Rose stretched out her hand. “I’m Rose, I’m a st—”
Rasheed intervened before she could finish her phrase. “A friend of mine.”
Rose turned a questioning look at him but didn’t say anything.
Ramla didn’t seem to notice that something went wrong. She shook Rose’s hand then turned back to Rasheed. Her eyes narrowed, and she whacked him in the chest. “You’re late. What are you doing out here? You should be inside already. Aisha is waiting for you. The class is about to start.”
Rasheed couldn’t suppress a grin. Ramla was one of her sister’s first students and over time she’d become like a little sister to him. A bossy little sister.
He held up his hands. “All right, all right. No need to bite my head off. Anyways, if they’re starting, what are you doing here?” He poked her between the ribs, and Ramla giggled.
Rose stirred beside them and coughed.
Rasheed’s glance darted to her. She was looking at the door, obviously uneasy with the familiar jokes between Ramla and him. He immediately lowered his hand. He didn’t need to give Rose the wrong impression.
Ramla stopped laughing and reached into her sack. She pulled out a cigarette. “I needed a smoke. And before you start preaching, I know it’s unhealthy and I am going to stop. Eventually.”
Rasheed moved closer to Rose and put his hand on the small of her back. He gave her a gentle push and he said, “Then we’ll see you in class, Ramie. Come, Rose, let’s go.”
Rose flinched under his fingers but didn’t wiggle out of his touch like she had in the lecture hall.
As her warmth diffused into Rasheed’s palm, his arm buzzed as if tiny needles had been inserted underneath his skin. His heart beat faster. When he felt the pulsations reach his throat, he couldn’t take it anymore and withdrew his hand.
He followed Rose inside without touching her.
Chapter 6
Rose’s eyes travelled around the spacious room.
Two walls were covered with mirrors, while one was lined with large windows. After what Ramla had said, she expected to find a group of dancers waiting, but instead only one woman sat in the left corner, reading a book.
She had long black curls and she wore large purple pants, the type that the concubines of sultans were pictured with. Her wrists were lined with several bracelets.
She looked up when they entered.
Rose’s throat dried out. This had to be Aisha. Even without a proper introduction, Rose knew without doubt this was Rasheed’s sister. She had the same straight nose as her brother, and her eyes shone in a similar shade of black. However, instead of the masculine cheekbones, Aisha’s face was soft and oval.
What was Aisha going to think about Rose showing up like this?
Rose was, after all, only Rasheed’s student. Not a dancer. His sister should justly be wondering why on Earth Rose had tagged along.
Nonetheless, Aisha—though she seemed abashed at first because her brow shot up—smiled at Rose warmly. She stood up and walked to them. “Hi there, you both. I’m glad you made it, brother. And you brought Rose with you?”
Rasheed wheezed and his face turned red. He squinted his eyes as if he was trying to signal something to his sister.
Rose’s jaw dropped. Aisha knew who she was? How could that be?
She’d been with Rasheed the whole time since he’d invited her to come to the dance school. Could he have texted his sister without Rose noticing? There could be no other explanation.
Aisha ignored Rasheed’s attempt to silence her and turned to Rose. She opened her arms and pulled her into a hug. “I’m glad to meet you, Rose. My brother has been raving about what a talented writer you are. And he’s a hard one to please.” She winked at Rasheed who looked like he swallowed a fork and it was now digging through his jugular artery.
His eyes bulged and his lips trembled.
Rose’s heart squeezed. Why was he acting so strange? Maybe he felt embarrassed about being seen with a student? Could this be why he’d prevented Rose from telling Ramla who she truly was?
Rose cleared her voice. “Thank you. You must be Aisha, right? I’ve been told that your dance class is very special. Your brother thought that it would help me with my writing skills if I observe how you teach your students.”
Aisha threw a side-glance at her brother. “Did he now?” She pivoted to face Rose. “If Rasheed thinks it could be useful, then it certainly will.”
Rasheed found his voice again, because he said, “Aisha, where are the others? We bumped into Ramie outside, and she gave me the impression I was late.”
