Page 7 of A is for Ahool

“No!” I said, panic making my heart pound.

Her eyes widened.

“No, I am happy to do it,” I said in a calmer voice. My instincts were screaming at me to court her properly, but I could not scare her again. My heart could not take it.

She was quiet for so long, that I feared I had ruined any hope of us even being friends. I looked at her from the corner of my eye. She was frowning, her hands fidgeting in her lap.

“If you’re sure,” she said, settling back onto the pallet with her feet tucked beneath her.

I was not sure of anything anymore. As many times as I had dreamed of speaking to her, I had never expected it to happen. She was a distant star, an untouchable beauty who was not intended for someone like me. Her kindness was for the villagers, her attention for my jungle. My soul bloomed in her presence and that would have to be enough.

Chapter Four

Anissa

I was not sure what to make of him. After watching him while he cooked our food, it became obvious that my first impression had been completely wrong. Muram was more of a gentleman than many men I had met. He was kind and thoughtful. And he had rewrapped my hijab.

I reached up to touch my scarf. I could feel my hair lying oddly under the fabric, leaving no doubt it had come free at some point and been hastily bundled back under my hijab. It was thoughtful. Sweet. Muram probably did not understand the significance, but he had preserved my modesty anyway.

As much as I tried to resist, my gaze always returned to him. He was fascinating. As strong as he looked, Muram’s movements were carefully controlled. He handled delicate cups and thinly sliced the vegetables for the fried rice. When he turned to hand me a bowl, it looked like a child’s toy in his hands.

My gaze stayed on his longer than was proper before I murmured my thanks and began to eat. I had to bite back a moan of appreciation. I swallowed the first bite and glanced up to see his dark eyes watching me. My cheeks heated at the intensity of his stare. I reminded myself that he was probably as curious about me as I was about him.

Indonesians had many superstitions. Many creatures that were said to dwell in the dark and deep places of the country. With thousands of islands, there were plenty of places to hide. But Muram, he was something familiar.

The village women chatted as they cooked, exchanging gossip and telling stories. On my first trip to the village, they had mentioned a creature in passing. I had looked it up when I returned to my university in Surabaya.

The Ahool. It was said to be an ape-like predator with giant wings and a haunting call. A nightmarish creature made of teeth and claws. Aggressive. Territorial.

“Are you still hungry?” Muram asked quietly.

I looked up from my empty bowl and our eyes met. There was something so steady about him. A deep calm in his dark eyes. It had only been a short time since I woke and already my terror was a distant memory. His quiet gentleness was disarming.

I realized the silence had stretched while I was lost in thought and I looked away.

“No, thank you. It was very good.”

Muram’s wings rose a few inches before settling against his back. “I’m pleased you liked it.”

Silence fell again. I tried to resist the urge to glance in his direction. Human or not, the entire situation was as close to haram as I had ever come.

I tried to imagine what my family would say. The outrage if they knew I was alone with a male without a chaperone. I internally winced. It would not matter that Muram had likely saved my life. We were unrelated and it was forbidden.

But intent mattered to Allah, right? I was not looking at Muram lustfully. I was just curious. That he was strong-bodied and kind was beside the point. I was overthinking.

“Are you thirsty?” Muram asked, breaking the silence.

Without waiting for my answer, he poured a cup of water and handed it to me. My fingers brushed his as I took it and I felt an electric shock run up my arm. My eyes widened in surprise and I looked up to see his dark gaze studying me, intent and unreadable. My heart began to beat faster and I knew I needed to change the subject.

“Your Sundanese is very good,” I said, taking a hasty sip of water. “Someone in the village taught you?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Long ago. And gave me my name.”

I jerked my head up to watch him move to the back of the nest. “Muram?”

He nodded without looking at me.

“What were you called before?” Surely something better than “sad”.