The holidays finished quickly. I was back at school again.
"Sabah!" Tanisha called when she spotted me across the yard, waving her arms dramatically.
"I'm literally right here," I said, but I couldn't stop smiling as I joined her.
Hamza was leaning against a wall near the entrance, talking to Amir. He looked up when he saw us.
"Morning," he said, his voice calm.
"Morning," I replied, with a small smile on my face.
Amir started arguing with Tanisha immediately about who was the better player at a game they played last night.
Hamza fell in step beside me as we headed in.
"Homework done?" he asked lightly.
"Obviously," I said.
He smirked. "Good. Because I'm not explaining trig again."
"You'd miss it," I teased, and he only shook his head with a small laugh.
Later that day, I slipped into the library to return a book I had borrowed before the holidays.
"Asif!" I said when I spotted him at one of the tables.
He looked up, surprised. "Oh, hey, Nusaybah. Need help carrying all those?"
"Maybe," I said, balancing a stack. "Or maybe I just want you to feel useful."
He grinned, standing to take half the pile.
"You're so kind," I joked, rolling my eyes as we set the books on the return trolley.
We were still laughing about the ridiculous cover of a book when I felt a presence behind me.
I turned slightly.
I was surprised to find Hamza. He stood
by the end of the aisle, one hand in his hoodie pocket, expression unreadable.
"Hey," I said, surprised.
"Hey," he replied easily, but there was a tightness in his jaw.
He didn't say anything else, just brushed past us toward the maths section, scanning the shelves.
But when I glanced back a minute later, he was still there, looking at the books.
"Hey, you good?" asked Asif.
I turned back towards Asif forcing a smile. Something felt weird.
It was Thursday afternoon. Hamza already had his maths book open when I arrived, hair falling into his eyes as he scribbled notes.
"Late," he said quietly, not looking up. How did he know I was already here?
"It's been three minutes," I replied, dropping my bag onto the chair opposite him.
"That's three minutes of algebra you're never getting back," he said without looking up.
"Tragic," I said, deadpan, and flipped open my notebook.
For a while we worked in silence, the low murmur of other students and the soft click of keyboards filling the space. I asked him about a question, he explained patiently, I corrected a sentence in his English homework, and he only sighed dramatically in return. It felt comfortable.
Halfway through, my phone buzzed.
Tanisha: "What are you doing?"
I grinned and typed back: "Suffering through maths. Hold on-"
"Don't move," I said suddenly.
Hamza looked up, puzzled. "Why?"
"Tanisha wants to know what I'm doing."
He raised an eyebrow. "And…?"
"And I need photographic evidence."
Before he could protest, I leaned my phone up and snapped a quick selfie. I angled it so I was in the foreground, pulling an exaggerated frown with my maths book in front of me. Hamza, caught mid‑page‑turn behind me, looked over with that slight frown he always had when he was concentrating.
"Perfect," I muttered, sending it off to Tanisha with the message: "Proof I'm suffering. This is the face of despair."
"Did you just take a picture of me?" Hamza asked, amused.
"You happened to be in the background," I said with a shrug.
He shook his head, looking back down at his notes. "You're strange, you know that?"
"Yep," I said, smiling to myself as I went back to my work.
For the rest of the session, we sat there in our usual rhythm.
The session ended. I packed my books away, stretching my cramped fingers.
"You done for the day?" Hamza asked, slipping his pen into his pocket.
"Yeah," I said, zipping my bag. "Brain's officially fried."
We left together as we usually did on Thursdays, stepping out into the cool air. We walked towards the bus stop together.
At the stop, a small crowd had already gathered. We stood side by side, watching buses hiss to a halt and pull away again. When our bus arrived, we climbed aboard, heading upstairs out of habit. I took my usual window seat and he slid in beside me, without asking.
For a while, we sat in silence.
Then Hamza spoke, casual but curious. "So… you and that guy in the library. Asif, right?"
"Yeah?" I said, rummaging in my bag for my lip gloss. "What about him?"
He shrugged, eyes fixed on the seat in front of him. "You seem… friendly."
I laughed softly, then began to apply my lipgloss. "We talk sometimes. He's nice. Helps me carry books. Why?"
"No reason." He tapped his fingers on his knee, glancing out the window like the question had just been a passing thought. "Just wondered."
"You're nosy, you know that?"
"Someone's gotta keep track of who you're recruiting for your book‑carrying squad," he said, tone dry but light.
I rolled my eyes. "Relax. You're still my official maths tutor."
He smirked faintly at that, leaning back in his seat. "Good. I wouldn't want to lose my title."