“What are you doing here?” she asked, staring at him suspiciously.
He startled, but quickly composed himself by saying, “Assalamualaikum,” and further smiled, “I need some fresh air.”
“Waalaikummussalam,” suddenly she felt ashamed at her uncouth ambush. “I know. My cousins are monopolizing the oxygen.”
“No, that’s not it,” he smacked his lips, resisting to laugh, “I’m just—”
“Examining the house?” she provided.
“What?”
“The house,” she said nonchalantly. “You are examining the house.”
He looked at her with an unreadable expression. “The house,” he said primly, “Is spectacular.”
“Is that so?” she raised her eyebrows. “The interior is not up to par, you see. It even has a hole.”
He stared at her oddly, especially after hearing the word, hole.
“I see,” his voice sounded strangled.
“Do you?”
“I can’t say I follow you,” he narrowed his eyes.
She briefly smiled, and said in a haughty tone, “I heard someone was planning on ransacking the house.”
“R-ransacking?”
“How weird,” she narrowed her eyes. “Are you making fun of me?”
“Of course not,” he quickly denied. “It’s unintentional.”
“Good,” she said smugly, “Because we should make it clear that it was unintentional for me to read someone’s mails as well, even if the mails were mine to read.”
“What mail?” his eyes widened.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she deliberately sighed, “I thought it’s shameful of me to read something that has no business with me, but then I realize that it is my business after all.”
He didn’t say a thing, but then he asked in confusion, “What is it?”
“Like I said,” she smiled dryly, “I read that a person was planning to ransack someone’s house, and you know what?”
“What?” he asked cautiously.
“Someone called this house yesterday. He wants to ransack this house too, I believe. Such a coincidence.”
He stilled for a moment. “What makes you say that?”
“I have a hunch,” her voice grew serious.
“Mind to share?”
“Absolutely,” she nodded. “That email owner, and that caller yesterday,” she paused for dramatic effect, “Is the same person.”
“That’s preposterous, don’t you think?” he laughed, but Nadirah could detect a hint of distress in his voice.
More reasons for her to conclude that she was on the right track.
“I am weird, and I do believe that you don’t understand the true measure of my weirdness, but if there is anything that I am absolutely certain, it would be that,” she grinned triumphantly, “The caller yesterday, is you.”
He stared at her incredulously. “Me?”
“And that email owner, x-y-r-u I don’t know how to pronounce that—”
“Xyru?” his face twisted unsteadily.
“Xyru, right,” she cleared her throat. “Is also you.”
He stood there, bewildered, staring at her from every angle. “I can’t believe it,” he muttered. “S-u-r-i, not certain on the exact pronunciation—”
“Suri, it’s a fairly simple name!”
“Is you,” he ignored her outburst, “I was hoping that you live in the other side of the continent.”
“I bear the same sentiments,” she said regrettably, more than he ever knew. But she was feeling strangely rejuvenated, and so she continued in much elation, sounding like a true investigator, “But facts remain that you admit to my deducing.”
“I did? I don’t think—”
“You did,” she crossed her arms. “You acknowledged my Suri identity.”
He scoffed. “Just a couple of prank emails, you have no rights to accuse me of a bigger crime.”
“Even if the mails might be fraud,” she said, “Facts also remain that you are the yesterday prank caller.”
“You don’t know if xyru, namely me, is the same caller.”
“Oh I do, you are definitely he, I am most certain about that.”
“How is that possible?” he sneered. “Don’t tell me you have any evidence.”
His sneering undoubtedly prickled her nerves.
“I did mention how my level of weirdness is out of your comprehendible mind, and even if you are not the caller, you are planning to ransack someone’s house. That is because the mails are not—as you blatantly accused—fraud.”
“You wouldn’t know for sure,” he retorted. “Those mails are just petty nuisance for all I care.”
“Well, it’s not much of a nuisance for you if you followed her order of doing whatever it was at Métamorphose.”
He let out a sharp sigh, his eyes cold with fury.
“And you must have done something at the doctor’s house.”
He said nothing.
Brimming with confidence, Nadirah said, “So why would you insinuate that I’m wrong when the mail blatantly ordered you to ransack someone’s house, and why would you not follow it? Certainly, it’d break the pretty chain.”
“Someone’s house,” he echoed.
“I have in good authority that the house is this house,” actually, she didn’t, but she started to like the idea of pressing a culprit, “Bluff all you want. I know everything.” That was not true, but one needed to pretend superior in order to gain full effect on pressing, “Including you, being the caller,” it was always great to include the information that you were most certainly sure of. “Now tell me,” her tone grew prim, “Why would two people, who undoubtedly are the same people, want to ransack a house, coincidently at the same time, coincidently at this particular house?”
He stared at her with not much of an expression, but then his lips curled into a smile. “Why don’t you tell me?” he asked mockingly. “You’re the detective.”
Oh how she hated when her question left unanswered.
She would not lose her face, especially not in front of this person, so she sagely spoke, “It has something to do with the sparkling butterfly, is it not?”
“Sparkling butterfly?” his voice was more of a mutter.
“Your grandmother’s hairpin,” she took a deep breath, “I know all about it.”
“Of course you do,” he murmured.
Not really.
“Not really,” she said flatly. “What I know is what everyone knows.”
“I see,” said he, with no remotely crossed feelings whatsoever.
Nadirah didn’t like the sudden bleakness of his voice, so she hurriedly said, “I assure you that the butterfly is nowhere in this house.”
“Of course it isn’t,” he said quietly.
“Then why—”
“Ah,” he sighed, “Don’t take it the wrong way, but it’s truly hard to talk to you.”
