The Party
By: Rebeca Ansar
Tags: Fiction, Storytelling, Short Story, Short Fiction, Novel

“No way.” the nameless man who still saw fit to wear his fraternity sweatshirt began, “That’s not a name.”

Afra studied him squarely. She was still too sober to tell him that she didn’t care what he thought. Clearly, he was holding on tightly to the good old days of drinking cheap beer and living it up with his bros.

“You’re right. I lied,” she said, expressionless.

He looked back at her like a deer in headlights. He thought I was going to convince him. Now, the poor guy doesn’t know what to do. The thought brought her a deep sense of comfort.

Sweatshirt laughed. “You’re funny,” he said.

Afra flitted her gaze away from him. She scanned the crowd, hoping to see a familiar face. A curly-haired man locked eyes with her.

She tilted her head in slight recognition. She knew him. At least she thought she did. From where? Before she could place him, he had begun an intentional stride in her direction.

It would take some maneuvering to get there. The hall was packed.

Afra checked to see if Sweatshirt was still standing in front of her. He had disappeared. Finally.

She looked back toward the other man. His eyes were a soft brown. They remained fixed on her. Then, he arrived.

“Hi, Afra! I didn’t know I’d be seeing you here.”

“Hi?” She couldn’t keep the question out of her voice.

He paused, taken aback. “You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked.

Afra pursed her lips. “You look familiar. Does that count?”

“We worked on a project together, junior year. You and I stayed up finishing it because the other jerk decided to bail on us. And then you gave him a piece of your mind when he tried to present it with us, in front of the entire class. Any of this jogging your memory?”

It had been a few years since Afra had graduated. A mixture of recognition and disbelief dawned on her.

“Samar?” she exclaimed.

He laughed. “Yep,” he said, taking a sip of his drink.

Afra’s surprise was obvious. “You look…”

“Different. Yeah, I know. I lost a lot of weight.” He looked at her with that same intensity again. “That’s why I’m not more hurt that you failed to recognize your old project partner,” he put a hand on his heart. “You look the same.”

“Oh okay, thanks.”

“But more polished,” he quickly added.

Afra smiled. She put her drink down on the wall counter. “Samar, if I remember correctly, you were quite good company. I had fun working with you.”

“Thanks. I mean, you forgot who I was, but…” he joked.

“That’s not what happened here. You know it.” Afra paused, contemplating if she should be the one to say the next thing. He was still looking at her.

“Weirdly enough, I was thinking just a few days ago about that time you fell asleep during our study session.” He pursed his lips, clearly attempting to keep himself from laughing.

“What’s so funny,” Afra exclaimed.

“You snored. Loudly.” he burst.

Afra could feel the heat of embarrassment on her skin.

“I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did!”

“Why didn’t you wake me up then?”

“I tried Afra, but you literally told me to shut up.”

“Now you’re making things up.”

He squinted his eyes. “Am I? Does that not sound like something you would do? Tell me honestly.”

She sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me then? And how come you remember it so well?”

This time, Samar blushed. “I-I don’t know. I was probably trying to be polite and I have a good memory.”

Afra observed him. He had certainly grown into adulthood after college. Broad shoulders and a kind smile. It was a rare mix of features.

“You’d think they would have some real food at these events.” She forced a laugh, hoping that he would catch the subtle hint.

“Yeah, I know. Where does that hefty donation I make even go?” he responded.

“Yeah,” she looked down at her cup, a bit deflated.

“I’m just kidding. I don’t really donate that much.” Samar examined her. “Oh,” he started. “Oh! Are you hungry?”

Afra gave him a familiar look. He remembered it from when they had spent the entire night in the campus library. Hurry up, it read.

Samar laughed. “Do you want to get some dinner, Afra?”

“I suppose,” she sang.