A Lesson in Love: A sweet forbidden love story Read online

  Rasheed’s eyes widened. “What? How could it be the right thing when it hurt Rose?”

  Aisha patted his shoulder. “She’ll get over it. I’m sure.”

  Rasheed’s head dropped and he sighed. “Yes, she might. I’m just not sure I ever will.”

  Aisha leaned forward. “Do you love her so much?”

  Rasheed nodded. “Yes. But that’s the reason I have to let her go, right?”

  Aisha tilted her head from the left to the right. “I guess, if you’re one hundred percent sure that she doesn’t feel the same way about you, then yes.”

  Rasheed’s vision clouded as the sorrowful eyes with which Rose had stared at him filled his mind. Could that sadness be due to the intensity of her feelings? Or was it just her delicate nature and youth that made her experience his refusal with such fervor?

  A sharp ringing cut through his thoughts.

  He snapped his gaze to the table. “Aisha, could you answer my cell phone? Please tell to whomever’s calling me that I’ll get back to them later. I don’t feel like talking with anyone.”

  Aisha went to fetch the phone.

  Her brows drew together as she glanced at the screen, then she hit reply and lifted it to her ear. “Hi, Aisha Morgan speaking.”

  She listened to whatever the caller said then answered, “He isn’t available at the moment. I’m his sister. May I take a message?”

  She narrowed her eyes and scratched her chin with her free hand. After a few seconds, she walked over and held the phone out to Rasheed. “Brother, I think you need to answer this. I’m sorry.”

  Rasheed made a face he hoped would show Aisha how disappointed he was in her secretary skills but then grabbed the phone.

  A high-pitched female voice greeted him. “Am I speaking with Professor Rasheed Morgan?”

  “Yes,” he murmured, annoyed. Why on Earth did Aisha hand him over to an unknown woman? “May I ask who I’m speaking to?”

  “Oh, sorry, “ the woman excused herself. “I’ve wrongly assumed that your sister had already mentioned this to you. My name is Elisabeth Spencer and I’m the chairwomen of the LeGrand Scholarship Committee.”

  Rasheed’s fingers slipped and he almost dropped the phone. He immediately straightened and rearranged the phone for a better grip. “I’m sorry, Professor Spencer, for refusing to take your call earlier. I didn’t expect the Committee to contact me at my personal number.”

  Why was the chairwoman of the LeGrand calling him at this time of night?

  He glanced at his watch. Okay, for her it wasn’t that late, but it was past ten p.m. in Sauda.

  Worry snaked through his stomach. Was it about Rose?

  The woman cleared her throat. “Oh, yes, I’m aware it’s quite late in your part of the world. But I thought I’d try my luck, since I have an urgent matter to discuss with you. I already called your department earlier, where a nice secretary gave me your cell number. I hope that’s okay.”

  Aisha shrugged and her brows arched. What does she want? Rose? she mouthed silently.

  Rasheed shook his head, then spoke into the phone. “That’s fine. Would you mind telling me about this urgent matter?”

  There was a swishing sound on the chairwoman’s end as if she was thumbing through some papers. “It’s about your student, Rose Wilson. I’m sure you’re aware that she’d been chosen for our program.”

  Rasheed’s breath caught. So his suspicions were correct. It was about Rose. “Yes, I knew that.” He tried to keep his voice steady and professional as he answered, but a slight trembling still crept into it.

  “As her sponsor, you didn’t have the chance to read the novella she handed in, correct?” the woman inquired.

  Rasheed wrinkled his forehead. What was she getting at? Of course he didn’t read the novella. It was a clear rule that the teachers proposing their students should remain in the dark about the material the students sent in. Only this way could it be assured the students hadn’t received professional guidance.

  Rasheed’s heart stuttered. Did this woman suspect Rose of cheating?

  Rose wrote so wonderfully, that for someone reading her words for the first time, it could seem as if they’d been professionally edited.

  No, he had to clear up this misunderstanding immediately. “Of course I didn’t. I know the rules of the Committee even if it’s the first year I sponsored a student. Rose Wilson is an extremely talented person. If you have any doubt about the authenticity of the work she produced then—”

  “No, Professor Morgan we don’t assume any unethical handling from Miss Wilson’s side. Nor do we want to insinuate you might have helped her create her application’s piece.”