“I get that,” she scrunched her face, “A lot.”
Yet, if there was one person whom she thought would have no problem talking to her, it would be him.
How come? She couldn’t understand.
So she asked, “What do you mean by that?”
“Like you said,” his face was deeply contorted with pain, “You are a deeply intact book.”
She waited for him to continue his sentence, to explain with the smoothness of his words, but he didn’t, so she waited again, and realized that he wanted to put the matter at rest.
She didn’t appreciate the silence, and she needed to bring the subject back again, yet what could she do to make it sound not as apparent? Her eyes flew to the azure sky, back to the green grass, and as if suddenly realizing that they were standing in a place that was not quite suitable for mere chattering, she spontaneously asked, “Why are you here?”
“Like I said, I feel stuffy.”
His tone was deeply malicious; she couldn’t help but felt toyed around. “No,” she spat in disgust, “You said you needed fresh air.” She knew s
he sounded horrifically snobbish but she didn’t care. He was acting equally snobbish as well.
“Ah,” he grinned. “You saw right through me.”
“Exactly,” she held her chin high, “Although I still have no idea why it is so stuffy.”
“So you don’t see right through me.”
“Shut up.”
He snorted, but then his face hardened, resembling the wall of the house. He sighed. “I was haunted by the idea that…” he stared at her, “What would happen if Suri knows about the sparkling butterfly like you and the rest of your cousins do?”
“What would happen?” she asked idiotically.
His snort had undeniably turned into an amusing chortle. “This is what would happen. I don’t expect her, meaning you,” he eyed her meaningfully, “To let it go and not confront me.”
Nadirah smacked her lips, her voice barely audible. “You know her well,” but she quickly amended her sentence as she saw his mirth was beyond critical, “I mean me. But you can’t blame me for being such a nosy person. I’m simply doing you a favor.”
“I didn’t blame you, but like you said,” he sneered the word, much to her belligerence, “It is your right to read my mails since I told you so,” he shifted his view away from her face, his face annoyed out of a sudden, as if he had just been knocked hard on the head, “I blame it on Fattah.”
Nadirah searched for answer on his face, bluntly spat, “Who?”
He grinned. “Tell me detective, who is Fattah?”
“How should I know?” she spat again.
“Giving up, aren’t you?” he smiled menacingly, “Seems like I’ve given you too much credit.”
“You are blinded by my intelligence.”
He snorted yet again. “You said the exact thing I’m thinking.”
“Your thinking is the last thing I’ll ever know.”
“My sentiments exactly,” somehow, his voice sounded so honest it sickened her stomach. “Your head is very mysterious.”
She wasn’t going to let go without a fight. “You are a freak.”
“So are you.”
“So is Fattah?”
He laughed. “I wouldn’t know.”
“You would,” she accused, “But you’re not telling.”
“Indeed,” he smiled, “You know xyru well.”
“Not as much as Ty.”
“Really?” he raised his eyebrows. “But I know Ty better. Enough to know that he would send those prank mails.”
She gaped, hard. “Don’t tell me that Ty is that Fattah.”
He considered that for a moment. “I won’t tell, then.”
She stared at him incredulously, subsequently stomping her feet. “He’s supposed to live at the other side of the world!”
“So were you, I mean,” he grinned, “Suri.”
Why oh why, this was her greatest nightmare.
Not per se, but a nightmare nonetheless.
When she first decided to dedicate herself to a land filled with faceless people, she was hoping that none of them would be real, since internet wasn’t supposed to be real anyway.
Who knew it could turn into this?
Why, oh why, she didn’t want to hear—
She just realized that she had strayed away from the topic long enough than necessary.
“The fact remains,” she tried to compose herself, “That you wanted to ransack my grandmother’s house.”
“Seems so.”
Her jaws dropped, but she didn’t feel compelled to recollect it. “You admit it?”
“I don’t see why not,” he muttered. “Such a shame to admit, but I’ve been busted.”
His words were triumphal to her ears, but she wouldn’t let that clouded her common sense. “Are you going to let it go, just like that?” she snapped her fingers.
“Yeah,” he said amusedly, snapping his fingers as well. “Just like that.”
“You-you—” she clasped her mouth, afraid that her stammering would resurface.
She took a deep breath.
Then yelled. “You are not supposed to admit defeat!”
“What’s the point?”
“You are a conman! Conman is supposed to be,” she tapped her feet, trying to channel some intelligent remarks, “Well, incoherently intelligent yet deceitful.”
“Conman?” he scoffed, staring at her incredulously. “I hardly regard myself as a conman.”
“Then what do you call a certain person who disguised as an assistant in a clothes store and a journalist of a so-called journal in order to deceive people? Disguiser?”
He clamped his teeth. “You know too much.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I am intelligent.”
“I noticed that,” he muttered. “I can never be a successful conman then.”
“You can’t,” she said smugly, crossing her arms, “If the investigation squad recruited me for their team.”
“I can, if you don’t join the team?”
“Exactly,” she smiled jubilantly. “None could tell about your deceiving lies.”
“Are you urging me to embrace the career option of being a conman?”
“No,” her tone was firm. “I am just telling you that you’ve been quite swift with your plans.”
“I was,” he said seriously. “If you’re not such a closed book, I would’ve shifted your view ages ago.”
“Yet you can’t.”
“I can’t, and now, you’ve known my true agenda.”
“Not entirely.”
“Not entirely,” he admitted, “But you will, sooner or later.”
“Sooner or later is not now.”
He tried to hide his grin. “Intelligent, aren’t you?”
