Heart on Lock *1*

Hello, readers!

I'm back again with another blog story after so long :) 

This is just a little treat while I complete the sequel to If You Only Knew Me (DM on instagram @cashmerepoison to get your ePub or paperback versions)

NOTE: This story is a spinoff to my novel, but it's also completely fine if you haven't read it. It'll just provide more depth to one of the characters, who is also the same character in the blog version of IYOKM. 

(I'll probably be posting once a week/Thursday as to not ruin my novel's progress :))

Happy reading!

Cashmere

***

December 21st, 2014

Thursday nights were often spent at my grandmother’s house for an early-ish dinner. It was  early enough for the working people, but late enough for everyone else. It didn't stop there, though: six of my cousins and I would meet up later at the coffee place close to my grandmother's house in Messila. 

"I loved the theme of the wedding, but I'm not so sure about her dress," my cousin Haya said, and the rest kept talking over her in agreement. 

"I hated her dress, what a disaster," I replied, taking a sip of my mocha. 

"It wasn't that bad," my other cousin Lulu replied. 

"It actually was," I replied, and I got some nods in return between sips of coffee. 

"Did you see Nawal? She's definitely in her revenge dress," Haya said, talking about our cousin's ex-wife.

"Oh, she was making sure Badriya saw," my cousin Dana replied, mentioning Badriya, his current fiancee. I laughed. 

"I never liked Nawal in the first place; she didn't know how to dress. I guess she finally learned when it was too late," I replied. 

"Ouch, Zaina," my cousin Shahad said with a cautious laugh.  

I shrugged. "Did I lie, though? Anyway, is anyone invited to Latifa's wedding? I heard her dress is custom Prada." 

"I am," my younger cousin Afnan said, between bites of  her chocolate croissant. 

I was sidetracked by a man approaching the table of guys sitting across the cafe. I watched as he smiled and shook the hands of his friends warmly before sitting down, and his bright smile never left his face. 

I smiles to myself. 

His eyes, covered in a pair of thick bordered glasses, still appear wide and kind. His nose is sharp and strong, and his lips seem permanently divided in a smile. 

He was hot. 

"Are you guys traveling for New Year's?" Dana asked.

"I'm going skiing," Shahad replied. 

“Zaina are you going to Germany for Zaid?” Haya asked me. What a nosey question.

I nodded, hoping no one’s noticed me ogling the hot guy, but they didn’t look like it. The girls were busy telling each other their travel plans, so I sneaked a peek again at the mystery man, who leaned back coolly on his chair and nodded at his friends. He was not smiling anymore, making him look even more attractive. 

"How is he, really?" Haya asked. This pissed me off. It was an uncomfortable question. 

“He's doing better," I said, then feigned my surprise at the time: it was 10:45 in the evening. "I didn't realize it was getting late!" I said, standing up. "I’m sorry, I need to go. I’ll see you girls soon, okay?” I said, rushing to stand up. 

“Of course,” they said, and I know they probably talked about me once I left. Maybe about my brother’s accident. Who knew?

My eyes darted to the mystery man, who was standing up now. 

He was leaving already? 

I grabbed my Kelly and walked to the door, but he beat me to it. He flashed me a polite, tight smile and opened the door for me, extending his arm for me to pass.

“Thank you,” I replied, blushing on the inside.

I got into my Ferrari, parked right in front of the cafe, while he walked to his car. I couldn’t see what it was. 

Bye, hot mystery man…

The drive from Messila to Shuwaikh was usually a relaxing drive with the windows rolled down, and nothing but the breeze through my hair, music bursting through the speakers of the car. 

I didn’t even know why I had to go home so soon; both my parents were away. My dad was in Germany with my brother, while my mom was in London doing god knows what, as a break from Germany, I guessed. I should visit them soon, but hospitals visits would suck the life out of me. Plus, my brother is doing fine; it’s not like he needs me there. 

“I’m talking to you,” I heard someone say, which caused me to turn my head. Big mistake. 

I locked eyes with a buff guy in his truck, the both of us waiting for the traffic light to turn green. I turned the music on higher, and darted my eyes back to my phone, but I could tell that was my second mistake.

This seemed to anger him because I could now hear him yelling next to me. I didn’t dare look to my left, and I looked at the symbols  t my door instead; the car was locked. 

The light turned green and I drove, but weirdly enough he was matching my speed so he’d continue yelling at me. I was stuck.

