38 Welcome 2 the Arena

"Amaan, why won't you tell what happened yourself?" I posed the question. I wore the uneasiness on my face undesirably.

Amaan had decided to hand over the reins to Madonna, which did not sit well with me. I had made peace with the fact that any third person reciting the past will have much less impact on me. But if Madonna had to go in those dirty details herself, then I'd have no cover for my grief.

The way Brad had shone light on his own mistakes helped me calm my nerves. He was just another flawed human being, who spat heavy in Madonna's face due to their past. He made mistakes too, and was still making them, resulting in his blow being less harmful to my psyche. And that was my tactic of survival from now on. If Amaan spat everything out herself, that'd give me a reason to sustain with Mad. But if it was my wife who was to reiterate the past, I'd break into a million pieces.

And so, I attempted to pester Amaan into retelling her part of the history. I wanted her to do so, just so I could remain face. I knew that the bubbling fragility that I felt for my relationship had nothing to do with Madonna's past. But I was just a human being myself.

Amaan shook her head and restated what she had already mentioned, "I can't. I don't have patience like Bradley right here…"

"Not my name," Brad interrupted.

"… & I don't have tenacity to bear like Priscy on his side…"

"Not my name," Priscilla corrected.

"….and I don't have the courage to listen all this like you, my geisha. I was thinking I'd skip over my presence in this whole charade and enjoy some 'ME' time, but… the look on Madonna's face says otherwise."

I shifted my focus on my side, where Madonna was staring at her with sharp, beastly eyes. It was the gaze that could pierce a heart and make a home for itself under the skin. She was borderline growling at the playful ignorance of our host but was too dependent to do anything.

Amaan clapped her hands and baited me to look at her. Her cheerful smile stung me like a bee.

"Alright, how about this—Madonna, you tell the story, and I'll jump in whenever I feel like it."

Amaan still had her lips in an upward curve that was driving me mad. She was intentionally putting her, no, us through the ringer. And I was not happy how she was able to store all her poison behind that face. She knew what would trigger us, and she was pressing all those button.

Wait a minute!

She was pressing all those buttons specifically. She was saying all those things because she knew it'd get a reaction out of her. Maybe, she was trying to get away from all this. Maybe she was on damage control and wanted Mad to burst like a volcano, so that she could be calm when she repeats her undesired adventures.

Or maybe she was trying to protect me. She could judge the mental state I was in. and she was a smart individual with more experience than me. Maybe she knew that the intimacy her and Mad shared was too much on my mind.

Oh, God, give me a sign that'd make my life easier, I thought to myself.

I was starting to sweat now. I knew I didn't want Madonna erupting, so I put my arm around her shoulder. That would have calmed her down, if only she was not angry already.

She balled her fists and landed them on the glass bar, almost cracking it in the process. The sudden gesture took us by surprise, so much so that I had to retract my arm, and Priscilla stopped sipping beer.

"Is it too much to ask for some peace and quiet out of you? Am I so bad to you that you have to test me like that? All I want is a shred of happiness for my family. I thought if I repent the sins of yesterday, god would throw me a bone. I even came to you, A-One, the only person who doesn't deserve it one bit."

I had heard that name. maybe Mad told me once before. Maybe, but the cloud of rage loomed over Madonna. Her attitude was hostile regarding Amaan, which was understandable. All she had been trying to do is being right by me. And she had willpower like an iron maiden. But it was the first time I had seen someone getting under her nerves, disturbing her balance.

Mad stood up and stared at Amaan, who couldn't help but smirk in her face. I thought it was courage, but courage could simply be confused with foolishness. She almost got what she deserved when Madonna swiftly grabbed the strand of her bra and pulled her in her face. It was so forceful that Amaan almost toppled over the bar. She had to use one of her hands to maintain her balance.

That, right there, was a moment in the conversation when superiority is established. She was in Amaan's face with a piping hot rage in her eyes, whereas her adversary continued to make light of the situation. Looking at her triumphant face ticked Madonna off, who proceeded to shake her around a little. But she couldn't have seen what Amaan had in her hand.