“Beside the point,” she said pertly, “I would really appreciate it if you could tell me now.”
There was a short silence.
He took a deep breath. “The decision of telling remains to be seen, and the decision pertain solely on me.”
“You have to,” she held her nose high. “If you don’t, I won’t help you with matter regarding the house.”
He scoffed. “You will ransack it?”
“I don’t see why not,” she didn’t want to lose, “In case you have forgotten, this is basically,” she glanced at the house, and back to Ikhwan, “My second home.”
“Of course,” he smiled. “Or else you wouldn’t know about the little hole on the ceiling that even your grandmother doesn’t know.”
“Exactly, little hole—” her eyes widened. “What little hole?”
“You mentioned about the hole.”
She knew what she had mentioned, but hardly about the location!
“Hardly about the location!” was the only words she couldn’t manage to stop from tumbling out of her mouth.
“If I say that I assume it is precisely on the ceiling of the living room, will you believe me?”
Oh no.
She stared at him, askance.
And shook her head.
“No. Definitely not to you.”
“Oh well,” he shrugged, “Facts remain that there is a hole.”
She narrowed her eyes, suddenly aware of the disturbing fact. “How many times have you visited this house?”
“Not many,” he admitted, “But I’ve seen quite enough.”
She laughed weakly. “Is that so? I don’t remember seeing you here.”
“Nor do I,” he said earnestly. “But I saw the others quite as much. I appreciate your kind notion, but I think the notion is highly unnecessary at this point.”
It was absurd on how he saw others more than her. She was indeed, present on every occasion.
But she didn’t want to be distracted.
No, she didn’t want him to be distracted, prompting him to have his grand getaway. “Do you understand about your current condition?”
“I do,” he nodded. “Either you haul me to the nearest police station, which, mind you, without a single, legit evidence, or I’m forever stuc
k with my grandm-” he clamped his teeth. “Either way—not the least pretty.”
She was annoyed on how he casually mentioned about the lack of legit evidence, but decided to pursue the matter anyway. “I don’t understand the ‘either way’.”
“Either way,” said he, “It will not fare to my advantage, so both of the options didn’t sound remotely appealing.”
“Well, if you just tell me, it will surely fare to your advantage. I have indeed,” she said sagely, “Known too much.”
“Indeed you do, yet—”
“Whatever it is that you are searching for, there’s nothing you can do if I’m still here. Well, according to your plan, you will visit here next week when we have all gone, but still, I let you know,” she gazed him intently, “Everyone in this house is a freak, and while they are a freak, their IQs are extremely high.”
“If everyone is like you then I deserve to feel at the very least, intimidated.”
“You are a fool if you don’t.”
“I am,” he trailed away, “A fool through and through.”
“No you aren’t,” she snapped, but then she amended her sentences when she saw his face. “Well, you will be, if you don’t have my aid.”
He sighed impatiently. “Why do you insist on helping me?”
She stared at him intently, and scoffed. “You might not like my reason.”
“I like to think that everything is not the least likeable nowadays.”
“Really,” she muttered. “Well, you will certainly think that I’m an extremely nosy person,” she gulped, “Or a busybody.”
She wasn’t planning on telling him about her follow the butterfly plan. She was either contemplating on confessing her love for treasures of the 19th Century, or her innocent hope of saving the house.
She didn’t want him to think that she was living in a fantasyland, you see.
“Well,” he exchanged glances with the house, “It has something to do with you, nonetheless.”
“It does,” she exasperated, “I assure you, you won’t regret taking me under your wings—”
“Maybe I shouldn’t?” he asked amusedly.
“No, you definitely should, anyway,” Nadirah went back to her pert mode, “You are trying to retrieve the sparkling butterfly.”
“True.”
“But you don’t think the butterfly is in this house.”
“I highly doubt that, unless your grandmother hides it somewhere from us.”
“No such things.”
“No such things,” he echoed.
“Then what do you need from this house? Don’t tell me you need valuable things to sell so that you can pay the blackmail—”
“Ah Nadirah,” he shook his head in disappointment, “I have no idea that your opinion of me is below shallow, but of course, I do have proven myself to be quite foolish—”
“Shut up.”
He laughed. “I am on the verge of becoming a thief—”
“And I can stop you from being one—”
“I appreciate the thought, and while it does have something to do with you, I’m still not certain whether I should include you in this whole affair or not.”
“I thought you said—”
“I said nothing.”
She had never thought that he could be even more hateful, but he had. “What about Ty, then? Where does he fit in the picture?”
“Ty,” he seemed reluctant to answer, “Was simply dragged into the matter.”
“And I?”
He shrugged. “Not yet dragged.”
“But I am the granddaughter of this house!”
“And that’s it.”
She had the odd urge to scream.
But she hissed instead. “Why do you insist on rejecting my offer?”
He sighed impatiently. “Do you understand the current situation?”
“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “I think I do.”
“Then, enlighten me.”
She took a deep breath, tired of the constant turnabout of conversation. It felt as if they were talking about the same thing over and over again. “You have been blackmailed by the real thief.”
“Fattah isn’t being discreet enough, isn’t he?”
“Why did he send you those emails, anyway?”
“I told him all about my problems,” he said, “And he, more than often, mocks me around with those stupid notes of him,” he sighed. “He’s not as lucky this time.”
“No, apparently not.”
“I wonder if that’s the reason why he wanted to reply to all of my emails.”
“No thanks to you of course, for your persistent.”
“It does pertain to my decision.”
“So what is your decision now? Either you have what you want, or you will never acquire the hairpin, and then what, suffers from your grandmother’s wrath?”
