029 Celebrating Eid at the Bar

Professor Al-Mudin seems to prefer those with technical expertise; the stipend he provides us is generous, but the pay for translators is truly unappealing.

I shrugged. "I'm not familiar with anyone."

Singh remarked, "If I were a Muslim, I wouldn't want to head out into the desert on the sixth day after a month of fasting either. Even without the reason of his sister's wedding, I can certainly understand Ayoub's perspective."

I nodded in agreement. Of course, in my view, Ayoub would try to avoid it regardless of the circumstances; after all, as a local in Dubai with no worries about food or shelter, why push himself so hard?

The two senior students looked miserable. Though they knew it was likely futile, they still urged Singh and me to ask around if we happened to come across anyone suitable.

I gave a verbal promise, though heaven knows who I could possibly ask. I only know two Arabs in total: Ayoub, who has already turned down Professor Al-Mudin, and Musa...

At least for now, he remains a thorn in my side.

Counting the days, it has been half a month since I last saw him. Is he doing well? Perhaps our connection, thin as a cicada's wing, has already been completely forgotten by him.

Night falls late in Dubai, making the sunset feel exceptionally long. The sharp, majestic architecture takes on a gentle, tender glow under the wine-red light of the setting sun, and accompanied by the melodious call to prayer, the city even seems a little more approachable.

Ramadan, at the tail end of that call to prayer, finally came to an end.

Amidst the bright starlight and city lights, the pulse of human life began to flourish. As the sky gradually darkened and the lights burned bright, Muslims who had endured a month of fasting headed out in droves to celebrate the end of Ramadan.

Although it is a Muslim holiday, we outsiders could not help but be caught up in the festive spirit. Lian Pian called me in high spirits and summoned me out, saying, "Xixi, tonight, we’re going to a bar."

A bar is a very special place in Dubai.

Alcohol is prohibited in Dubai, and even buying liquor requires a great deal of effort to obtain a license. Yet, in such a place, bars flourish. What would a bar under such religious constraints look like? Filled with curiosity and a touch of nervousness, I agreed to Lian Pian’s plan without hesitation and hopped into a taxi.

Barasti Beach Bar is located between the hotel and the beach, surrounded by swimming pools, palm trees, and sand, offering an easy, panoramic view of the Persian Gulf. Comfortable lounge chairs are scattered across the manicured lawn, where passersby can stop to rest. If it weren't for the sweltering heat, I would love to lie on one of those chairs, listen to the breathing of the sea breeze, and shake off the fatigue accumulated throughout the day. But that was not an option; even though night had fallen, the outdoor heat was still enough to make one sweat profusely, and I just wanted to get indoors as quickly as possible.

Upon reaching the entrance, Lian Pian tugged at my sleeve and said with excitement, "I checked beforehand—tonight is Happy Hour at Barasti!"

"Happy Hour? What does that mean?"

Lian Pian’s eyes sparkled as she rubbed her hands together. "It means discounted drinks. Usually, nights like these are when the bar is at its liveliest." She looked as if she were grinning from ear to ear, leaned in toward me, and started daydreaming again. "Who knows... maybe I’ll be able to hook a handsome foreign guy tonight!"