Aisha waved toward a door in the back of the room. “They’re going through Zaira’s wedding pictures in the changing room.” She grabbed Rose’s hand. “Come, Rose, let’s let Rasheed settle in with his dumbek and get you dressed for the class.”
Rose gasped. Get her dressed? She was only here to observe. To absorb the atmosphere. She certainly wasn’t going to join the dancers.
She shook her head. “Don‘t worry. I’m only going to watch you guys.”
Aisha clicked her tongue. “Nonsense. How on Earth do you expect to benefit from it if you don’t try it?” She looked at her brother as if waiting for him to support her.
Good. Rasheed could explain the misunderstanding.
But instead of coming to Rose’s defense, Rasheed grinned. “My sister’s right, Rose. Remember what we said about connecting to your soul’s deepest layers? Dancing will help you with that.”
Blood rushed to Rose’s head, and tiny sparkles blurred her vision. She felt like a trapped animal under the watchful ebony eyes of Rasheed and Aisha.
How was she going to escape from this mortifying situation? Rose had never danced, not even at school parties. Her moves were confined to the privacy of her own room. She knew she looked goofy. She couldn’t dance in front of him.
“No, I’m sorry I really can’t…” she mumbled.
But Aisha’s grip hardened on her arm, as if taking courage from her brother’s comment. “Come, Rose, I’ll introduce you to the others and give you something more comfortable to wear, in case that you want to join us, okay?”
Rose swallowed. That she could do. Putting on some large pants wasn’t the end of the world, was it? Then she would come back here and sit on the floor to observe the others dancing. Yes, that’s what she was going to do.
Rose nodded and Aisha dragged her toward the changing room.
From the corner of her eye, Rose saw Rasheed walk to the dresser next to where Aisha had been reading. He started unbuttoning the elegant shirt he’d worn for their lecture today. At the sight of his naked chest, Rose snapped her head forward.
She couldn’t watch those chiseled abs and that tanned skin. It would do her no good. Her heart was already in sensory overload and hammering so loudly Aisha must be able to hear it.
They reached the dressing room.
Inside, six women sat on two wooden benches, giggling and chatting. Ramla was among them, too. There had to be a back entrance, because Rose hadn’t seen her pass by.
As the women looked up, Ramla called out. “Girls, look. That’s Rose, Rasheed’s friend I’ve been talking about.”
Heat swamped Rose’s body. They had been talking about her?
The women all jumped up and bolted toward Rose, enclosing her in a circle and introducing themselves. Some shook Rose’s hands, others hugged her like Aisha had, and one red-haired woman even planted a kiss on her left cheek.
Emily would have kept smiling, whereas Rose just gritted her teeth, hoping that these women would step back and let her breathe again.
Aisha must have realized that the situation was slightly overwhelming for Rose, because she raised her voice. “Habibti, don’t worry. You’ll learn all the names eventually. Girls, give Rose some space, please. Go outside and start he warm-ups. Rasheed is already in position. I’ll just help Rose to find something suitable to wear.”
The redhead grinned. “Is Rose joining us, t
oo? Super. Then I won’t be the only foreigner coming to this evening course.”
Aisha shrugged. “We’ll see, Judith. First Rose needs to see if she likes us enough.”
A woman with a pair of green pants and a scarf tied around her waist laughed. “What’s not to like?” As her body shook, the tiny pearls and coins sewn on her belt jingled.
Rose watched them, mesmerized. She’d only seen these on Youtube when she had searched for some Arabic music to download.
Aisha followed Rose’s gaze. She pointed at the woman’s scarf. “Do you like Salima’s hip scarf? I have a few more of those if you want.”
Rose bit her lip. The scarf looked magnificent and the sound the tiny sequins and coins made was intriguing. But tying one of those around her wouldn’t be possible. All her life she had tried to hide that she had wide hips, not drawing attention to them.
A loud boom, followed by a quick roll echoed from the dance hall.
Salima clapped her hands. “Rasheed has already started.”
