The Night Before the Morning After

Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem

From what I actually recall...

I tossed the tot glass I had just drunk at a random girl with a tray, turning around to find my way back.

Yikes. I could barely walk straight. I felt like my legs were on some kind of stilts, as I pushed my way back onto the floor. I grinned at my date as I finally reached her, pulling her close to me, only to realise…. Shit. It was someone else.

She was on fire though, whoever it was.

“Sorry, sorry,” I apologised, letting go of whatever I had grabbed of her, trying to control myself and take a step back. Focus, Ziyaad.

New chic didn’t look like she minded. I grinned at her, following her again and she smiled in an overly-enticing way. She nodded off to the new beat that was taking over and I heard someone calling me, ever so faintly.


I only heard that much as people started getting rowdy for some reason, and she was drowned out. I wasn’t sure exactly what was happening until I was literally spun around by someone.

“What the hell, Ziyaad?! That chic was like, all over you! And you…”

I held my hands up in self defense.

“Sorry, gorgeous… I thought it was you,” I said, not all that convincingly.

I leaned forward, aiming for full on mouth contact, but I ended up somewhere near her ear. So much for trying to kill the tension.

“How drunk are you? Idiot! Did you take that stuff that guy was handing out?!”

I looked up at her, shrugging my shoulders nonchalantly. What, exactly, was the big deal?

“Ziyaad, when will you ever-”

“You ready to go?” I cut her off, bouncing my head to the beat and trying to change the topic, to cut myself some slack.

She nodded, clearly hurt. I ignored the tears in her eyes, leading the way out.

I made sure I stopped to greet my loyal crew. There was a new guy, looked from somewhere in on the outskirts of town or something, trying to get in with the crowd. He looked a bit out of place. I  ignored him, even though I took at least ten minutes to make a scene and finally say my general greetings for the night. I had to keep my standard. I couldn’t let them know I was launching them for a chic.

Farah waited patiently, and the remainder of the night, I was sure, was probably epic. Problem was, I couldn’t remember much of it.

It had all just hit me as I woke up the next morning, trying hard to pry my heavy eyes open, aroused by the noises in the kitchenette of the Houghton apartment that Dad had recently bought.

Farah. Last night. Was it all I had always imagined?

Shit. I honestly couldn’t remember. Did we even…?

I sourced my iPhone 6S plus, on the bedside pedestal, unlocking it promptly.

Haraam satisfaction is only temporary.”

What the hell, man? Why was Waseem’s message still there? Had I really not opened my phone since before I picked up Farah? Was last night so hectic?

“Farah,” I called out. I needed to know. Only problem was that my voice sounded like a croak.

Nonethless, she entered, already dressed and ready to leave. I vaguely recognised the same skinny pants she had on yesterday, from the after party, and a borrowed a striped Guess shirt that I had left in the cupboard last week.

I couldn’t shake what I felt. She looked like a model. At that moment, I didn’t want anyone else to even look at her, so extreme was my possessiveness.

I found myself staring at her, feeling like I had lost a million dollars. Because I couldn’t even remember what it was like being with her.

“Don’t worry, my brother will fetch me,” she said. That was a bit of a blow. She had a tiny smile on her face, but her eyes told another story.

“Okay,” was all I managed to croak, rubbing my eyes. I tried to climb out of bed, massaging my temples. I quickly covered myself again, realising that I would be quite offensive if I stepped out.

Last night was a very sore reality for me, right at that moment. As daylight took over, I felt like my head was being pounded with a 10 ton hammer. Serious hangover alert.

“I made you coffee.”

“Cool,” I replied.

That would solve my headache. Maybe temporarily.

Temporarily. Temporary. Why was every single thing so damn short-lived? I couldn’t put my finger on it.

This sinking feeling in my gut… And the lump in my throat as she left… Why did it always have to end like that? Why did it always end up feeling so… Kak?

I drove home that day, after having coffee and a cigarette, dressing quickly, only to find that my tyre had got a puncture sometime last night.

How did I not even notice? Every single thing that could possibly go wrong, was happening. The clouds that I felt looming over me seemed to intensify. I was sure that last night was amazing, so why the hell didn’t I feel like it?

After calling the BMW technician to come home to sort out my car, the only thing I had left to do was shower. I needed my shower, with the overpriced Lush products I had spent on last week. Meant to ‘rejuvinate’. Let’s see how it works.

I ignored my household members, chasing only the feeling of being renewed, after a rough night out. I had just had the longest, steamiest, most fragrant shower, and finally emerged in my towel, admiring my frame in the mirror.

At least I was still looking like me, despite how I felt. I switched on my sound system for a music diversion, towel dried my hair roughly and looked longingly at my bed.

Yeah. That was more like it.

Ever so suddenly, like the socket was pulled out of the wall, the beat in my room just stopped.

“Think you can drown your sorrows with music, Zi? It don’t work that way.”

Oh, hell.


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