He rubbed his palms together. “You do know too much.”
“I do.”
He exhaled a sharp breath, nodding, “I will think of your offer.”
“You’ll do that.”
“Yes,” his foot was tapping impatiently, “But I need to have a third person opinion first.”
She quirked a brow. “Your brother?”
“My brother might have everything to do with this matter, but I don’t think that this problem is his main concern,” he clasped his hands. “I will discuss with Fattah.”
She didn’t understand how this matter concerned Fattah more than his brother. His brother was much like him—the grandson of Grandmother Maznah—while Fattah was simply, a friend. She was about to inquire further, when a voice abruptly closed her mouth.
“Nadirah!”
She swiveled her head, only to see Najhan approaching, his face impatient with distress. His facial expression changed as soon as he saw his cousin’s companion, and apologetically, he said, “Oh, Ikhwan. I didn’t…” he swallowed. “See you.”
“Now you do,” Ikhwan smiled. “Don’t worry, we’re only chattering about mindless things.”
“Mindless things,” she echoed, rolling her eyes.
If anyone had been paying attention to their outburst and darkened facial expressions, they would know that the conversation’s meter wasn’t even near to the safe side.
“Might not be something that Nadirah enjoy,” Ikhwan retorted, smiling gleefully at her.
Najhan laughed. “I know. Her face is…” he sucked his lips, ascertaining his next reply, “Red?”
“Indeed, like a barely contained patience.”
“Exactly!” Najhan chuckled. “I…I wanted to say that.”
“Oh, sorry,” Ikhwan looked at him apologetically, “It’s rude of me to steal your phrase.”
“You didn’t know,” he quickly replied, “So I shouldn’t have feel…” he tilted his head, left and right, left and right…
He blinked. Blankly.
“Oh, please continue,” encouraged Ikhwan. “I don’t want to steal your phrase again.”
“Right,” Najhan said, “I shouldn’t have feel as if my veins are throbbing in anger.”
Wow.
Nadirah gaped at his sudden velocity in speaking—definitely nothing that she had heard coming from his mouth before.
Or anyone else’s mouth for that matter.
Who speaks like that anyway?
“Really?” Ikhwan looked perturbed. “But I do owe you my apology.”
“No need,” Najhan briskly shoved his kind remarks away. “It’s none of your fault.”
“If you say so,” Ikhwan smiled.
Najhan grinned, but that only lasted for a second before he slapped his forehead, muttering aloud, “Oh, I’ve forgotten.” Najhan averted his gaze to his cousin. “Nadirah, grandmother wants you to…” he blinked.
Nadirah raised her brows.
“Well, Grandmother Maznah…” he swallowed, “Says that she thinks her attic has…” he looked at Ikhwan uncertainly, pleading for help most probably, but Ikhwan just nodded, “H
er attic has manifested with…” he wrinkled his nose distastefully, “Rats. Is that true?”
“I guess it has,” Ikhwan admitted. “And what about it?”
“She was afraid that…” he inhaled a deep breath, readying for his next outburst. “She was afraid that we…” he gulped, “Might have the same problem.”
“Is that so?” asked Ikhwan quietly.
“So, she wants Nadirah to,” he paused, “To show the attic, and she also said,” he stared at Ikhwan, “That her grandchildren will know how to…”
“Repel it, indeed I do.”
“Yes,” Najhan sighed in relief. “So she wants both of you to…” he pointed at the attic, and as if admitting defeat, he slumped his hand down, “Do that.”
“We shall do that,” said Ikhwan.
Nadirah said nothing, wrinkling her nose in the process.
Rats…not her favorite thing in the world.
Rats…well, truth to be told, she’d never seen any rats in this house, so big chance she wouldn’t see them.
“I think we should go and see the grandmothers first,” suggested Ikhwan.
“Yes, do that,” Najhan nodded eagerly. “Hear what they say.”
“Manifested with rats?” she mouthed as soon as Najhan strode into the house, leaving them with their own errand.
“No,” there was a slight twinge in his voice that Nadirah had never heard before, but alas, she’d only known the real him for a couple of hours. All those years of knowing him as xyru and fellow classmates seemed to be eons ago. “I believe you are manifesting yourself into trouble. Congratulations,” his eyes crinkled into a smile, “You have successfully meddled yourself with our problem.”
“Huh?” she blinked.
“That’s probably not my grandmother’s intention, but I,” he scoffed, “Don’t wish to barricade myself in a room, searching for something imaginary that I’m completely clueless about. You might help me—no, you will help me.”
“Okay…” her eyes staggered left and right, bewildered at his sudden change of behavior.
“I will tell you all about this later, of course,” said he, sensing her anxiety, “Once you’ve helped me getting rid of the spider webs and dust bunnies.”
Spider webs…dust bunnies…things that could get a nose running for business. Her nose didn’t mind a little exposure at those things, but she knew that some people couldn’t get past those without having a mild reaction and a trip to the clinic.
“You hate them, don’t you?” She wondered if he had an allergic toward those things as well.
“Sorry?”
“You won’t let me in for a simple reason, yet—” For the sake of his nose, he was willing to admit defeat.
“Gullible, yes I am.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I acknowledge myself then. Well, not exactly hate, but I don’t find relishing memories of others particularly appealing.”
“Right,” she stared at him oddly. Maybe it was not due to sneezing after all. “I don’t understand.”
“I don’t understand you either, but I conclude that you are as much as a freak as I am.”
“Yes, well,” she fidgeted uneasily, “I don’t know about that.”
“Maybe you will, maybe you won’t,” he grinned broadly. “Let’s go and meet the grandmothers.”
