033. A Thousand Twists and Turns, Once More

The light and shadows cooled, then warmed again; my thoughts grew shallow, then deepened once more. In Musa’s presence, my emotions were always twisting through a hundred turns. Just moments ago I had been disappointed, yet now I was intoxicated by the faintly bashful look on his face.

The feeling was like needle and thread in my hands, slipping silently into my heart, winding and tangling in fine, delicate strands. Yet neither of us had remembered to tie a knot. With the slightest tug, everything would return to where it had begun.

“Desert Rose,” though sung by an Englishman, was steeped in the flavor of the Middle East. The singer’s voice was deep yet clear, and I could not help thinking of our journey into the desert six days from now. Turning casually to Ayoub, I complained, “Speaking of the desert, since you’re not going this time, Professor Emadeen has been telling us every day to find someone who speaks Arabic.”

Ayoub had a very clear understanding of himself. “He must deeply regret taking on such a lazy student.”

I covered my mouth to hide a laugh. “Of course he does. Where else would he find someone suitable?”

At that, Musa frowned slightly. He appeared to know nothing about the matter. “You’re going to the desert?”

“Yes. The professor accepted a surveying project from a company. We’ll have to go deep into the desert.” I nodded.

Musa fell silent for a moment, gently rocking the wineglass in his hand. “I’ve never been deep into the desert either. I’ve only stayed along its outskirts near the city.”

Ayoub’s astonished gaze shot toward him. “Don’t tell me you want to go?”

My heart leaped into my throat as well. If Musa wanted to go, and the project team happened to be short of someone like him, Professor Emadeen would certainly agree.

The sheen of the red wine was hazy and subdued. Musa lowered his eyes and took a small sip before lifting his head again. Beneath his gentle brows, his eyes were dark and fathomless, still as a deep pool.

“Just saying.” His low voice sounded almost careless.

Ayoub and I both breathed a sigh of relief.

But why had Ayoub needed to breathe a sigh of relief, too?

By then, Lianpian and Bill had danced to their hearts’ content and returned from the floor together. Lianpian dropped into a seat without ceremony, noticed the two extra people at the table, and asked me, “Xixi, are these your friends?”

I nodded.

Lianpian smiled and greeted them, then stared at Musa for another two seconds. “Huh? I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

Of course she had. On our first day in Dubai, we had happened to run into Musa twice.

Perhaps because Musa’s appearance was so striking, Lianpian remembered soon afterward. She cried out excitedly, “Ah, it’s you—the handsome Arab! I remember now! But you were wearing a white robe then, so I didn’t recognize you right away.”

Afterward, she openly examined Musa’s new outfit and clicked her tongue in admiration. “You look better dressed like this. Much more relaxed and approachable.”

She had said exactly what I was thinking.

With Lianpian and Bill joining us at the table, Musa completely returned to his usual courteous and witty self. He gave Lianpian a slight nod and thanked her, polite yet distant.

Lianpian poked me in the waist, leaned close to my ear, and whispered with a sly grin, “Xixi, you still haven’t told me—when did you become so close to these two handsome Arabs?”

My face flushed faintly as I answered in Chinese, “We’re not close. We just attend classes together.”

Lianpian was clearly a little disappointed by that answer, though it was hardly unexpected. She glanced to the side and saw that Bill had already begun chatting with the other two. Only then did a blissful smile spread across her face. Leaning against my ear, she asked, “Bill says he’s taking me go-karting tomorrow. Will you come with me?”