The final bell rang, and she was halfway through packing her bag when Miss Lina poked her head into the classroom.
"Miss Azra, you're needed in the staffroom. It's about tomorrow's trip."
Her stomach performed a slow, sickening dip. "Tomorrow?"
Lina nodded. "Since Mariam left an hour ago, things have shifted."
She froze, a stack of notebooks mid-air. "Mariam... left? When?"
"Oh, she wasn't feeling well and went home early. Didn't she tell you?" Lina blinked with a look of feigned innocence.
Internally, her heart was screaming. No, Mariam had absolutely not told her. Which meant she was currently staring down the barrel of a field trip without her usual partner-in-arms.
She hurried to the staffroom, anxiety climbing up her throat like a physical weight. The Headteacher stepped out the moment she arrived.
"Miss Azra, since Mariam is out for tomorrow, you'll need a replacement chaperone."
Please, she prayed silently. Anyone else. Literally anyone else.
"I've paired you with Mr. Fares."
She blinked.
Once.
Twice.
The world seemed to tilt.
"M-Mr... Fares?"
"Yes." The Headteacher offered a small, reassuring smile. "He's available, and he's wonderful with the students. He'll provide a good balance for the group."
Her soul effectively packed its bags and vacated her body. She forced a rigid nod. "Of course... no problem. Totally fine."
It was not fine. It was the furthest thing from fine.
She spent the evening in a daze.
The moment she reached the sanctuary of her bedroom, she called Layla.
No salaam, no greeting—just pure, unadulterated suffering.
"BABE, I HUMILIATED MYSELF," she wailed the second Layla picked up.
Layla sighed, the sound of a friend who had been bracing for this exact phone call. "What did you do now?"
She launched into the entire saga: the greeting disaster, the accidental attitude, and her now-infamous "shooing motion." By the time she finished, Layla was laughing so hard she had to muffle the sound with a pillow.
"You know," Layla said between wheezes, "it's actually classic you to act mean to someone you like."
"I don't like him!" she snapped.
Layla didn't miss a beat. "Right. So you're just mean to him for no reason?"
She hesitated, her voice small. "N-no... I'm not mean for no reason."
"So you're mean because you like him," Layla countered, a smirk evident in her tone.
"I'm not—I don't—I—"
"Babe," Layla interrupted, clearly enjoying the chaos. "Which one is it? Are you just mean, or do you like him?"
"Both," she muttered into her mattress.
"Mhmm. Thought so."
She groaned dramatically. "I hate you."
"You love me," Layla replied. "And tomorrow, you're going to be fine. No panicking. No being mean. And definitely no shooing a grown man away like a stray kitten."
"I want to disappear."
"You'll survive," Layla promised. "Just try not to insult him with your mere existence."
They talked until the tightness in her chest eased and her brain stopped replaying her embarrassment like a highlight reel of pain. Eventually, she drifted off.
And then—because the universe had a dark sense of humor—she overslept.
She jolted awake as if she'd been launched from a cannon.
The "First-Born Protocol" kicked into high gear: she packed her own lunch, prepped her siblings' food, and ensured everyone was dressed, fed, and semi-functional in record time.
By the time she reached the school gate, she was at a full-out sprint. Dragging her bag behind her, she felt her breath punching out of her lungs in short, desperate wheezes.
The school bus was already rumbling, a line of students and teachers disappearing inside.
She scrambled across the parking lot, certain she was about to pass away.
She skidded to a halt beside the bus, leaning her hands on her knees, gasping for air.
"Are you okay?"
She didn't even need to look up.
She knew that voice.
It was soft, warm, and tinged with that same unbearable amusement.
Fares.
She closed her eyes and offered a silent prayer for composure before slowly straightening up.
He was standing there, hands tucked into his pockets, watching her with a smile that suggested he found her disheveled state oddly charming.
"Rough morning?" he asked gently.
Her entire brain short-circuited.