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The wedding was amazing, and even that was an understatement. The frantic search for a showy dress, the panic of getting your hair and makeup done before 9PM, and the 3 coffees you drank to survive this were all worth it. It was your sister’s best friend's wedding - she had gotten married to a Japanese teacher she met and fell in love with. It was 2AM now, and your sister had no intention of leaving, forcing you to opt for a taxi. As you stood in the hotel lobby yearning for peace, you couldn’t help but sense a presence beside you.
You turn your head to glance at the handsome stranger next to you. He was tall, with dark hair framing his unusually teal eyes. He had eyebags, yet that somehow added to the allure, as well as the Dishdasha he had worn which complimented his figure.
“Is everything okay?” His soft voice startled you out of your dazed trance. “Yeah, sorry for staring!” You giggle softly, and you feel butterflies when you see the gentle smile he gives you. “It’s my first time wearing one of these, you know.” He gestures towards his attire, which earns another giggle out of you. “It looks nice on you. You should wear it more.” He chuckles, before smiling again. “I’m Yuta Okkotsu. It’s nice to meet you.” You feel shy suddenly - what was going on? He was just giving you his name, surely to be polite. Surely. You give him your name and he nods in acknowledgement.
Your little conversation is interrupted as one of your friends taps your shoulder to say goodbye. You exchange sweet farewells in Arabic, earning a curious look from Yuta. “You can speak Arabic?” You laugh, pointing at your face. “I thought that was obvious, but yes, I do.” He smiled at your remark before clearing his throat and suddenly looking very shy. Just as you were about to ask him what was wrong, he opened his mouth to speak, and in a soft, nervous voice - “Inti jameela.”
Your eyes widen. Did he just call you beautiful? “You are beautiful” were his exact words, but there was no way. He refuses to meet your gaze, staring at the ground with clear embarrassment written all over his face. You swore you could see him fiddle with his fingers in light of the tension that had just grown between you two. Deciding to put him out of his misery, you speak.
“Wa inta kamaan.” His head snaps back up, as he tries to suppress his smile. You had just returned his compliment, how could he not be happy? You seemed to notice this and giggled softly. “If you ever need an Arabic teacher…I can try and help you.” You say, about to combust from the shyness that had built up. Thankfully, his smile only grew wider. Suddenly, he stepped towards you, putting his lips to your ear. You shudder, eyes wide, blushing. What did he want to say? This attractive stranger, who had such a mysterious allure to him.
“Inti ajmal min il qamar.” (You’re prettier than the moon.)
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