He started circling my car; going in front of me, to my right, to my left. I  didn’t know his next move, but I had a feeling I was going to crash

My heart stuttered in my chest, hammering. I tried switching lanes but he’d still change with me—I couldn’t outsmart him.

“Shit,” I said out loud, and I turned off the music to concentrate. His yelling was even louder, and I gasped at some of the words he said. He just wanted me to turn my head again, give him some attention and stroke his ego, but now I was too scared to. I couldn’t. I was damned either way. 

He slowed down until we weren’t the same speed anymore, and I relaxed, sighing in relief that he finally stopped caring, getting the hint that I wasn’t taking the bait. 

“Oh my God,” I said, shaking as I drove on the far right side where the slow cars were despite the road being almost empty. It was eleven at night on the highway.

I turned the music back on, just starting to relax, but bright lights blinded me from behind. 

He’d come back, and with a vengeance. He began to tailgate me, and no matter how much I swerved or sped up he was still onto me until we both ended up on the fast lane, with him right behind me. 

Who was I going to call once he followed me home? My twin bothers? They were in middle school. They’d be more afraid than I was. I swerved right, but he blocked me, and I gasped, slowing down.

“What do you want!” I yelled in my car, feeling my tears fall in anger and fear. I wanted this to be over. I just wanted to get home.

He sped behind me now, almost hitting my car until I slid right, but he did too, and the sound of his screeching tires caused me to swerve left forcefully that I lost control of the steering wheel. 

I couldn’t even scream as my car spun over and over again before hitting a concrete slab to my right, my head hit the window, but I couldn’t feel it from the shock. The sound of the harsh metal hitting concrete was loud in my ear, and the screech of the tires replayed in my head.

I was gasping now. Shaking while the other cars on the highway brushed past me, honking as if there was something I could do. It was over eleven, and I was alone on the way home. I panicked and looked around for him, but he was long gone. 

I touched my head, held my hands up to my face; I wasn’t bleeding. I was safe—for now. 

A knock on my window startled me, but it was not the guy from the truck; he was long gone: he got what he wanted.  

I was too discombobulated to care that it was Hot Guy. I was just glad it was anyone but the psycho on the road. 

“Are you okay?” the stranger asked me, but I didn’t reply. I was too shocked to. 

“Do you need the ambulance?” he said. I gulped. He’s just trying to help, I calmed myself down. 

“No,” I replied, lowering the window. At least the windows worked . 

“The cops are on the way, and I got it all on video. Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked me. His eyes were kind up close, almost hazel with the harsh lights from my car, his, and the streetlight above us.

“I am,” I said, slowly staring to trust him. I was out of it still, unaware of almost anything. 

“Where did he go?” I asked, voice trembling. 

“He escaped. I think he didn’t expect this to happen. I got his car plate,” he said. I’d heard of angels saving people in accidents; was he one of them?

“You can sit in my car while the police arrive,” he said. I shook my head.

“Thank you but I’d rather stay here,” I said and he nodded understandably.

“I’ll look out for them; they should be here any minute now,” he said. Police. It was real. “Are you sure you don’t need an ambulance?” he asked again.

I nodded. “I’m sure,” I replied. I was more shocked than hurt; I guessed the passenger side of my car got the worst of it. I was too scared to check, or leave my car. 

“Is there anyone you’d like to call?” he asked me. God, who was I supposed to call to come help me? 

I didn’t want to traumatize anyone. Plus, my brother Razzaq was away on a quick trip to Dubai.

I didn’t even want to call any of my guy cousins or my uncles. I had no one. 

I shook my head, but he didn’t seem annoyed by it; he just nodded. I could see the lights of the police car and sirens behind me until it parked in front of me. I still found comfort and safety in my now beat-up car.

“Are you okay, miss?” the officer asked. Now I was wondering if I really should get myself checked.

I did a quick scan of any aches, but maybe I was still too shocked and shaken to feel anything.  I nodded my head. 

“We’ll arrange a tow truck to move your car. Make sure to grab your vehicle registration certificate,” the officer told me. I nodded. 

“Wh-where do I go next?” I asked him. My savior stood beside the police officer, while the officer took pictures of the car.

“To the precinct. Don’t worry, we’ll have everything fixed,” he said. I doubted he was talking about my car. I nodded and left the vehicle. 

I didn’t turn, I just knew it was in bad shape. I was relieved when I walked just fine. I looked between the stranger’s car, and the police car, who seemed ready to leave. 

“I can drop you off. I need to show them the video, anyway,” the stranger told me like I had another option. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I was at the cafe with my cousins just twenty minutes ago. 