  Rasheed uncrossed his legs and jumped up. He paced around in the living room. “So if you’re not accusing me of helping my student gain entry to your program then why are you inquiring if I respected the rules?”

  His tone was slightly hostile, but he couldn’t help it. His heart was pounding in his throat. He sensed there was something wrong. Professor Spencer’s tone hinted at it.

  The chairwoman cleared her voice. “Professor Morgan, I’m not sure if it’s right or wrong for me to reveal this to you but the sincerity of the emotions in Miss Wilson’s story leaves me no other choice. So I’m just going to come out with it...” She paused briefly.

  Sincerity of emotions? What was she talking about?

  Rasheed’s throat clenched as he forced himself to utter, “Sure, go on.”

  “Are you or are you not in a relationship with your student, Rose Wilson?”

  “Whaaat?” Rasheed gasped as the world began to spin around him.

  Aisha stepped over and put a hand on his shoulder but he shrugged it away.

  He bolted to the window and pressed his forehead to the cold glass. He inhaled deeply, and when he was sure to be able to control his vocal cords enough, he said, “I’m sorry, Professor Spencer, you caught me off guard here. Why would you ask such an inappropriate question?”

  The chairwoman’s voice sounded relieved. “So it’s not true?”

  “Of course it’s not. Miss Wilson and I are not in a relationship.”

  He pronounced the words firmly, but each syllable seemed to launch a dagger into his soul. It was the truth. He wasn’t in a relationship with Rose, even if it was his most profound desire. But the chairman didn’t need to know that.

  The chairwoman sighed. “I’m so glad we could clear this up, Proessor Rasheed. I was worried about taking on board a very talented candidate who might have too strong of emotional ties with her home country. We’ve had experience with that in the past, and it turned out rather bothersome.”

  Rasheed watched the smudgy circle expand on the glass with each breath he took. “I’m happy I could help you, Professor Spencer. Would you mind, nonetheless, telling me what made you assume Miss Wilson and I were…um, involved?”

  He couldn’t bear to bring the word relationship to his lips.

  The chairman chuckled. “It’s Miss Wilson’s ability to depict such a vivid story that the reader is convinced it really must’ve happened.”

  Rasheed’s heart skipped a beat. “Did Rose… I mean Miss Wilson write about me in her novella?”

  “Oh, no. No. But she did narrate the fated love story of a student and her teacher. Given that our theme this year was Raw Love, we did expect all kinds of novellas. However, Miss Wilson’s capacity to make us believe that she was inspired by real happenings in her life was out of the ordinary.”

  Rasheed’s palms became moist. “Professor Spencer, given that Miss Wilson has already been granted her spot in your program, would you mind if I read her novella?”

  “No, not at all. Do you want to ask Miss Wilson for a hard copy yourself or do you prefer if I email you the PDF of the one she handed in?”

  “The PDF would be just fine. I’ll be out of town for a few weeks, so I might not get the chance to meet Miss Wilson before she leaves for your program.”

  The chairwoman laughed.
“Sure, sure. We teachers are always so busy, right? No problem. I’ll send you a copy right away. You’ll see that you’ve chosen your candidate wisely, Professor Morgan. Miss Wilson is special.”

  “Thank you, Professor Spencer, and have a great evening.”

  “You, too. Bye-bye.”

  As the line went dead, Rasheed turned. He almost bumped into Aisha, who was standing behind him only a few inches away. Her eyes were large and her mouth open.

  “What?” Rasheed snapped.

  “You’ve been wrong, haven’t you? About Rose?”

  Rasheed bit his lip and withdrew his gaze from his sister. He dashed toward his bedroom and fired up his computer. He started his email program and slouched himself on his bed.

  Seconds seemed like hours as he waited for his emails to download.

  He skimmed all the messages, untill he found the one from Professor Spencer. He clicked the attachment and Rose’s novella opened.

  His eyes darted to the title, and his breath hitched.