Just like that, he began to leave her alone with the thought, heading toward the house.
“Why are you being so tolerant out of a sudden?” she hissed, trying to keep up with his pace while appearing totally blasé.
“Like I said,” he raised his brows, “It’s inevitable.”
“You didn’t say that.”
“I say it now, then.”
She stared at him bewilderedly, and as they entered the living room, Grandmother Maznah looked up, her lips stretched into a pleasant smile.
This was the face of the true mastermind behind the top-secret plan.
Nadirah wondered greatly about the exact reason behind the secretive plan. Did she really hold that much of affection toward a single jewelry, or was it something else entirely?
“Ikhwan,” Grandmother Maznah nodded warmly in acknowledgment, “Nadirah. How are you doing?”
“Fine,” she replied carefully.
“How good it is to hear that you are well,” Grandmother Maznah said gently. “I was just talking to your grandmother, and told her about my attic,” she subsequently shivered. “Such vexing problem, is it not, Ikhwan?”
“It sure is,” Ikhwan murmured.
“How problematic it’d be if others were to experience such frightful incident, and I was haunted with the possibility that what if…” she twisted her position sharply toward Grandmother Fatima’s direction, “…what if Fatima’s attic bears the same fate as mine! Oh, the horror!”
Grandmother Fatima chuckled softly. “I assure you that I have not visited the attic very much for the past years,” she smiled, “But I do believe that there are no rats—”
“Well, you couldn’t be too sure!” squealed Grandmother Maznah. “If I were you, and you were I, I will surely learn from your mistake, I mean mine, and quickly banish the lair before it could get out of control, like in my, I mean, your house!”
That was confusing.
But Grandmother Fatima kept on smiling, gently negated, “I’ll just ask one of my grandchildren to inspect it on my behalf—”
“Why don’t you let Ikhwan inspect it for you? I am sure he would deem useful than your grandchildren. He has the experience already.”
“Wow,” Nadirah whistled in much subtlety, “Rat hunter,” which earned her a couple of irritated stares from Ikhwan.
“I couldn’t trouble your grandson,” Grandmother Fatima hesitated. “I’ll say, my grandsons are quite capable of handling the pests, so please,” she looked at him, “Don’t trouble yourself.”
“It’s not at all troubling, Grandmother Fatima,” he answered politely. “I’m more than willing to do the errand, and as they say, precautions are better than treatments, and also, as they say,” he grinned. “Volunteers are better than forcers.”
Nadirah could tell that her grandmother’s spirit was wavering, because she knew quite well on how her male cousins wouldn’t appreciate the thought of hunting a couple of pests, especially when there was nothing beneficial in store for them.
“My house is dreadful! You don’t want to have the same fate as me, right Ikhwan?” Grandmother Maznah prickled some more, of which Ikhwan nodded, “Uncontrollable pest,” she shuddered. “Better to keep an old mind like mine on ease. Now, why don’t you let him have a little check? A little check won’t hurt.”
“I agree, Grandmother Fatima. It’s best to have a thorough inspection,” he continued, “Especially when your honorary guest would be the journalists from Friday’s Journal, isn’t that so?”
“Why, yes,” she flustered, “That is true.”
“A sight of a rat running around the house might’ve been quite…humiliating,” Ikhwan sighed wholeheartedly.
“That is…true,” there was a certain ring in her grandmother’s tone, and Nadirah knew that she was contemplating about her decision, much like the other day with the prank telephone call by that fraud journalist.
Ikhwan wasn’t finished. He wasn’t going to let Grandmother Fatima slipped from his grasp. “Especially if the said rat,” his tone was dreadfully abashed, “Ends up in the journal.”
That did the trick.
Grandmother Fatima’s eyes abruptly widened in disgust. “That is beyond humiliating!”
“Indeed,” Ikhwan murmured, “The mouth of a human, couldn’t be tightly closed like a cap and a bottle.”
Nadirah stared at him, her mouth smacked with boiling mirth over his lame lines.
“Watch and learn,” he whispered, his eyes pointing at her grandmother.
Grandmother Fatima sighed, her face darkened with unmentionable sorrow, enhancing her stressful line.
Well, Ikhwan had ju
st proven himself to be exceptionally good in distressing other people.
“I believe it wouldn’t cause me any harm,” said Grandmother Fatima dementedly, “You can go up there. And Nadirah,” her eyes were clouded with sorrowful worries as it landed on Nadirah’s eyes, “Since you are here…”
She nodded.
“Show him the attic, will you?”
She nodded again.
“I’ll make sure that everything is in control,” assured Ikhwan.
“Thank you. You are a life-saver,” Grandmother Fatima said warmly, and turned to Grandmother Maznah, “Your grandson is very obedient.”
Ikhwan smiled and said nothing. Instead, he just beckoned her to lead him to the stairs.
“Rats,” she muttered, ascending the stairs. “I’m quite certain there’re no rats…”
“Are you all this busy when visiting your grandmother?”
“Not quite busy, but not at all leisure.”
“Quite busy enough to operate a room?”
“No,” she answered truthfully, “If not, Grandmother will surely notice the little hole,” she scorned. “But not quite leisure enough to sleep all day,” she looked at him in disdain, “The maids are dismissed from hard labor whenever we are here.”
“So a rat is quite impossible, I see.”
“One can’t be so sure,” she retorted briskly, “Not when some kind of a phony journal is holding an interview.”
“Not phony,” he grinned, “You’ll see that we didn’t place false hope in your grandmother.”
