That little seed of anticipation made the disappointment hit harder. Outside was bright sunshine, but inside, it felt like heavy stones were pressing down on my chest, making each breath slow and labored.
I took a quiet, deep breath and sat down in my usual front-row seat. During class, when the professor called on students, I seized the chance to turn around, pretending to listen intently while secretly scanning the empty seat beside Ayub.
Still vacant.
But what exactly was I expecting?
Our connection was as thin as water, our acquaintance fleeting. In this unfamiliar city, nothing seemed worth pinning hopes on.
The professor assigned a discussion topic, but our trio was down to two. We moved to the library. Ayub played distractedly on his phone, and neither of us had much heart for discussion.
Pushing my materials aside, I decided to be blunt. "You can't dump all the work on me. You two – you and Musa – need to pull your weight!"
Ayub finally put his phone down. He didn't look annoyed, but he didn't agree either. Instead, he cheerfully deflected. "Musa's been swamped lately, barely has a moment. See? He couldn't even make it to class."
"What's he so busy with?" The question had been burning inside me.
Ayub blinked, a mysterious smile curling his lips. "That... you'll find out soon enough."
His tone shut down further prying. Seeing his pleased expression, it probably wasn't anything bad. Since I had no real reason to dwell on it, knowing Musa was safe and sound was enough to stop my wondering.
Today's "discussion" ended before it began. I should have known Ayub was just here for the diploma. And if Musa was truly that busy, this presentation would likely land squarely on my shoulders.
The thought felt bleak. Being alone in a foreign country was hard enough without carrying the academic load for two unreliable partners.
Just as I stepped out of the library, Quinn Yin called. "You newbies have been here almost a week. We thought we'd throw a get-together for all the Chinese students on the exchange program. Good chance to meet everyone."
Craving a sense of belonging, I thought it was a great idea and agreed immediately. "Where? Do we have a place?"
"The guys' dorms are strictly off-limits to women. The hotel suites are big enough, though, no silly rules. So, we'll use my room. It's not a huge crowd, more like a cozy house party."
"Anything I can do to help?"
Quinn Yin thought for a moment. "You and Lia handle the food shopping. Best go to Dragon Mart [Dubai's massive commercial center]. Other places won't have everything. Your seniors are dying for real Chinese food!"
She rattled off a list of dishes. I noted them down. On the day of the party, Lia and I headed straight to Dragon Mart. Meat and veggies were easy; the challenge was finding Chinese seasonings – scallions, ginger, garlic, vinegar, cooking wine. We wandered through half the market before finally gathering everything.
It was exhausting. To avoid this hassle next time a craving hit, we bought extra supplies and stuffed them into the small freezer in our hotel suite. At least we wouldn't have to trek out sweating for a while.
Since it was the first gathering for old and new students, every Chinese student in the program showed up.
"Every" meant barely over a dozen people. We were all here through the same university exchange, on full scholarships for a two-year Master's, followed by two years working for a Dubai oil company.
This shared experience – meeting abroad, our lives tracing similar paths – made our small group feel instantly close. After a few tentative greetings, everyone quickly relaxed, chatting and laughing like old friends. Soon, sleeves were rolled up, hands were on hips, and everyone eagerly dove into the "culinary battle."
The head chef, unanimously elected by the seniors, was a guy named Yushu, a year ahead of me.
He wore a plain dark blue shirt, buttoned meticulously to the top. His thick hair was neatly combed, and black-framed glasses sat on his nose, giving him an air of clean-cut reliability.
Thinking I could manage a few decent dishes myself, I volunteered to be his sous-chef. But the moment I saw his knife skills, I instantly regretted it – I was hopelessly out of my depth!
His cooking was as trustworthy as his appearance. His knife work was exquisite! Julienning, dicing, slicing, shredding – every movement was steady, precise, and swift. Watching his flexible wrist work was like witnessing an art form, leaving me dazzled.
"Did you train professionally?" I couldn't help asking.
"No," he replied, pausing his chopping to turn and look at me politely. "Just cooked for myself since I was little. Practice."
"You're very independent," I complimented sincerely, continuing to watch his flying fingers. There was no room for me to intervene.
He had a sturdy build, but his fingers were long and slender – clearly capable and dexterous hands.
Hot oil sizzled in the wok! Soon, plate after plate of fragrant, colorful dishes graced the table: clear-braised lamb, fish head with chopped chili, Kung Pao chicken, dry-fried beef... plus other contributions like chicken soup wontons and cumin lamb chops.
Of course, no pork. Avoiding pork in Dubai wasn't about worshipping pigs, as some rumors back home suggested; it was simply because Muslims deemed it unclean.
Everyone drooled, especially the seniors who hadn't been home in ages. They dug in unceremoniously the moment the food hit the table. I tried a piece of Yushu's fish – incredibly tender, melting in my mouth, bursting with flavor. I couldn't help exclaiming, "This is absolutely delicious!"
Yushu smiled back at me, genuinely pleased. I returned a smile full of pure culinary bliss! (The bliss was purely about the food!)
"Ahem." Quinn Yin cleared her throat loudly, her eyes darting between Yushu and me. Our little exchange hadn't escaped her notice. She beamed, her words loaded with implication. "Yushu is one of the very few eligible bachelors left in our year, you know! Cece, aren't you single too?"
She paused, then delivered the coup de grâce: "Senior guys and junior girls have always been a perfect match!"
Her intent couldn't be clearer! My chopsticks paused mid-air. For some reason, an image of Musa flashed through my mind – sitting quietly by the classroom window in his white thobe, bathed in sunlight through sheer curtains, his eyelashes looking almost golden, radiating a warmth that felt strangely suffocating.
The thought sent a tremor through my heart, nearly flustering me. I quickly pulled my thoughts back, deliberately playing along with Quinn Yin's teasing. I forced a bright smile and held out my phone to Yushu. "Oh, Your Majesty, Most Eligible Bachelor... would you grace me with your phone number?"