  Dance to my Heartbeats, written by Rose Wilson.

  He clasped a hand to his chest, because it seemed that his heart had forgotten how to beat. Was this…?

  Did Rose write a story about them?

  He rubbed his chest in small circles, and when the thuds became rhythmical again, he collected his forces and read.

  “The day I met him, I was born. Before seeing his dark eyes, hearing his soft voice in the lecture hall, I thought I knew what it meant to live. But I was wrong. A life without the ardent passion of the heart is not a life worth living. I’m Rose, and this is my story…”

  Chapter 15

  Rose fidgeted with the coins on her harem pants. Judith had done a great job adjusting all the costumes originally destined for Marika. After her sewing, each of them fitted Rose’s curves perfectly.

  These pantaloons were Rose’s favorite. Their night-blue color, the soft shimmering stars decorating it, and the golden coins that danced as she swayed her hips without the need of an additional hip scarf made her feel like Scheherazade from the One Thousand and One Nights.

  Wouldn’t it be great if Rasheed could see her in them?

  She cringed and let her hands fall. No, it was much better this way. She should be glad Aisha agreed to let her brother go to his lecture instead of attending the contest. Rose couldn’t have done all the choreographies if she knew he was watching her.

  She peeked out of the curtain.

  Salima was almost done with her improvisation. Which meant it was almost Rose’s turn to go on stage and abandon herself to the beats that the percussionist was going to play for her.

  Her eyes drifted over to the elderly man who sat in the corner of the stage, playing the dumbek. He wiggled his fingers artfully on the membrane of his drum, but the sounds escaping from his touch were nowhere as fluid and rhythmical as those that Rasheed could unlock.

  Oh, Rasheed. Why did it have to come to this?

  Just as Rose was about to revisit for the thousandth time the events of the past night to mourn what she could’ve done differently, a hand tapped her shoulder.

  She snapped her head around to find Aisha smiling at her. “Rose, you’ve done so well till now. I’m glad that your siblings and your friend could witness this. I saw them applauding like crazy after we finished the Baladi piece.”

  A faint smile spread across Rose’s lips.

  Yes, Elliott and Stacey had been great. They had stayed with Rose the whole morning throughout the rehearsals, and cancelled all their plans for the day so they could help Rose get dressed. Stacey even ditched a call from Rob Baker when he dialed her while Stacey was doing Rose’s make-up.

  And Emily? Her friend showed Rose just what an awesome person she was. She didn’t complain about Rose’s lies, nor did she scold Rose for behaving recklessly. She let Rose cry on her shoulder, and offered to ditch Rasheed’s class to be at the competition, without Rose needing to ask her.

  “I know, “ Rose said. “It feels like the first time that my siblings and I are truly family. Weird, huh? I’m glad it happened before I leave for Oxford. Though I’m going to miss them and Emily now even more.”

  An unreadable expression appeared on Aisha’s face. She chewed on her lower lip then asked, “Only them?”

  Rose’s brows shot up. “Only them what?”

  “Miss them. Are you only going to miss them? Nobody else?”

  There was a challenging edge to Aisha’s tone.

  Rose stirred, crossing her arms across her chest. “Where are you getting at, Aisha?”

  Aisha shook her head. “Nothing, sorry.” She pointed at the stage. “Look, Salima is bowing. It’s your turn. Are you ready?”

  Rose sighed. “As ready as I can be.”

  Aisha squeezed her hand. “That’s good enough. In life and in love sometimes we need to take our chance, even if we’re unsure of the outcome.” Then she stepped in front of Rose and walked to the middle of the stage.

  Rose followed with her eyes as Aisha reached for the microphone. She turned to the audience. “Thank you all. This was Salima, from my school. Now, we have our last dancer to show to you. I hope you will enjoy her performance, because she’s one of the most talented students I’ve ever had. You wouldn’t believe if I told you she started her journey with the techniques of belly dance dance three weeks ago. Please clap your hands for Rose Wilson.”

  Rose’s heart jumped to her throat.