“Thank you,” I said as we walked to his car; a navy Patrol. I opted for the backseat instead of the passenger’s seat, setting my boundaries clearly, though he didn’t seem like the type to cross them. 

“Do you have everything you need?” he asked me. 

“I do,” I said, looking out the window to avoid looking at the damage to my car. He was following the police car to the precinct, but now my head started to hurt. I should’ve asked to call an ambulance or maybe just pass by a hospital before. Maybe I was overthinking it. 

“I’m sorry for keeping you,” I said, looking at the time on my phone. He smiled softly as he drove.

“Not at all. I’m sorry you have to go through this,” he replied, looking at me through the rearview mirror. His eyes were still kind, and I was starting to warm up to him.  He didn’t say anything more, maybe to make me more comfortable. 

We arrived at the precinct shortly, where I was led to a room with a detective and the stranger, who I had yet to know the name of, sat in front of me.

“Whose car was affected?” the detective asked.

“Mine,” I said.

“Can you tell me what happened?” he said. I nodded, and explained how I was chased by the lunatic in the truck. Anger soared through me and I did my best to keep my composure. I looked at the stranger, who nodded at me to keep going, maybe even sensing my pain. 

“And you have the recording and details?” the detective asked the stranger. 

“I do,” he said. 

“May I have your civil I.D., and the video please?” the detective asked.

“Of course,” the stranger asked, pulling out his phone and wallet. He looked at me and paused. “I don’t know if you’d like to hear the video,” he told me, disregarding protocol.

“I’d rather not,” I said, confirming his suggestion. “May I leave the room while he shows you the video?” I asked the detective.

“Of course,” the detective said, looking annoyed. 

I stood up and walked out, trying to catch the name of the stranger on his civil ID but it wasn’t clear. I just saw a Y.  I checked my phone; it was midnight. No one called to check on me, thank God. The door opened just two minutes later, and Y, held the door open for me while I walked in. God, my head was pounding. 

“Are you okay, miss Zaina? It looked like a hard crash,” the detective said in front of the stranger. Y now knew my name. I had yet to know his. 

“I’m fine,” I lied. 

He nodded, and didn’t press. 

“We have his license plate number, and enough to warrant an arrest. I’ll be in contact with both you and the brother Yaqoub here regarding the case.” 

So Y’s name was Yaqoub? He looked like it. “Is there someone else you’d like us to be in contact with?” the police officer asked. 

I shook my head. Absolutely not.

“Don’t worry, it’s an easy case. You can even take that man to court,” he said. While I would’ve loved to ruin that man’s life, I also didn’t want my parents to know. I simply nodded. I just wanted to leave; my head was pounding. 

“You’re good to go, I don’t want to keep you in any longer; it’s already late. Just don’t forget your ID’s and registration,” the detective said, typing on the computer.

Yaqoub and I both nodded, and we reached out to grab our belongings on the table, and stood up. 

I looked at what I’d thought was my driver’s license. I read Yaqoub’s full name instead, along with his date of birth. He was older than me in four years.

“Sorry, I grabbed yours by mistake,” I said, and he chuckled.

“I realized it, too,” he said, handing me my card. Our fingers grazed for a fleeting moment as we exchanged cards.

“I’ll work out the tow details with the precinct, don’t worry,” he told me, and I nodded. 

I was glad I had insurance to cover the cost of the damages. I could manage on my own, I guess. Or maybe reach out to him. I opened his car door, but my head pounded heavily and I groaned out in pain. I didn’t realize he was close by. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, inching closer to me to inspect. 

“I’m-my head actually really hurts,” I said, touching it. 

“Let’s get you to the hospital. Amiri?” he asked me, and I nodded. I got in and carefully closed the door behind me. The time on the dashboard screen read 00:42. It was closer to one in the morning than midnight. 

“I’m really sorry to disrupt your evening, Yaqoub,” I said, realizing that I uttered his name.

“Not at all. I’m actually relieved you agreed to go to the hospital. Do you feel any other symptoms?” he asked me.

“No, maybe it’s just a headache,” I said.

“I’d rather get you to have it checked,” he replied, looking at me from the rearview mirror. Any hesitation about being in a car with a stranger melted away. I felt safe with him driving. Like he won’t take me to a secluded area and kill me, possibly. 

We didn’t talk on the way to Amiri. Maybe he didn’t want to worsen my headache, or maybe he didn’t want to make me uncomfortable. What was even there to talk about other than the accident, which I’d rather delete from my memory?

