“Come, I’ll drop you off,” Khaled insisted.
“No, Julie’s taking a cab with me. I’ll drop her off on my way to Abu Dhabi,” Zi replied for me.
“Are you sure, Julie?” Kavee whispered
“I’ll be fine,” forcing a blank face.
All my colleagues left except for me and Zi.
“Zi, don’t deprive me of my daily exercise,” I fought for privacy. “I’ll walk home.”
“You’ll be walking for half an hour in this humid weather?”
“Yes. Thanks for your concern. But I could really manage,” putting smiles on, I bade him goodbye.
I couldn’t stand a second being with them. I was utterly red upon awkwardly displacing the bread all over the table. Sulking while tracing my path home, some bystanders sitting beside the street jested:
“Hello, Habibi! How are you?”
As if not hearing anything, I quickly walked past them. One of the men suddenly seized my left wrist. To my great shock, I almost screamed.
Then, a boomerang from somewhere hit the unwelcome arm. They were all stunned to see who threw it.
“Leave her alone,” a cap hid my savior’s identity yet her voice confirmed my hunch. Surprisingly, they left.
“Why do you walk on skirts along dark streets?” she asked.
“I went to a company dinner.”
“These are the right clothes.”
“How is it working inside chilled buildings?”
“Eh.. not interesting. Only the view of sailboats down here soothes my boredom.”
“Really.. I’ve never had a look of them from the top. I’ve always been inside those dhows, you know.”
“You’re a sailor?”
“I thought it’s obvious with my cap.”
“How is it like sailing?”
“Oh, come on, say more.”
“I’m sea-sick. I hate every journey.”
“Ohh, that’s a problem.”
“Not really. If you can’t have what you want, like what you have.”
Tags: conversation, Dubai Creek, sailing, story