“I hope not,” she muttered. “She’d be in such frenzy if she knew on how she was tricked. She might burn the company’s building for all I know.”
“Will she?”
“Well, probably not,” she amended, “But she might curse all of you for eternity.”
“Curse,” he clamped his teeth. “Well, excluding me.”
“Including you, if I told her so,” she narrowed her eyes.
“You wouldn’t.”
“What makes you so sure?”
He grinned. “Look out for Friday’s Journal in a fortnight,” he said, “You’ll see this house on the front page.”
Nadirah shrugged as she silently walked toward the attic, remembering the words on the email that mentioned how his grandmother had a lot of contacts.
That could be the truth. If not, Fattah wouldn’t absentmindedly write it there, would he? If nosing about in someone’s mails told her something, it was that the mails, phony as it may, told the truth in an exaggerated way.
So she had no doubt that maybe this house will make an appearance in the journal after all.
They finally reached the attic, and as Nadirah roamed her eyes across the room, she asked quietly, although she had no idea why she needed to be quiet, since the attic was clearly free of obvious inhabitants, but the situation was compelling enough to whisper, so she asked, “What are we searching for?”
“Rats?”
She scoffed. “Oh please.”
He arched his brows.
“Okay, that,” she muttered, “And what?”
“Not dust bunnies, or spider webs, but that’s impossible—”
“Okay,” she put her hands up in the air. “I’ll leave you alone with the rats.”
He chuckled. “Fine, we are searching for…” he sat on the floor, cupping his chin, “The dais of a butterfly.”
“The what?” she nearly spat the question out due to the sheer absurdity of it all.
“The dais,” he said clearly, “Of the sparkling butterfly.”
Nadirah creased her forehead, looking quite confused. “Does a hairpin have a dais?”
“No,” he shook his head, “But the dais for a hairpin lies in the greatest box that complimented its beauty.”
She fidgeted awkwardly, frantically racking her brain. “There is such a box?” she assessed the room. “Even if there is, I don’t think I have ever seen any immaculately-enough boxes around here.”
“Good,” he smiled, “Make things a lot easier.”
“It does?”
“Maybe not,” he shrugged, “The mysterious box has yet to be seen.”
He wasn’t helping at all.
But she digressed.
“The box,” she hesitated, “Is it the hairpin’s original box?”
“I don’t think so,” he looked at her. “The hairpin was given to my grandmother by her uncle, and the box was given to your grandmother by my grandmother’s uncle.”
Her eyebrows furrowed, digesting the information.
“Ah,” she finally said, “How charming.”
“My great-granduncle traveled a lot, so he possessed quite a lot of those things.”
“So am I safe to say that you have no idea how the box looks like?”
“Save your deducing to yourself,” he grinned at her beleaguered look, and added, “I know for certain that it’s entirely made of wood and full of carven art.”
“Made of wood and full of carven art,” she echoed. “No such thing.”
“Are you sure?”
She ignored the supercilious tone in that remark, and asked, “Why do you think it’s in the attic?”
“Ah,” he snickered. “This is quite shameful to admit, but my grandmother,” he clicked his tongue, “Liked the box so much that she hid it somewhere in the attic, so that no one could get a hold of it.”
She stared at him, openmouthed. “Marvelous.”
“My grandmother is quite…” he smiled meaningfully, “Well, it’s hard to say.”
Nadirah didn’t know his grandmother that well, but from his tone of voice, and the sound of the mails, it was apparent that she must have been quite a lioness that was hard to tame.
He firmly suggested that he didn’t want to pursue the matter any further, so Nadirah tried to steer the subject away, but still remain in the same context, “So your plan is, during the interview, you will sneak up here?”
“In the nutshell, yeah—”
“What about Wafi?”
He snorted. “Wafi?”
“How are you going to be two people at once?”
His eyes glimmered. “I’ll manage.”
For some reason, Nadirah had the odd feeling that he will manage. “But the original plan no longer applies.”
“No longer applies, yes, but the deal of a cover is still going on, don’t worry,” he grinned, but then he smacked his lips. “Tell you what, why don’t you take the liberty of searching for the box, and if you find it, then I will tell you all about the problem?”
She wondered if his mucus problem was that chronic. “Are you allergic to dust or something?”
“Well, that is a fine excuse, but no,” he smiled. “Like I said, I don’t find relishing memories of others quite appealing. I think I’ve said that.”
“You did.”
“Good,” he smiled jovially, “Now go on and search.”
Search? How was she going to search amidst all the stuff in the attic? It was fine if he decided to lend a hand, but that seemed thoroughly impossible.
“Any clue?” she pushed her luck, reluctantly searching one of the boxes.
“Well,” said he, reassessing the situation. He hesitated at first, but then replied, “If you find any item that may lead to the childhood memory of your grandmother and mine, then I might as well be able to help.”
“Really,” she muttered. It did seem pointless to blindly search for an imaginary thing—as he kindly referred to. It was not as if she knew the exact shape of the box either, so it would be better if she were to search for a childhood toy instead.
Nevertheless, a third generation toy seemed unlikely, but then, the attic was the place for the darndest things.
Her hands stopped from searching a box, and as she stared outside of the little window, hopelessly wishing for an inspiration, her wish was miraculously granted, because suddenly, there was a light bulb of idea on the top of her head.
Maybe she could try to rewind a c
onversation that she had with Grandmother Fatima. Or anything concerning a youthful Grandmother Maznah.
Or maybe just her childhood would suffice.
“Give me a moment,” she said abruptly, much to Ikhwan’s puzzlement.