“Let’s go through emergency,” he said as he parked close to the entrance. He rushed to my side and opened the door for me. “Are you okay?” he asked me.

 

I put one foot down, but I felt dizzy, my second foot didn't steady, and I was about to fall on my face until he caught me by my shoulders. A surge of embarrassment raced through me, coursing my veins; maybe that was the source of my headache. 

“Woah, okay let’s get you a wheelchair,” he said, looking around for a porter with one. My head was screaming in pain, and I tried not to show it. I didn’t want to freak him out. 

The porter took us to the triage area where we waited five minutes before i was let in. He didn’t go in with me and gave me my privacy instead. My eyes felt heavy with sleep, but my head felt like it was being squeezed.

“What seems to be the issue ma'am?” the doctor asked me. 

“My—my head hurts. I got into an accident; my car slammed the sidewalk and I think I hit my head hard on the window,” I replied. He simply nodded.

“Amy other symptoms? Vomiting? Dizziness?”

“Dizziness, yes,” I replied. He nodded, and wrote something on a piece of paper. 

“It should just be a minor concussion. Just avoid ibuprofen, and keep a hot compress on your head to relieve the pain,” he replied. 

That was it? 

God, I felt embarrassed for dragging Yaqoub here just for a damn compress. The porter wheeled me out, and Yaqoub stood up when I left.

“Everything okay?”

I nodded. “I just need to grab some medicine, but he said it's a minor concussion.”

He nodded. “I suspected it.”

“I think I can walk,” I said, stepping out of the wheelchair. I wasn’t so dizzy anymore. Just sleepy.

“Thank you,” I said to the porter. Yaqoub thanked him as well.

“Are you sure?” he asked me as I stood at the counter to pickup my medication.

“Yes,” I said. I started to doubt myself now,  but I was fine when we finally walked back to his car.

I checked the time on my phone again: it’s was 1:53 a.m. crap. 

“It’s late,” I told him while he buckled up. He was probably wondering why my parents hadn't called me or checked on me. He probably thought I was a nobody, or maybe just a nobody with a Ferrari. A poor little rich girl. 

 

“It’s 7pm somewhere,” he said coolly, and I chuckled back.

“I’m just really embarrassed. Please, how can I thank you?” I said.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said. “Now where do I drop you off?” he asked.

“Shuwaikh, please,” I told him, looking out the window. I bit my lip. I was sure he was judging where I lived. He couldn't leave me thinking I had no one. 

“I-I didn’t want to scare anyone,” I began. I didn’t know why I was opening up. He looked between the road and me through his rearview mirror. 

“My parents are in Germany with my younger brother. He got into a really bad accident and he’s getting treatment there,” I said, clarifying the questions in his mind. “I don’t want to add to it by calling anyone, I don’t want the news to spread,” I replied, looking out the window to avoid his eyes. I didn’t tell him the truth about Zaid’s accident. At least what my family and I deduced. 

“I’m—I’m so sorry to hear that,” he said. “I hope he’s doing better.”

“He needs a few operations,“ I replied, still keeping it vague. I looked around his car for any clues of his personality; a tennis racket here, work papers there—I got nothing. It was spotless.

“Inshallah they’ll be back safely before you know it,” he said and I smiled politely once he turned his head slightly to me.

“Inshallah,” I said, feeling my cheeks flush. 

I looked at him as he drove, at his silhouette washed with moonlight. He was undeniably handsome with his sharp jaw and nose, eyes framed by thick lashes, and a subtle stubble to bring all his features together. 

I didn’t know any relatives who were related to his family. 

Why was I even going there? 

“Which block?” he asked. I sat up straight now and gave him instructions on how to get to my house. We were starting to approach it, but I told him to park at the house in front of it. I was maybe a bit shy to tell him my house was the regal-looking one on the left.

What if he was going to blackmail me or something once he knew my family was filthy rich?

“Thank you so much, again,” I said as I opened the door.

“Of course. How can I reach you to update you about the car?” he asked me.

 Oh. There was that. 

“I’ll plug in my number,” I said and he handed me his phone. He gave me a missed call, so I saved his.

“Perfect. Take care, Zaina,” he said as I left the car. I smiled at him.

“Thank you, Yaqoub. You, too,” I replied.

There was a few brief seconds where he looked absolutely gorgeous in the play of shadow and light, and I had to look away. 

The weirdest part was, I had yet to feel this way about my fiance.