The women squeaked and ran off toward the drum’s rhythmic sounds, like flies drawn to the fire, leaving Aisha and Rose alone in the changing room.
Aisha stepped over to a large box and began rummaging inside. When she straightened, she had a pile of clothes in her left arm. She laid them on the bench. “I think all these should fit you. Try the ones you like the most. You can put on pantaloons like mine”—she pinched the sides of her satin trousers—“or you can go with a long skirt like this.”
Rose stepped closer and picked up a skirt that played in a mixture of light turquoise and royal blue. The fabric was soft but resistant under her fingers. “It’s so beautiful.”
Aisha smiled. “Then use this.” She bent down and fetched a black hip scarf covered in long fringe, shells, and lace. “You could tie it with this scarf here and with this choli top. It’s cut to end just above your navel, and it’s very popular in tribal styles.”
Rose stared at the two pieces of clothing Aisha held out. “I’m sure I would look ridiculous in them.”
Aisha wrinkled her nose. “I sincerely doubt it. But we’ll never know unless you try them on.”
Rose sighed and took the things from Aisha. She sat down and undressed quickly. As she pulled the chiffon skirt over her bare legs, the weirdest feeling settled in her stomach.
Was it just this morning that she was wondering whether she’d ever get the chance to speak to Rasheed like a normal person? Now she was at his sister’s school about to dress as a belly dancer.
Rose Wilson as a belly dancer. What a joke.
But as Aisha tied the scarf on Rose’s hips and turned her toward the mirror, Rose’s couldn’t stifle a cry.
Who was this girl standing in front of her?
She couldn’t be Rose, for sure. No, this woman had glistening blue eyes complemented by the vibrant color of the skirt. She wasn’t goofy or plump, rather femininely curvy. Her waist looked narrow and her hips invitingly round.
Rose moved with her legs and the girl in the mirror did the same, swaying her hips in graceful little circles.
Aisha’s face popped up beside Rose in the mirror. She put her hands on Rose’s shoulders. “You look magnificent. Only the last defining touches…” With that she raised her hand and loosened Rose’s updo, so that her hair fell like a cascade of melted milk chocolate.
Rose’s heart leaped. Did she always have this glossy hair? Or was it just the lighting in the changing room?
The door opened and Salima stuck her head in. “Are you two ready? We’re waiting.”
Aisha nodded. “Yes, we’re coming.”
She took Rose’s hand, but this time Rose didn’t need to be dragged. She walked barefoot beside Rasheed’s sister, her head high. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to pretend for one evening that she was a dancer. At least she looked the part.
In the dance hall, the women were already lined up facing Rasheed who sat in front of one of the windows on a chair. A large goblet drum rested on his legs. He hugged it with one arm, and both of his hands rested on the drum’s skin.
When he saw them, his face lit up. His eyes travelled to Rose, and his lips parted. His Adam’s apple twitched twice, while an unsettling expression seeped into his face.
Rose’s skin got covered in goose bumps as she felt his gaze dip to her body and then make its way back up to her face.
He’s your teacher. T-E-A-C-H-ER.
Repeating the words did nothing to her pounding chest. The fire ignited in her veins at the thought that maybe Rasheed was seeing her as a woman for the first time.
What could he be thinking? Did he like what he saw?
Aisha let go of Rose’s hand and positioned herself beside her brother.
“Ready, girls?” She clapped with her hands three times while saying, “Wahid, athnan, thlatht… Let’s go…”
Rasheed’s fingers sprang to life. His dominant hand stroked the sweet spot of the drum’s skin, while the other followed with tapping three fingers in rapid succession on the rim. From there, his fingers moved like those of a magician swinging back and forth on the drum’s surface, hitting it with force once then caressing it in another.
The other women were already moving around Rose, following the movements Aisha showed them.
At first Rose just stood there motionless, observing the others snaking their arms and fluctuating their hips.
Her eyes met Rasheed’s and he gave her an encouraging smile. He opened his mouth, and it seemed to Rose that he formulated a silent, Follow your heart, let go.
