Faking It Chapter 4
In the quiet and serene school environment, Aziza sat engrossed in her studies while Salim lounged beside her, scrolling through his phone.
After leaving the restaurant earlier, they had only stopped at the mosque to pray before coming here. Salim had originally planned to go somewhere else, but Aziza had insisted she needed time to study. Reluctantly, he had given her an hour, though his friends had opted to leave, unwilling to wait that long.
Aziza glanced at him, noticing how disinterested he seemed. "Junior master, why don't you go do something instead of just sitting here? Or better yet, study your books," she suggested. Waiting for someone to study seemed unfair to her.
He looked up from his phone.
Salim's sharp glare made her tense—not because of her question, but because of the name she had just called him.
"Oh… sorry," she quickly corrected herself. "Salim."
His expression softened slightly, but his voice remained firm. "I've told you already—you're my fake girlfriend, and I'm yours. We have to act the part at all times, whether Hannah is around or not. That way, no one will suspect anything."
"But why don't you study too? And don't you have lectures to attend?" Aziza asked, glancing at him curiously.
Salim sighed, clearly annoyed by her persistence. "I don't have any lectures today. And as for studying, that's easy—I just cram at the last minute," he replied nonchalantly.
Aziza frowned. "What's your CGPA?"
Salim raised a brow at her question before answering, "4.6."
Aziza's eyes widened slightly. Oh, so he's actually intelligent. She hadn't expected that.
"But why—" she started to ask, but Salim cut her off.
"Aziza, enough with the questions," he said, frustration creeping into his voice. "If you're done studying, we can just leave now."
Taking the hint, Aziza fell silent and refocused on her studies. About thirty minutes later, she finally closed her book and packed her things.
"I'm done," she announced, slipping her books into her bag.
Without another word, they left the study area and walked toward Salim's car, which was parked nearby.
"Where are we going now?" Aziza asked, glancing at Salim.
"To the mall," he replied casually.
She frowned. "What? Why?"
"Hannah goes there too," he explained.
Aziza raised a brow. "And how do you know she'll be there today?"
"She goes there every day," Salim said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Aziza fell silent. While she struggled with transport money, people like Salim and Hannah spent their time casually shopping at malls. Their is a contrast between their worlds.
When they arrived at the mall, Salim reached into his pocket and pulled out a card, handing it to her.
"Here. Use this to buy whatever you want," he said.
Aziza's eyes widened. "What? No! I can't accept this." She shook her head firmly.
"You have to," Salim insisted, slipping the card into her bag. "As long as you're my fake girlfriend, you need to play the part."
"So we don't lose each other in the mall, give me your phone. Let me save my number," Salim said.
Aziza hesitated for a moment before pulling out her phone and handing it to him.
Salim looked at it, his brows furrowing. "Is this your phone?" he asked, turning the small keypad device in his hands.
Aziza shifted uncomfortably but said nothing.
"People still use these?" he muttered, more to himself than to her. "How do you manage your studies with this? School assignments, lecture schedules… everything's online these days."
Aziza remained silent, her discomfort evident. Seeing her reaction, Salim chose not to push further. Instead, he sighed and stepped out of the car, signaling for her to follow.
As they walked inside the mall, Aziza felt overwhelmed. Everything around her screamed luxury—gleaming floors, polished shelves, and price tags that seemed unreal.
"I don't belong here," she thought, clutching her bag tightly.
Salim, oblivious to her thoughts, gestured towards a section filled with designer handbags, high-end shoes, and elegant dresses. "This is where Hannah usually buy stuffs," he said. "You can pick something from here."
Aziza stared at the dazzling displays, knowing deep down that nothing here was meant for someone like her.
"Let me get something. I'll be back in a few minutes," Salim told her before walking away.
Aziza sighed, glancing around. There was nothing she could buy here—everything was far beyond her reach. Instead, she wandered through the aisles, admiring the outfits and checking the price tags, though she knew she wouldn't be purchasing anything.
Just then, Hannah walked in with her three friends. Aziza's heart pounded. Instinctively, she turned away, pretending to examine a dress. She didn't know how Hannah would react if she saw her here, especially knowing she was with Salim.
She waited a few moments, hoping they would pass without noticing her. But when she finally turned to check, her stomach dropped.
Hannah stood right in front of her, arms crossed, eyes sharp with suspicion.
"What are you doing here?" Hannah asked, her tone laced with irritation. "I'm sure Salim brought you."
Aziza froze, unsure how to respond. She hesitated before giving a small nod.
Hannah glared at her for a moment before scoffing and walking away, leaving Aziza standing there, her heart still racing.
Aziza took a deep breath, trying to compose herself after her encounter with Hannah.
Soon, Salim walked in, his eyes scanning her face. "I saw you with Hannah. What did she ask you?" he questioned.
Aziza hesitated briefly before answering. "She just asked if you were the one who brought me here."
"Is that all?" Salim pressed.
She nodded.
"Alright, let's go," he said simply, leading the way out of the mall.
Once they got into the car, Salim turned to her. "Didn't you buy anything?"
"There's no need," Aziza replied softly.
He studied her for a moment. "Are you sure?"
She nodded again, avoiding his gaze.
Salim said nothing more as he started the engine, but his expression suggested he didn't quite believe her.
After the Asr prayer, Salim drove Aziza to the football field.
