Arrival

The sound of the doorbell startled her, even though she had been expecting it. He was right on time.

“8 p.m.?” she had said on the phone.

“Yes, that's perfect. See you then.”

Her heart was pounding as she stood at the door, her hand hovering over the handle. Was this the right thing to do? She could still back out, tell him it had been a misunderstanding, that he should leave.

She opened the door.

David was standing there, the light from the stairwell at his back turning him almost into a silhouette. T-shirt, a linen jacket loosely thrown over it. She noticed how he rolled his shoulders awkwardly, a sign that it was an unfamiliar garment for him. So it wasn't a normal visit to a customer.

His tense expression softened when he saw her. A smile. “Good evening, Mrs. Rahman,” he cleared his throat self-consciously, remembering that they were already on first-name terms, “Samira, thank you for the invitation.”

She nodded silently because her voice failed her. She searched his eyes for a clue as to whether he recognized how she had changed. Whether he saw through the secret she hid under her clothes. His gaze, politely interested, was fixed on her face. And she understood that her hijab was the most unusual thing he noticed about her appearance.

Otherwise, she was just a woman in a simple house dress to him. Plain, but appropriate. Nothing that violated his rules of decency and morality in the slightest.

Yet she felt exposed and unprotected. The kameez ended just above her knees. Underneath—nothing. Cool air from the hallway brushed against her legs. Something she had never felt before. The goose bumps crawling up her spine were not just from the cold.

David stood on her doorstep. He had not yet entered her apartment. Her life. I can still stop this. No one would ever know what she had thought, what she had – almost – done.

She stepped aside, opened the door wider, gesturing invitingly. “Please, come in.”

She led him into the living room. The aroma of the tea she had prepared filled the room; Assam with mint. Sweet pastries on the table; she had spent hours in the kitchen.

“Please, have a seat.”

David sat down in one of the armchairs. Feet close together on the carpet, hands on his closed knees.

He looked up at her. “Um. Do you have any more questions about the computer or the internet?”