The soles of her black khussas (traditional footwear) clanked against the white furnished marble floor as she stormed inside the living room of the annex she and Asmara lived in, situated just at the back of the school. The rivulets of the coffee were still streaming down her cashmere as she tried exorcising them out.

"Which shopkeeper got victimized today?" Asmara eyed Safa from where she was perched on the bar stool behind the counter of the open kitchen, before resuming back to her newspaper.

"My coffee did," she replied with ire as she pulled her black hair back into a messy bun again.

"Dunno what he thinks of himself. Wasted the sacred beverage just like that. I hope he never gets to taste it ever. That criminal." She muttered to herself as she poured herself another cup from the coffee-maker.

"Who are you talking about?" Asmara cocked her head as she squinted, the few lose tendrils of her hair framing her pale face.

"The miser! That blasphemous miser! I swear if I see him one more time, I'm gonna strangle him," she retorted through gritted teeth.

"Wait a second. Just tell me what happened," Asmara chirped as she put the newspaper on the obsidian ebony counter.

"Okay so I bumped into this guy on my way back here and he just spilled the coffee all over me and then had the auda..."

"Not the censored version, Safa," she cut her off. "Tell me what you did, too."

Safa's heart-shaped face contorted into a bomb just about to detonate at her remark as she huffed in annoyance. "Alright, fine. I spilled it on him first but it was only an accident. He, however, did it on purpose."

"Well, you must have said something to rile him up," she announced as a matter of fact-ly.

"No, I didn't. I even offered help." The defensive button had again been turned on.

"Wait. Let me guess. You must have offered him a tissue. Am I right?" Placing her chin on the back of her clasped hands propped on the counter-top, she inquired with a playful grin, her brow arched up.

"You're crazy. I'm not that naïve." Safa convulsed her head as she asked Asmara to pass her the sugar pot. "What are you reading, anyway?"

"Umm... Newspaper...?" Her tone, sarcastic.

Safa rolled her eyes as she scooped a spoonful of sugar out of the pot. "Yeah, well, what does it say? 'What's happening around the globe?' to make it easier for ya."

"It has you on the headline. '10 Million Dollars to turn in Safa Hayat, a serial killer on the run.'"

Her hand suddenly stopped stirring the sugar in the cup as her breaths hitched and heart constricted to the point where she felt a bile rising up her throat. Beads of sweat ornamented her forehead in the biting cold as she gaped at Asmara, her bird-frame trembling.

"What?" Asmara eyed her in bewilderment on seeing her color deprived face.

"Y... You just said... I'm making... the headline," her voice quivered, betraying her flounder to suppress the havoc yelping to unleash.

"Yeah... well. It was an obvious joke. Why are you getting so serious?" She glared at her suspiciously.

Finally, she let out the breath she'd been holding in and said in a bashing tone. "It wasn't funny."

"Alright, mom!" Asmara sang as she spun to the side on her bar stool, resuming back to her paper.

Without uttering a single word, Safa grabbed her black cup and went to slouch down on the couch situated by the side wall.

Few minutes dragged by in silence while she calmed herself when Asmara finally broke it. "How did you say he looked again?"

"Who?" She scrunched her eyebrows as she took a swig from the cup.

"That guy you spilled coffee on."

"I didn't."

"Okay, well. Describe him now."

Safa eyed her dubiously at her sudden interrogation before commencing. "Black eyes. Charcoal hair. Tanned skin. Scraggy beard. Must be in his late twenties. And man, his height! If he hadn't had misbehaved, I would have probably asked him to grab that sun for me. Man, was it freezing out there!"

"Yep. You just brawled with Azlan Shehryar," Asmara divulged, her gaze set on the newspaper.

"No, I didn't." She laughed weakly. "How can it be him? The guy seemed quite young."

"So?" Asmara knitted her brows in confusion.

"Well, mostly old people ripping towards their end run these kinds of projects to, you know, increase their number in the eyes of God."

"ASTAGHRIULLAH, Safa!" She screeched as she closed the paper. "I don't know what genre of human psychology you studied back in college but what I do know is that the guy you spilled your precious coffee on is definitely Azlan Shehryar," she said as she hopped off the chair, thrashing the newspaper on the counter and was about to go when Safa shot up on her feet, too.

"Yeah, so? That doesn't justify his behavior in the slightest, that big old baboon! I swear I'd kick him where it hurts the most if he comes in front of me right now."

"Safaaa..." Asmara gritted her teeth as she gestured her to look behind but she cut her off.

"No, what Safa, hun? Just because he runs this school doesn't mean he owns us all," she yelped, her voice rising above octaves as Asmara looked at someone with an apologetic smile.

"Who the hell are you looking at?" She furrowed as she turned around and bumped onto someone again.

And SPLASH!

No way! No no no! No, please God no. Let it be Hogwarts this time, please please please. Pretty please!

Gradually, she cocked her head up and opened just one eye as if it'd save her from the wrath coming her way.

I'm dead. So dead. Anyone see a rewind button?

With a thudding heart, she plopped open the second eye, as well, which came in contact with the apoplectic vain shooting its way down on Azlan's forehead, his plump lips pursed, and jaws tightened to cheek bones. The shirt was entirely ruined this time, completely dripping with rivulets of coffee, his hands in strong fists.

His killing gaze was enough to make her slackened in her own skin and she never wished to be swallowed up by the earth more than she did now.

With a puppy face, she drooped her head down and extended the cup towards him with a quivering hand so he could spill the remaining coffee back on her.

******