She rewound the speeches, omitted the pointless ones, storing anything that hinted on Grandmother Maznah, preferably things that had ‘attic’ and ‘childhood’ as the keywords, and before she knew it, the memory began to land before her very eyes.
“When I was your age, I never parted with my doll.”
“Really?” Nadirah asked.
“Don’t you play dolls with your friends too?”
“No. I read books.”
“Good girl,” she said. “You must have known quite a lot of words by now.”
“I do,” Nadirah replied, “But I often confused them with one and another, and I don’t know which one to use.”
“Just use the first one that appears in your mind.”
“Okay,” she smiled. “Where should I put this doll?”
“Put it in that box over there. It’s filled with my precious childhood toys. I don’t feel like parting with those just yet.”
She roamed her eyes toward the room, searching for the box in question. If she was lucky, the box might still be here, with the contents still intact, providing none touched it before her.
The thought made her stomach churned.
She never would’ve expected that the toy will become a vital item sometime in her life.
Not exactly vital, since it didn’t have much to do with her in the first place, but Ikhwan was using her as his hand, and in her quest of being nosy, she got what she deserved.
That, and she wanted to prove her worth. What was the use of having a unique ability if it couldn’t be used accordingly? She was certain that she was on the right track, and if she succeeded this trial, the curtain for the adventure will lift up and show itself.
The butterfly adventure. She nearly giggled, feeling butterflies in her stomach.
Truly, this was what she wanted since she was a child. To find her big break, and explore the adventure.
She stood up, walking toward a certain spot in her memory. There were a couple of boxes stacked neatly at the corner, and after some rough calculation, she secured a box in her hands.
She took a deep breath, opening the lid of the carton box, carefully rummaging through the items…
She grinned.
The doll…was safely tucked along with the dust bunnies and of course, plushy bunnies.
She swiveled towards Ikhwan’s direction, holding the doll up. “Will this suffice?”
He raised his brows. “Great.” He stood up and walked toward her. For a couple of seconds, he did nothing but stare, before adding, “I’ll save the question for later.”
“What makes you think that I’m going to answer?”
“Oh,” he grinned devilishly. “You will.”
He held the doll, his eyes deeply scrutinizing the texture, or maybe the structure, Nadirah couldn’t tell, nevertheless, he might have been searching for evidence from the little puppet, but what kind of evidence would he secure, she wouldn’t know, since the age would have diminish any type of clues anyways—
He cleared his throat.
Nadirah braced herself, wondering if he had discovered her verbose thoughts like the rest of her cousins did.
Supposedly, he couldn’t read her like an open book, so she might as well hold on to that.
His eyes flickered toward her, grinning. “Say hello to Nini.”
She blinked. “Nini?”
“My grandmother’s doll is Nono.”
“Ah.” Nadirah didn’t know the right reaction to execute, so she just blandly said, “No way.”
“Nini and Nono have always played together at this house’s garden.”
She looked out at the garden, and back to the doll. “Your grandmother told you?”
“Nah,” he shook his head, “My grandmother never told me such a thing.”
“Then why—”
“Listen,” he said lightly, “Nono has always played with Nini, and Nini is her best friend. She always let Nini wears the sparkling butterfly.”
“Really?” her tone was doubtful.
“Miniature version of sparkling butterfly, more like,” he said, amused. “Made of twigs and seashells.”
“Fascinating…” still doubtful.
He ignored that thoroughly and continued, “Nini would often store the sparkling butterfly in a jewel box, which also made of carton box and seashells,” his eyes deeply penetrating into the doll, “And they will gaze at the butterfly all day long.”
She could not imagine gazing at something for hours without a reason.
She did believe that her collection of Métamorphose products was enticing but still, she didn’t think she could gaze at it all day long.
Thirty minutes, tops.
“The box,” he said, slicing through her thoughts, “Was an inspiration of a certain box that was given to Nini’s master by the uncle of Nono’s master.”
That sounded a tad confusing, but Nadirah wouldn’t let him see that. Not in a million years. Or a gazillion years for that matter. Or ever.“Your great-granduncle.”
“Exactly,” he nodded. “Nono’s master saw the box, and she was so ludicrously smitten that she stole the box from Nini’s master and played it with her own sparkling butterfly.”
That sounded beyond confusing.
And it probably showed on her face as she spluttered, “Wait, your grandmother?” stole my grandmother’s stuff?
She managed to stop right in time.
He didn’t answer, but continued with the tale, “Nini’s master wasn’t aware about the absence of the box. Not because she didn’t care, rather that she thought she had placed it somewhere with her toys. And the thought was backed by Nono’s master, but you know the real story,” he smiled passively. “Nono’s master was later heavily induced with guilt—terribly so—that she decided to return the box. However, being labeled as a thief was the last thing she wanted, so she just merely tossed the box in the attic.”
“Tossed?” she echoed, looking around. “Well, that’s impossible—”
“Few years have passed, and Nini was also placed in the attic. Nini saw Nono’s master frantically searching for the box, and when she finally found it, she hid it in a much secluded place, so that the box wouldn’t end up in a trash bin.”
She was tempted to ask about the spot in question, but she held her tongue. She needed to avoid aggravating him, and risked interrupting a story that he had willingly shared.
This opportunity didn’t come easily.
“She hid it in the walls, behind the cracks.”
Nadirah nodded slowly, waiting for his next words.
“That is all,” he said, as if sensing his cue for her outburst.
“Oh,” she mouthed, and further added, “You are spooky.”
“So are you,” he said dryly.
She feigned ignorance, hissing, “Which crack?”
“Providing none of you plastered the wall beforehand—”
“My grandmother had plainly stated that we haven’t been here for quite a long time—”
“I’ll take your—I mean, her word for it.”