  It was her cue to go out, but her feet seemed to have grown roots into the floor. Salima, who had returned backstage after her exhibition, pushed gently on Rose’s back. “Go, habibti, show them how it’s done. Our score is already the highest. You just need to get through the song with a bit of shimmying, and we’re all set.

  Rose trudged over to Aisha, but as the reflectors hit her face, she straightened her back and thrust her chest forward.

  Okay, it seemed that her training wasn’t in vain. Even in such a moment of high adrenaline, her body was making the right moves. Let’s hope she’d be able to follow the drumbeats as well. Rose’s eyes flicked to the percussionist, but to her surprise, he was gone.

  What the heck?

  Aisha was still speaking to the crowd, explaining the qualities of a good dance improvisation. She winked at Rose, then announced, “I give you now Rose Wilson, who will do a tribal piece to the song ‘Dance to my Heartbeats.’”

  Rose’s jaw dropped.

  Where did she even get this title? How could Aisha be aware of…But before she could finish her thought, a rapid drum roll echoed back in the hall.

  Its beats were so closely lined up that they undulated in the air like a soft thread of silk. Rose’s throat swelled and she whirled around.

  Rasheed was standing behind her, gripping his dumbek underneath one arm, while he continued to play with the other.

  Rose turned back to Aisha, whispering. “What’s this? You said he wasn’t coming.” She hoped that her question wasn’t going to be picked up by the people watching them.

  But Aisha didn’t seem to share her concern. Instead, she turned to the audience and said, “By the way, this performance is going to be special from another point of view as well. The song shall be played, instead of Mohammed the official percussionist of the contest, by my very talented brother, Rasheed Morgan. Some of you might know him as the former literature teacher of the Shamri-Ala University.”

  Rose couldn’t believe her ears. Former? What was Aisha blabbering about?

  She saw from the corner of her eyes how Elliott and Stacey stood up from the first row and approached the stage. Her brother asked Aisha something in a voice too low for Rose to hear.

  Aisha shook her head. “Don’t worry Elliott, it’s not what you think.” She waved to them, as if to signal they were to take their seats again.

  Rose didn’t understand what was happening.

  In her despair, her body, that treacherous enemy, did the one thing it wasn’t supposed to. It made Rose twirl around and look at Rasheed.<
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  Rose knew it was a big mistake as soon as her eyes locked with Rasheed’s deep gaze.

  All of a sudden, all went quiet.

  She no longer heard the curious murmurs coming from the audience, nor the enticing music that Rasheed’s fingers kept summoning from the drum. The only sound was her own heartbeat reverberating in her skull as if it wanted to break through the bone.

  How could she ever hope to escape from this man? And why did he make it so difficult for her? When she’d heard from Emily that Rasheed hadn’t cancelled their class, she’d assumed he’d realized the double implication of her message to Aisha. That it wasn’t a request. It was a need. Rose’s only chance to get through this contest with her sanity intact.

  And now here he was.

  Why?

  Aisha’s baffling declaration flashed into her mind. Did Rasheed quit his job at the university?

  Rasheed’s lips parted, and he strolled toward her. His eyes stayed in hers.

  When he was only a few feet away, he stopped playing and smiled. “Hey, you.”

  His words weren’t loud, but they bounced back in the hall, which had all of the sudden become silent.

  Hey, you? Was he insane? He appeared out of nowhere, turning the whole spectacle upside down, and the only thing he had to say was this?

  The frustration and disappointment she’d been trying to swallow back ever since he’d recoiled from their kiss, rose in her throat. Her nostrils flared. “What are you doing here, Rasheed? I thought I was clear when I told Aisha there was no need for you to come.”

  Aisha must have stirred behind her back, because the thuds of a microphone moving resounded.

  The smile disappeared from Rasheed’s lips. “Yes, I know. She told me as much.”

  Rose’s brows shot up. “Then why are you here? And playing a song that I’m supposed to dance to…the song of…” Her voice wavered.

  Heat raced up to her cheeks. She couldn’t bring herself to repeat the title that she had conjured in a moment of dreamy fantasy.

  Rasheed tilted his head. “The song, ‘Dance to my Heartbeats’? I think it’s a perfect title. Don’t you?”