We return to the nameless RPF-with-OCs 'verse, which by the way has officially become an AU sometime in the last week or two, with the short version of the history between Leila al Hossam and Sarah Awaters (and, yes, Yasmin from Onbereikbaar has since become Leila). The characters and their personalities are pretty well fleshed out, it's just that I have plot whatsoever. It's just people doing stuff. And the stuff they're doing is boring! (Plus, even now, with just one of the characters' family sketched out, there's a huge cast of very diverse characters, and if I ever seriously want to write in this 'verse, that's gonna be a looot of research. /o\)
Then, because the universe apparently had it in for her, Leila found herself falling for Sarah, and complained about this fact loudly, albeit privately, and at great length. And things got several orders of magnitude (as a physicist, Leila knew a thing or two about magnitudes and orders thereof) more complicated when it turned out that a) Sarah was gay too and b) Sarah wanted something uncomplicated that would last until she got her bachelor’s and went home to do the traditional thing and marry some guy she wouldn’t love and expected her to be in the same predicament.
Leila had proactively rustled up all her Christian friends to find theologically sound ways of telling Sarah she was wrong, but there was no getting through to her and, well, Leila had been embarrassingly head-over-heels in love with the woman for months. It was a frustrating exercise in futility, since there was no way to get Sarah to even agree to have dinner with her parents in their room, and in the end another screaming fight had been the end of their affair.
Leila had counted to a number with a bunch of zeroes, swallowed her pride, gathered her stuff from her friend down the hall’s couch, and had gone to apologize. The apology was accepted, but Leila still spent the rest of the week with her friend down the hall.
And, over the next two years, she’d tried to talk some sense in her a few times, but it hadn’t had any effect. She’d slipped a letter into Sarah’s bags after third year, not even really hoping to get a response, but Sarah had sent her to emails from all the way back in the nineteenth century (or fundie country, whichever), but Leila’d never gotten a reply to her last email. (Or the second, third, fourth and fifth last emails, and by then she’d given up on ever getting one, anyway.)
After the summer, Leila never heard from Sarah again. She tried to put her out of her mind, because she had to focus on her studies (and on her fashion design and her stupidly successful ex-blog-now-nationally-visited-website and theology and—let’s be honest, here—being annoyed at a great many things in the world), and later because she’d met Nisha and that relationship had promised to go places from the start, and, well she stopped thinking about Sarah that much.
And then she stopped thinking about her even that bit.
Mark dragged her into the hall, under Leila’s loud protests—who tried to pry the bride away from her own wedding reception, eh?—saying nothing more than that there was someone there who wanted to see her, which, uh, it was her wedding where she had just been married, so duh, Mark. Everyone in the building was supposed to want to see her (or Nisha, and ideally, the both of them).
It turned out to be Sarah, sans wedding ring.
After Leila had soundly told Mark off for dragging the wrong person in the wrong direction, and after she’d finally talked Sarah into going into the reception room, she collected her wife and some drinks and politely requested (“ordered!”) Sarah to tell them what she’d been doing the past years and how she’d managed to rejoin the twenty-first century, after all.
(Leila did not, under any circumstance, yell out at her own wedding, very, very loudly, ‘I told you so!’, because Leila, as an observant Muslim, did not drink alcohol and as such would not ever be on the wrong side of tipsy, ever.—Some or all of the claims made in the preceding sentences may lack veracity.)
Disclaimer: All mine; written for a 31_days prompt. If I have written something dumb/offensive, whack me with the cluebat if you can spare the spoons. (Should I warn for an otherwise-observant Muslimah drinking?)
Also, I should upload more of my icons to DW.