On the following afternoon she left the house, her heart filled with anticipation, desire for battle, and delight with life. She had scarcely left Sanadiqiya Street when she saw him standing some distance away at the junction of Ghouriya and New Street. A light gleamed in her eyes and she felt strange, obscure sensations stirring within her, that mixture of pleasure and a bestial desire to fight. She imagined he would follow her when she passed him until they were alone together in Darasa Street. So she went slowly on, feeling no anxiety or shyness, and approached him as though she had not noticed he was there. However, as she passed him something completely unexpected happened. He walked beside her and, with indescribable boldness, stretched out his arm and gripped her hand. Paying no attention to the people walking by or standing about, he said quietly, "Good evening, my darling."
She was taken unaware and tried vainly to release her hand but was afraid if she tried again she would attract too much attention and so she boiled with frustration. She was in a dilemma. If she were to release her anger, there would be a disgraceful scandal and the whole affair would come to an end. If she were to give way, she would hate him because he had forced himself upon her and defeated her. Fury filled her as she hissed, trembling with emotion, "What do you think you are doing? Let go of my hand at once!"
Walking at her side as though they were two friends out for a stroll together, he replied quietly, "Patience, patience… friends shouldn't fight."
Seething with rage, she stuttered, "But the people, the street…"
"Don't worry about the people of this street. They are all interested only in money. You wouldn't find a thing in their minds except bills. Come on, let's go over to a goldsmith's so that I can select something to match your beauty."
Her rage increased at his lack of concern and she said threateningly, "Are you trying to show that nothing bothers you?"
"I didn't intend to annoy you," he replied quietly, still smiling. "I was just waiting for you so that we could walk together. Why are you angry?"
Still irritated, she replied, "I hate your accosting me like this, and I warn you that if I lose my temper…"
Her face showed she was serious and so he asked hopefully, "Promise me we can walk along together?"
"I won't promise anything. Let go of my hand."
He did so, but moved no further away from her and said, flattering her, "Oh, what a stubborn self-willed person you are. Then take your hand, but we are not going to part company. That's true, isn't it?"
"What a conceited oaf you are!" she spat out in rage.
He accepted the insult in smiling silence, and they walked away, with Hamida making no attempt to move away from him, aware of how she had lain in wait for him so recently in the hopes of walking with him along this very street. However, now her thoughts centered on the fact that she had forced him to let go of her hand. Perhaps if he were to try again, she would not prevent him; after all, hadn't she left her house for the sole purpose of meeting him? Anyway, it annoyed her that he should show more daring and self-confidence than she did and so she walked by his side, unconcerned about what passersby might think. She could scarcely wait to see the envious astonishment his appearance would cause among the factory girls. The thought filled her with feelings of superiority and a desire for life and adventure.
The man spoke again, "I would like to apologize for my rudeness, but really, what am I to do in the face of your stubbornness? You seem determined to punish me, when all I want is your sympathy for my sincere feelings toward you and my never-ending concern for you."
What could she say to him? She wanted to talk to him but she did not know how, especially since the last thing she had said had been an insulting rebuke. Now her thoughts were disturbed by the sight of her factory friends coming toward her. In mock confusion she exclaimed, "Oh, my friends…"
He looked up and saw the girls approaching, staring at him with great curiosity. Disguising her delight, Hamida spoke again, her tone full of reproach, "You have disgraced me!"
Pleased that she remained by his side speaking to him as one friend to another, he replied scornfully, "Have nothing to do with them. Don't take any notice of them."
The girls were very close now, exchanging meaningful glances with Hamida, who recalled some of the adventures they had told her. Whispering and giggling, the girls passed, and the man continued with mischievous cunning: "Are those your friends? No, you are not a bit like them, nor are they like you. It amazes me that they enjoy their freedom while you stay cooped up at home. How is it they can swagger about in nice clothes while you have to wear this shabby black cloak. How can this be, my dear? Is it just fate? What a patient, tolerant girl you are!"
Her face went quite red, and she seemed to be listening to her heart talking. Her eyes flashed the fire of the emotions burning within her. He went on, with complete confidence: "Why, you are as beautiful as the stars."
She seized this opportunity to say something back to him. With all her natural boldness, she smiled and asked, really not knowing what he meant, "The stars?"
He smiled gently and answered, "Yes, don't you go to the cinema? They call beautiful film actresses stars."
She occasionally went to the Olympia cinema with her foster mother to see Egyptian films and now she understood what he meant. His words delighted her and her cheeks flushed.
Silence reigned for a few steps, then he asked, "Tell me, what's your name?"
Without hesitation, she replied, "Hamida."
"And this lovelorn fellow you see before you is called Ibrahim Faraj. In cases like ours, names are the last things known, usually exchanged only after the two people are quite sure they are really one. Isn't that so, my lovely friend?"
If only she were as skillful with words as she was in battle, for example. He was speaking tenderly but somehow she was unable to talk back that way. This annoyed her, for, unlike some girls, she was not satisfied with a merely negative role. Her nature craved something more than waiting in humble silence. Since she found it so difficult to express her obscure feelings, her emotional stress increased and all she could do was stare at him. To add to her frustration they were approaching the end of the street. She had lost track of the time and suddenly ahead was Queen Farida Square. Hiding her regrets, she said, "Now we will go back."
"Go back?" he answered in astonishment.
"This is the end of the road."
"But the world doesn't come to an end with Mousky Street," he protested. "Why can't we stroll around the square?"