The Curious Stranger

Meanwhile Asmaa had positioned herself firmly between Malik and Bronson.

Strategic placement—a human shield made of two very confused men.

Tom noticed.

Very deliberate.

"So Malik," Asmaa said quickly, "what were you talking about earlier? Something about dorm buildings?"

Malik blinked again.

"Uh—laundry rooms."

"Right! Laundry rooms," she said, nodding eagerly like this was the most fascinating topic imaginable.

"Do they separate them by floor or by building?"

Malik launched into an explanation.

"Usually building," he said. "But some universities have shared floors and—"

"That makes sense," Asmaa said quickly.

Bronson leaned casually on the railing beside them.

He watched the interaction with clear amusement.

Tom stood a few steps away now.

Arms crossed.

Watching.

Bronson noticed that too.

His grin widened.

"You know," Bronson said, "it's kind of impressive."

Asmaa looked at him.

"What?"

"I've never seen someone avoid a person this strategically before."

Asmaa felt heat rush straight into her face.

She adjusted the edge of her hijab quickly, pretending to listen very carefully to Malik, nodding a little too enthusiastically as if the subject of laundry logistics had suddenly become the most important academic topic on campus.

Malik snorted.

Asmaa froze.

"I am not avoiding anyone," she said quickly.

Bronson raised both hands.

"Sure. Totally natural that you just surgically inserted yourself between me and Malik the moment Tom arrived."

Malik laughed now.

"He's got a point," he said.

Asmaa glared at both of them.

"You two are very unhelpful."

"We're extremely helpful," Bronson corrected.

Malik nodded.

"Emotionally supportive," he added.

Asmaa tried not to smile.

Bronson leaned slightly closer to Malik.

"You know," he murmured quietly enough that only Malik and Asmaa could hear, "we could switch sides if that would make her more comfortable."

Malik looked at him.

For a second their eyes met.

Something unspoken passed between them.

Bronson's grin lingered a fraction longer than the joke required, like he had noticed something Malik was trying very hard not to show.

Malik looked away first.

Then Malik cleared his throat quickly.

"Yeah," he said.

"We could do that."

Neither of them moved.

Asmaa noticed.

And for the briefest moment wondered why that felt… interesting.

Then Tom stepped forward.

"Hi," he said.

Asmaa nodded politely.

"Hello."

Then she immediately turned back to Malik.

"So the washing machines—"

Tom looked down at the ground.

"Okay," he muttered.

"That is definitely avoidance."

A loudspeaker crackled overhead.

"Orientation session beginning in five minutes. Please begin entering the auditorium."

The crowd immediately started moving toward the doors.

Bronson gestured.

"Let's go."

The group merged with the stream of students.

Bronson and Malik walked ahead, still talking.

Arjun followed.

Ashley and Mira behind them.

Cora and Chris naturally fell into step beside each other.

Tom slowed slightly.

Waiting.

Until he was walking beside Asmaa.

"Did I do something wrong?" Tom asked quietly.

Asmaa blinked.

"What?"

"You keep avoiding me."

"I'm not avoiding you," she said quickly.

Tom raised an eyebrow.

"You've spoken to literally everyone else in the last three minutes."

Asmaa looked down at her hands.

Her thoughts were racing.

Her fingers instinctively touched the edge of her hijab, as if the familiar fabric could somehow calm the chaos in her chest.

Say something normal.

Stop overthinking.

Why is he still trying.

Why does that make my heart beat faster instead of making this easier.

"Why are you talking to me?" she blurted.

Tom blinked.

"Because I like talking to you."

"Why?"

"Because you're interesting."

He shrugged lightly.

"And because you're cute."

Heat rushed into Asmaa's cheeks.

"Tom…"

"I'm Muslim."

"Okay," Tom said.

"You aren't."

"Also correct."

She hesitated.

"My family… my culture… everything is different."

Tom studied her a moment.

Then he grinned.

"So what you're saying," he said lightly, "is that I'm probably going to mess this up in about ten different culturally insensitive ways?"

Asmaa blinked.

The joke caught her off guard.

"Possibly," she admitted.

Tom nodded thoughtfully.

"Good to know."

They walked slowly with the flow of students.

Tom glanced sideways at her again.

"You know," he said carefully, "you're assuming a lot about me."

Asmaa frowned slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"You keep talking about what I probably want," he said. "What I probably think. What kind of guy I probably am."

He shrugged lightly.

"But you don't actually know me yet.

Asmaa opened her mouth to answer—then stopped.

Because he was right.

She had built half a version of him already in her head.

Stories she had heard growing up.

Warnings.

Expectations.

And yet the boy walking beside her right now did not quite match any of them."

Asmaa opened her mouth—then stopped.

Because he was right.

She had been doing exactly that.

Projecting fears.

Expectations.

Stories she had heard her entire life.

Tom watched her expression soften as the realization landed.

"Look," he said gently, "I'm not asking you to decide anything right now."

"But if you're curious…"

He held out his hand.

"Let me see your phone for a second."

Asmaa hesitated.

Her heart hammered.

This felt strangely intimate.

Ridiculous.

But intimate.

Slowly she handed him the phone.

Tom typed something quickly and handed it back.

She looked down.

A new contact.

Curious Stranger.

Her thumb hovered over the screen for a moment as if she might somehow change the name—or delete it entirely.

She didn't.

She looked up at him.

Tom shrugged slightly.

"If you ever feel like talking to that curious stranger…"

He smiled faintly.

"You know where to find him."

Asmaa stared at the screen.

His number.

His actual number.

Oh God.

She had the phone number of a man.

A white man.

A man.

A handsome man.

A man who liked her.

Who wanted to talk to her.

Who wanted to see her again.

Her mind spun.

What if someone from her family saw this.

What if someone from the community knew.

What if—

"Hey."

Tom's voice pulled her back.

He pointed toward the auditorium doors where the others were already entering.

"Come on," he said with a grin.

"Before we get in trouble on our first day."

Asmaa blinked.

"Right."

Ashley suddenly leaned out from the doorway.

"Hey, lovebirds!"

They both looked up.

"Are you two coming," she called, "or planning an entire relationship arc out here?"

Tom laughed.

"We're coming."

He glanced at Asmaa.

"Text me," he said quietly.

Then together they walked toward the auditorium and stepped through the doors.

Asmaa followed the others inside.

Her phone felt strangely heavy in her hand.

Her thumb hovered for a moment over the screen, as if even touching it might somehow make everything more real.

Curious Stranger.

She had known him for less than a day.

And somehow…

her entire morning now revolved around him.