The melodic beats that escaped from his experienced touch reverberated from the yellow walls and mirrors. Soon they filled the air and began to penetrate Rose’s body without her being able to fight them off. Her soul slowly became a carte blanche on which the tribal thumps began to paint a picture of their own choosing.
She closed her eyes and let her body be transported by the rhythm.
Rasheed’s throat thickened as he watched the metamorphosis Rose was undergoing.
His fingertips continued wobbling and teasing the drum’s delicate membrane without him having to pay much attention to what his hands were doing.
His eyes were fixed on Rose.
He’d witnessed it a few times with dancers—how they disconnected from their rational brain to draw in their inner pulse—but never once had he seen anyone transform like Rose.
When she stepped out of the changing room, Rasheed’s heart had nearly stopped. The clothes Aisha had lent Rose not only put into evidence the beauty the girl had but enhanced it to such a point that a sweet longing washed through him at the sight of her.
She looked like a goddess descended to Earth.
Now seeing her moving to the rhythms of the dumbek, his body not only throbbed with the ache of caressing her soft skin, but he was utterly shocked by the gracefulness of Rose’s gestures.
Rose may have protested before participating in the class, but she was a natural.
She swayed and shimmied, bobbed and boogied in perfect synchrony with Rasheed’s drumming. It was almost as if an unearthly connection formed between the two of them, his fingers commanding the movement of her body’s every twitch.
How did she learn to move like this? Was this really the same shy girl Rasheed saw each day in his lecture hall?
He’d always suspected that there was a burning fire, a hidden dimension to Rose’s being. Sometimes her written words gave him a peek into the depths of her soul. But he never expected this elemental attractiveness, this raw and undeniable femininity.
He already had a hard time denying himself the pleasure of getting to know Rose as a woman instead of keeping his distance from her because she was his student. But after seeing her dance like this, Rasheed wasn’t sure if the shackles he’d placed on his desires would be strong enough.
The greater a longing, the harder the punishment if we deny it.
These were Rose’s words. Rasheed had found them true the first time he’d read them. But h
e couldn’t have imagined they would hit the bull’s eye in his soul.
Aisha’s gentle touch on his shoulder tore him out of his contemplation.
She gave him the sign to wrap up the session. Rasheed didn’t want to comply at first, because he knew that when he stopped the music, Rose would return to her protective shell. It had been such a privilege to see her abandonment.
But he saw the drops of sweat glistening on the dancers’ skin, and as he peeked at his watch, he realized he’d been playing for more than twenty-five minutes.
Yes, they all needed to rest.
So he accelerated the pace of his strikes, producing a formidable roll, then he lifted his right hand, cupped his fingers as if wanted to capture air, and gave a single loud terminal thump on the dumbek.
As the silence descended on the room, the women opened their eyes and their vision regained focus. They looked like they were returning from a long journey of self-exploration. A wide smile on their lips and a rosy color on their cheeks.
Rasheed forced himself not to gawk at Rose’s peachy tint and panting mouth.
The dancers all turned to Rose.
Judith lifted her red hair with two hands as she approached her. “Rose, didn’t you say you’ve never danced before?”
Rose bit her lip and nodded. When she answered, her voice was hitched from her rapid breaths. “Yes, no. I mean, I haven’t. Not like this, not with people around.”
Aisha exchanged a glance with Rasheed. His sister had an eager glint in her eyes, one that made Rasheed’s stomach harden.
What was Aisha’s intention?
Aisha moved to the group and opened her arms. “Rose, habibti, I’ve have never seen something like this in my dancing career. If I need to put it into words I would say that you don’t dance to the music, but the music dances through you. You have talent, my dear. “
Rose’s cheeks turned a deeper shade. “Do I?”
Aisha nodded and the other women joined in with agreeing sounds. Aisha’s eyes flicked to Rasheed. “What do you say, brother? Did I find the perfect replacement for Marika, or what?”
A Lesson in Love: A sweet forbidden love story Page 4