Strings - Capstone Amal Al Shamsi (1)

“The kind of things that are funny, but I don’t know if I should laugh at,” she answered.
“Feel free,” Hamza told her. It was ridiculous, it felt like something foreign couples
would do.
She let out a wisp of a laugh, moving the shawl over her neck.
“Not like that,” he said.
“Let’s go inside, at least pretend to like the party they’ve thrown,” she told him.
They walked together towards the door, over the cracked bricks and the serpentine body
of the hose that ran across the large courtyard.
“What if I did though?” Hamza asked her.
“If you did ask?” Lamya was standing on the steps, slipping out of her shoes.
Hamza nodded, then said, “Yes.”
“I would say I could not accept. Or I would,” Lamya turned to him. “It wouldn’t matter,
because you won’t ask.”
Something metal clattered against the marble inside. He needed to hear it, more than
ever he wanted someone to tell him what to do. “I am asking now.”
“Fine, stay.”
“Okay.”
Lamya seemed so far away this time as she spoke. “Great. But you’re not going to. So,
let’s just have this moment.”
He wished she had slammed the door behind her, but she held it open with her elbow,
looking in.
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