It was a half empty bottle of beer. She had her hand gripping on the bottle ever since Madonna and her were locked into the staredown. She brought the bottle right next to her face and gulped some before dousing the rest over Madonna's head. The chilly alcohol seeped through Mad's hair, resulting in her loosening her grip over Amaan's lingerie. She regained her balance and chirped," Now that you are less tense, we shall start the tale…"

"...…"

"But don't get me wrong, I still won't be the primary narrator. It'd be the hero Madonna. I'd be here listening to her and will occasionally drop some anecdotes."

Madonna sighed heavily and grunted," Fine. Let's get this over with."

The air of loom started building around the bar, making hard for me to breathe.

*

It was right after my first lecture when a guy approached me. He was younger, probably right out of high school. He introduced himself, told me about his studies and his hobbies. I pretended to be interested and nodded to whatever he said. Out of nowhere, a fragrance entered my environment. I was sitting in a corner of the third desk, the one farthest away from the main door. I imagined it was someone standing next to the window, but alas! The person was nowhere outside. It was coming from the inside the building.

I felt the fragrance getting stronger and stronger as time passed. It was like aphrodisiac effect on my mind, driving me mad. I couldn't pin point if I was smelling a human, or a perfume. I couldn't tell if it was flowers or air freshener. It was so sweet to smell that I wanted it on my tongue. I was almost embarrassed that a distant scent could have such a strong effect on my body.

The boy in front of me was still yapping as I had closed my eyes, imagining, well, things. All his commentary was ruining the picture I painted in my mind, so I hurriedly opened my eyes and shut him up with an 'I'm not interested, kid.'

Dejected, the boy walked slowly back to his seat, whereas I was still fixated on the scent. But it seemed hopeless. It was starting to fade a little, and that made me sad. Until…

In a black burqa, carrying a couple of heavy books on her side, she entered our classroom.

"Hello, everyone. I am Professor Habib. Welcome to the first semester of the term. Please settle down in your seats and we can get started."

I heard everyone giggling under their noses, which made it pretty distracting. I tried to focus on the lecture, but even I had to do a second take when she wrote ADVANCED MATHEMATICS on the white board behind her.

Was I in the wrong room? Was this in the curriculum of Business studies? I was so confused.

"Please, turn to page 5 and look at the formula 1.1…" the professor instructed the class which had no student of hers.

"…And as you see..." She looked up to the class which was not following her instructions. "Why aren't your books open, people?" she asked.

"Maybe because we're waiting for a management lecture, teach." One guy shouted from the back benches.

The whole class erupted into laughter as the professor took out a tiny notebook and realized her mistake. She picked up her books and walked out of the door, almost dropping her textbooks on her way out. The class continued to erupt in arrogant laughter at her innocent mistake.

It was a pretty humorous situation for an eighteen years old, but not for me. I rushed out of the class, chasing the professor. Instead, the heavenly scent came back as soon as I stepped outside of the room. my mind swayed and I was presented with an option-either follow the mistaken professor or follow the trail of this scent. I gave in to my lust and dashed in the direction of the scent. After two right turns and a flight downstairs I saw the professor entering her office. The scent had yet again reduced in volume, which pushed me out of the mindless trance and gave me a chance to fulfill my previous objective.

I knocked on her door. No response. Once more. Nope. I justified myself as being in the right and entered the room. She was looking out of the window behind the door. An exquisite table and beautiful chairs rested between me and her. She had lifted her burqa, and I could see the fair cheeks from the side.

"Hey, professor, what happened earlier, I apologize on behalf of the class. They're just kids."

"Oh no. it was not your fault, Ms…?"

"Madonna, Ma'am."

"Ah, Madonna. What a pretty name. Please sit," She said.

"Thanks, but I should really get back to the class."

"Oh, yes. Sure. I hope you find yourself comfortable here. If something undesirable comes up, please let me know."

What would you do? Go in the wrong class again?

"O…kay. Suuuuure! Thanks."

Professor had yet to look at me. And all I could see was the side of her face and her black clothes that ran from top to bottom.

Maybe if she made eye contact with me, she'd be embarrassed.

"One more thing, Ms. Madonna, if you will. Please don't let your grades fall below seventy percent. This is a prestigious university after all. And older students like you are usually a hinderance to the academic average. I hope you keep that in mind as you go on."

It was awkward for a professor to generalize amongst her students, but I didn't let that affect me.

I turned around and exited the room.

The term continued like always. My work and my studies became the normality. And the final exams came and went away.

I scored 68.55%.

FUCK!