The first time it happened I thought I got fired for another reason. But after three times I just knew it was because of him. I call him my bad luck charm,” I say still finding it unbelievable that I poured coffee on him each time I saw him, even though it has happened in three different places.

“Wow, I can see why you don’t like him,” Emma says.

“Yes, and I hope this time I won’t get fired because I love my job.” I say.

“Just make sure not to pour coffee on him, and I think you will be fine,” Fatima says giggling a little.

“Hey! Stop laughing. It’s not a laughing matter. This is my career we are talking about,” I say.

“The only thing I can tell you is to be careful because I don’t want to have to take care of you,” Fatima says laughing.

“HEY!” I say giving her a little push, while shaking my head.

Fatima orders her lunch and we all finish eating before going back to work. Emma and I say our goodbyes before going to our separate offices. I am on my way to my office when a voice stops me dead in my tracks.

“Umit, can I see you in my office,” Ismail says.

“Yes, sir,” I say, wondering if I will ever get used to showing him so much respect. His office is nice and not what I expected for someone like him. The walls are painted white with a few golden lines around the edges. The desk is ceramic brown with white colored chairs and behind the desk area is a bookshelf. To the left is a TV with brown couches, as well as a beautiful view of the city through the glass windows. The floors are white ceramic tiles, making his office stand out. I am proud of him, but I will never tell him that.

“You asked for me, sir?” I say cringing while saying it.

“You can call me by my name when we are alone. You sound so weird calling me that,” he says trying hard not to laugh.

“I can see you are enjoying the fact that you are my boss.”

“More than you can imagine,” he replies, finally letting his laughter come out.

“Why did you call me here?” I ask, getting comfortable on a seat.

“Who said you could sit down?” he says, trying to sound serious.

“Who said I couldn’t?”

“Whatever, I called you here to sign this,” he says, handing me a contract and accepting defeat.

“What is it?” I ask taking the contract from his hands.

“Read it for yourself.”

I read the contract, and it says I should not come anywhere near him with a coffee.

“Are you serious?” I say, not quite believing he would put something like this on paper.

“Yes I am. Because I can’t have you pouring coffee all over me at work. And maybe, if we have it on paper you will be able to abide by it.”

“It was an accident.”

“Three times does not sound like an accident, young lady.”

“Alright fine, I will sign it but only if you promise not to get me fired if anything happens,” I say not adding ‘should I pour coffee on you.’

“What do you mean, if anything happens?”

“I don’t know. Maybe something not work-related shouldn’t get me fired.”

“Alright, I will draft another one and I will bring it home.”

“Okay, I’ll see you when you get home then,” I say getting up from my seat.

“Why did you just sound like a married couple,” someone says from the door. It is none other than his best friend, Udar. He also is not one of my favorite persons in the world.

Udar is light skinned, 6-feet-tall has a lean build and black hair. He is of Pakistani heritage but was born and raised in London and like Ismail moved to America to attend university when he was 18.

“We did not,” I say confused.

“No, we did not,” Ismail says.

“You guys sure did,” Udar says smiling while taking a seat.

“Whatever. See you later, Ismail,” I say, stepping out of his office.

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