With Ramadan's arrival, Dubai's entire rhythm shifted.
School hours were drastically shortened. Government offices and companies closed by 2 PM. Government jobs were largely held by locals, known for a more relaxed pace, but during Ramadan, their efficiency plummeted to frustrating lows! Business activities dwindled, deals shifted to evenings. Stores opened around 6 or 7 PM, staying open until 2 or 3 AM.
Day and night achieved an improbable harmony, completely flipping roles.
True to my word to Musa, I began my "half-hearted" fast – abstaining from all food during daylight hours, though I still drank water.
Perhaps my life back home had been too comfortable. The first three days passed without incident! Even my Iftar (meal to break the fast) was light. By the fourth day, drowsiness crept in during class, but I managed. On the fifth day, watching Jay and others dash to the break room to eat the moment class ended, I nearly lunged after them!
Like Yushu said, I was only "devout" when eating! Starving made my brain sluggish; how could I feel pious? A foodie's nature was impossible to shake!
Dizzy and faint with hunger, I finally cracked, planning to sneak to the break room and beg Jay for food. But as I stood up, I instinctively glanced back. Musa was sitting at his desk, lips slightly pursed, watching me.
As if guided by an unseen force, my foot changed direction, carrying me towards the back row.
Standing before Musa and Ayub, I realized I had nothing to say. My mouth opened, searching for words, but hunger left my mind blank.
Normally, Ayub would have jumped in to ease the silence. But during Ramadan, he strictly adhered to "silence is golden."
I forced my mouth open, whispering to Ayub, "Why so quiet?"
He took a deep breath, uttering only four words: "Conserving my energy."
But energy couldn't be hoarded! I desperately needed to absorb some!
Musa, noticing my pallor, moved his dry lips slightly, his voice raspy. "Cece, if it's too hard on you, you don't have to force yourself."
His words, meant kindly, sparked my stubbornness instead. I gritted my teeth. "No! I said I'd do it!"
Musa smiled faintly, a hint of... appreciation? in his expression.
The result of my "resolve"? Within minutes of the next class starting, I slumped onto my desk, fast asleep!
I woke to Jay shaking me gently. Class was over. Understanding the strain of fasting, the professor had let me sleep undisturbed.
Twisting my neck, I scanned the room. The two white-robed figures were long gone. I held out a hand to Jay. "Give me food."
For the first time in my life, I felt like a beggar. No, not like one – I was one!
Jay spread his hands helplessly. "I didn't bring much. Ate it all. But Iftar is soon. Restaurants outside should be open."
I groaned weakly, dragging my exhausted body outside step by painful step. Starving like this was certainly a... uniquely "rich" experience.
Outside the building, I shuffled towards the nearest KFC. Ordering my food, I sat down, ready to devour it. But I noticed everyone around me had their food untouched, sitting in respectful silence. My stomach growled loudly. Sneaking a single fry into my mouth felt like stealing! Instantly, a sharp-eyed observer snapped, "Stop! You must wait until after 7 PM!"
I nodded frantically, apologizing profusely and promising compliance. Getting arrested over a single fry would be the ultimate tragedy and humiliation. So, I pulled out my phone, staring at the time, counting down the seconds to 7 PM, my eyelids heavy.
My desperate hunger must have conjured visions. Blurrily, I thought I saw the words I craved most on my screen: "I'm getting Iftar at the mosque. Where are you? I'll bring you some."
The thought of food delivered to my door was bliss! But alone in Dubai, I figured I wasn't that lucky.
Why would my dream food be at a mosque? Iftar food? I rubbed my eyes hard. This time, the words on the screen registered clearly, exploding into unexpected joy!
Sender – Musa!
I wasn't hallucinating!
Weeks in Dubai, I'd heard the call to prayer five times daily – Fajr (dawn), Dhuhr (noon), Asr (afternoon), Maghrib (sunset), Isha (night) – but never paid attention. Today's Maghrib call was the first I truly listened to. Hunger had weakened my body, but this warm message filled my empty heart. For a moment, I forgot the city's opulent facade, touched only by this sense of spiritual purity and peace.
I closed my eyes briefly, inhaling the air tinged with the scent of fading daylight. So, Ramadan truly could discipline the mind and cleanse the soul.
But after today's ordeal, I had no intention of continuing the hunger strike.
It was a battle between body and spirit, and I wasn't destined to suffer for a foreign culture.
The call ended, but the inner tremor lingered. The men in white returned to their seats and began eating. I no longer rushed to my fries. Instead, I reread Musa's message, then replied obediently: "At the KFC closest to campus, right turn out the door."
Seconds later, his hesitant reply arrived: "KFC... is too crowded. Can we meet somewhere else?"
My fingers froze. I frowned, puzzled by the crowd concern.
But as I looked around – men in thobes sat alone or in small groups, deliberately distanced from the women in black abayas – understanding dawned.
A Muslim man in a white thobe, publicly handing food to an unmarried Chinese girl? Definitely not a common sight.
I typed back: "The hotel for female grad students. Room 321."
In Dubai, the least crowded place in summer was the scorching street. But with sunset, besides a hotel room, I couldn't think of anywhere private.
After hitting send, the implication hit me – it sounded like I was inviting him to a hotel room!
My palms sweated. I could only pray the cultural gap was wide enough, hoping Middle Easterners wouldn't interpret it that way, or would see it as a simple location mention.
Moments later, Musa replied: "ok."
That single word sent heat rushing to my face and through my body! I quickly stuffed fries and burger into my mouth, giving my empty stomach some base. Fueled by the food and my pounding heart, I strode out of KFC and practically ran back to the hotel.
At my door, Musa was already waiting. But he wasn't standing still; he paced the hallway, pretending to just be passing by.
The sight made me stifle a laugh. "Hi, Musa."
He stopped, offering a gentle smile. "Hi."
Silence hung heavy. I stood stiffly, wearing a silly grin, staring at him.
"Hi," he repeated, waving a hand before my eyes.
I snapped back to reality. Flustered, I grabbed my bag, pretending to search through it. "I... I was just trying to remember which bag I put my key card in..."
I only had one bag with me, no pockets.
The excuse... was utterly lame!