"It's getting late, Salim. What are we doing here?" Aziza asked, her voice laced with impatience.
"I'm going to play football before we head home," Salim replied casually.
She snorted. "You could have just dropped me off. I don't see why I need to be here."
"Wait for me here. I'll be back soon," he told her before stepping out of the car.
Aziza sighed, leaning back in her seat. A few minutes later, Salim emerged, now dressed in a blue and white jersey with matching shoes. He looked incredibly dashing, and Aziza found herself momentarily stunned. Beside him were Musa and Jafar, both equally well-dressed for the game.
Salim opened the car door for her. "Come out," he said.
"For what?" she frowned.
"You'll be cheering for us whenever we score," he replied with a smirk.
Salim led her to the stands where their team's supporters were gathered. A handful of people were watching, but Aziza quickly noticed that many were girls, their eyes fixated on Salim. The moment he stepped onto the field, loud cheers erupted.
She let out a quiet sigh and settled into her seat, waiting for the match to start.
The game began, and Aziza had no idea what was going on. She didn't care much for football, but she stayed because Salim asked her to. Every time someone scored or the crowd cheered, she clapped along, mimicking the excitement around her. She wasn't sure what else to do.
But soon, she noticed people staring at her. The looks were longer, sharper. Her discomfort grew as Salim and his friends briefly paused, exchanging glances with her before focusing back on the game. What did they expect from her?
As the half-time whistle blew, Salim and his friends walked over to her, all looking serious. Salim's face was hard to read, but the tension in the air was palpable.
"Aziza, let's go," Salim said, his voice tight.
Aziza blinked, surprised by his sudden shift in mood. "What's wrong?" she asked, standing up to follow him.
She had no time to ask more questions before he opened the car door for her. His friends piled into the backseat, leaving her in the passenger seat. The car felt smaller now, quieter, as if the distance between them had grown in seconds.
Salim started the car without saying a word, and for a while, the silence was deafening. Aziza's mind raced. Why were they leaving now? They were supposed to take a break and go back after halftime. She had only been clapping when people cheered—what had gone wrong?
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Salim spoke.
"You were only supposed to cheer for our team, Aziza," he said, his tone almost accusatory.
Aziza blink.
Salim glanced over at her, his jaw clenched. "But, you cheered for every team that won. It's very disrespectful and embarrassing."
Before Aziza could respond, Jafar chuckled from the backseat. "You know, Salim, it's your fault. You brought a village girl to a football match. She doesn't understand how things work." His voice was taunting.
Aziza digested Jafar's accusation, but as always, she didn't say anything. Silence was easier than confrontation. Musa, sitting quietly beside Jafar, kept his gaze fixed on the window, his expression unreadable.
"As my girlfriend, you're only supposed to cheer for us—or for me, in particular," Salim said, his voice sharp and angry, ignoring Jafar's taunt. "And if Hannah sees this, our plan will fail completely."
Aziza flinched. So this is all about Hannah, she thought. Despite the sting of his words, she remained silent. She could feel the weight of the expectations hanging between them. Salim opened his mouth to say more, but the words never came. Aziza's soft apology had stopped him in his tracks.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly.
Salim's clenched fist loosened, and for a moment, Aziza saw the anger melt from his face. His features softened, and the harshness in his eyes faded. He didn't say anything, but the tension in the car lightened. The ride continued in silence, the hum of the engine filling the air.
The rest of the journey was quiet. Salim dropped Musa and Jafar off without a word. When the car was finally just the two of them, Aziza felt the weight of everything unsaid.
When they reached the home, Aziza reached for the door handle, ready to leave the car, but Salim stopped her.
"Aziza," he said, his voice quieter now.
She turned to him, her heart racing. "Yes?"
Salim reached into the glove compartment and handed her a small, neatly wrapped package. Aziza looked at it, confused. "What is this?"
Salim smiled faintly and opened the package for her. Inside was a brand-new phone, its sleek surface gleaming in the dim light. "Take it. It'll help you with your studies," he told her.
Aziza's chest tightened. She stared at the phone, then quickly pushed it back toward him. "No, please, Salim. I can't take this."
Salim's expression remained calm, but his voice grew more insistent. "No, Aziza. You have to. I insist."
"Please, Salim," Aziza pleaded, her voice soft but firm. "And besides, my mom won't allow me to take it," she added, hoping that would convince him.
Salim didn't seem fazed. "Then convince her," he said with an almost casual tone.
Aziza shook her head. "No, I can't," she replied, feeling the weight of the situation settling deeper on her shoulders.
Salim turned serious, his expression hardening. "Okay, if you can't convince her, you'll have to convince the discipline master," he said coldly.
Aziza shuddered at the thought, her eyes narrowing as she glared at him.
"Salim, you're a monster," Aziza said, the words leaving her lips bitterly.
Salim smirked, unfazed by her anger. "Yes, I know. Take it," he said, placing the phone in her hands. "And that monster is now your boyfriend."
Aziza took the phone reluctantly. She stepped out of the car, feeling the weight of both the phone and the situation in her hands. Salim went on to park the car, and she made her way inside.
As Aziza walked into the house, she couldn't help but reflect on how her life had changed. From being his secret love to now being the one to help him get back with Hannah. She hated the situation, but a small part of her acknowledged that it wasn't all bad.
But still, she had a bigger issue at hand now—convincing her mom to let her use the phone.