He walked toward the corner of the wall, his eyes asserting the shelf in front of him. He let his fingers lightly brushed the edges of the solid wood, and as if finally making up his mind, he tugged the shelf forward.
“The crack is behind there?” she asked.
“Supposedly.”
He tugged a bit more, and after successfully creating a space between the wall and the shelf, he peeked over the interval, and sighed in relief. “There’s a crack, alright.”
Nadirah contemplated on moving to his spot or staying at her place, but then she decided to ask, “Do you see the box?”
“No, it’s filled with…” he clamped his teeth, “Rotten tissue, maybe.”
/> “Ugh,” she blanched. “Rotten?”
“Yellow, if I might add.”
“Yellow,” she echoed. “And rotten. How many years has it been, again?” she shook her head, taking a step back. “Do you want a pair of gloves?”
“No, it’s fine.”
“I do have some sanitizers—”
“Are you germaphobic, by chance?” he asked, his face clearly amused.
She denied, too defiantly perhaps. “No.”
She didn’t feel comply to enlighten him that most people will feel strangely sick at a clearly rotten stuff manifested with potential germs, so she added, “But my cousin is.”
“Zahari.”
“Yeah,” she stared at him quizzically. “How did you know that?”
No one really noticed how Zahari flinched every time he saw potential bacterial things heading his way, and Nadirah wondered if the very sight of a rotten tissue would cause him to hyperventilate.
“Oh,” he nodded in comprehension, “Never would’ve thought so, if I wasn’t so perceived.”
“I see,” she said lightly.
No, she did not see, but she had long learned that she didn’t see anything that Ikhwan saw, for anything that he saw was a mystery and she truly wondered what he really saw with his own eyes, but surely, it wouldn’t be as gruesome as Zahari’s, but still, his ability sounded as if it was convenient—
“Okay, I got it.”
“Got what?” she spluttered, startled. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt as if he could read her mind in all reality and actually bluffing when he said that she wasn’t an open book.
He stood up, his face plastered with a much, much annoyingly amused look. “Got the box, of course.”
“Ah.” She just needed to convince herself that he was truly inferior to her, then perhaps agitation won’t attack her again, but she decided to shift her full attention to the invisible box. “Can I see?”
“Of course.”
He stretched his hand forward, presenting a mini wooden box, carved in perfection with a little wing roof at the top. The craftsmanship was spectacular, and Nadirah, as if recognizing the actual quality of the box’s articulate structure, gaped at him in much surprise and exclaimed breathlessly, “This is drop dead gorgeous.”
He shrugged. “I guess it is.”
“This is magnificent.”
He arched his brows. “Sure it is.”
“This is from the 19th Century!”
“Sure—” he blinked. “From the what?”
“I really should undergo proper study of the 19th Century for my degree, don’t you think?” she could jump if she could, since never had she felt such excitement in her life, “This thing is the definition of old, you see!”
“Of course it is—”
“Older than your grandmother, you see!”
“I…see,” his enunciation was long, mocking her excitement.
She didn’t realize, but even if she did, she didn’t care. “I have a knack for vintage stuff, you see,” she grinned. “One of my special traits.”
He blinked humorlessly. “There’s more?”
“Not confirmed, but I like to think it is,” she smiled jubilantly, oblivious to Ikhwan’s perplexed expression. “I’m right, right?”
He glanced at the box, and back at her. “Why do you think I’ll know?”
“Because you know everything?”
He stared at her bewilderedly, and muttered, “I…do,” he ruffled his hair, scrutinizing her curiously, “Do I?”
“You do,” she nodded. “Now tell me honestly, tell me frankly,” her eyes shone brightly, “Tell me I’m right.”
It took two long seconds before he swallowed loudly and announced, “You’re right.”
“I’m right!” she grinned. “See? I’ve told you so.”
“Right,” he tossed the box left and right with his hands, “Since I am someone…who knows everything, you will listen to me, right?”
“Right,” her voice was exhilarated, and further pumped as she giggled, “We should use another word than right, right?”
He clamped his lips. “Right.”
She stilled, tempted to laugh aloud at his reply. “Forget it.”
“Right,” and before Nadirah could laugh for real, he hastily continued, albeit seriously, “Now, if my grandmother happens to ask, you will say that there are no rats.”
“No rats,” she echoed obediently, her eyes locked on the…19th Century box!
“You didn’t see anything whatsoever.”
“See nothing,” she was swaying along with the box, but then reality knocked her head senseless that she abruptly looked up and stared him straight in the eyes. “Why do I need to lie?”
He gazed at her hardly. “My grandmother isn’t supposed to know that you know.”
She thought about that, and decided to ask in a different direction. “Why does your grandmother need to lie? To my grandmother, no less?”
For a long second, he didn’t say anything, but then he answered, “Just try to think of any excuse that has ‘wrath’ as the keyword.”
She scratched her head. “But wouldn’t she suspect anything with me here?”
A single chortle escaped from his mouth. “I could have easily dismissed you, but I can’t, and she didn’t know that, and she didn’t need to know that, and that is, as far as I know, is the only thing she should know.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “Even if I try to bluff you off, I have no doubt that your persistence would win, so tell or not tell, either way, you would know anyway.”
“Oh,” she creased her brows, “Is that so.”
“Yes,” he smiled, “It is.”
He seemed to forget that he was neither telling nor saving, so she casually added, “I still don’t understand, though.”
He stared longingly at the box, but then abruptly pocketed it and waved his hand dismissively.
“Later.”
chapter 5