Prince Ali [SELF]

He looked out the window.
It was greener than the pictures. He stepped out of his dad’s rental car, breathing in the air that somehow smelled as clean as the city looked. It made him shudder instantly. He looked at his dad, who was beckoning him to help move his stuff out. The street was quiet, but starting to fill as the afternoon sun began to set.

The first-year dormitories were in a community. They were essentially downtown apartments. They had an overview of downtown Arrandelle, street market access, and were on one of the many roads in this city where no cars were allowed. Immediately, this city was so much different from his hometown of Cairoçes. The water looked cleaner, the trees were alive, and the people looked simply… more. More affluent. More relaxed. More settled. More happy.

“Ali, can you go get a cart, please?” His dad interrupted his thoughts.

He nodded, embarrassed. He walked to the entrance to the dorm. It looked like it was built in the 1400s, but was still refurnished. Every building here looked like it came secondary to the nature. He found the building that read Résidence Saint-Armand on the side, and went to check in. At the table, there were two people: one was a girl who looked like she was in her second year. She had brown hair, wore these big glasses that made her eyes look three times as big, and wore a shirt that was surely cut on the shoulders. Next to her was a guy who looked older, but his eyes were kind enough. He had an RA lanyard around his neck, black hair, and wore a polo with three buttons instead of two. His nametag read TOPHER VINCENZO. ‘God, because of course his name is Topher,’ he thought.

He walked to the table, trying not to be awkward.
“Ali Hashimi,” he said, trying not to draw attention to himself, “I believe I’m in Saint-Armand.”

The girl nodded along, making scribbles on the paper. ‘What an inefficient system,’ Ali thought, shaking his head. He looked down at the girl trying to find his keys. But he tried to smile because he remembered his father’s words.
‘Don’t draw attention to yourself,’ he thought, ‘They’ve never seen someone like you in their lives, it’s not worth it.’

He didn’t quite understand what he meant, but every waking moment he spent in Arrandelle, it became more and more obvious.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” she said, her head clearly in a blender, “It-it’s my first day on check-in duty, and I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” he smiled, “I’m new here, so you know more than me.”

She smiled. She extended her hand, “Elise,” she said, “Where are you from?”

Ali shook her hand. “Ali,” he said, “I’m from Cairoçes.”

“Oh! From the south! Nice to meet you, Ali!” she said with what seemed to be genuine excitement, “I’m from Londras, so just a boat away.”

“Yeah, that boat changes people, though,” Ali smiled, “It’s like crossing countries.”

“That it is, but I LOVE Cairo, I have some friends there, so I come and visit quite often,” she added as she handed him his student ID, “Here’s your ID card, please make sure you don’t lose it. If you do, you’ll have to call your RA on call and then call the school and get it replaced.”

He nodded, thanked her, and walked back to his dad’s car a block away with the rolling cart. When he got back to the car, his dad was smiling ear to ear. Ali took each suitcase, and put them all at the bottom of the cart. He stacked each box neatly on top of them, shut the trunk, and walked back to the front door. The streets were all cobblestone, he saw some of the markets getting set up by the end, and he saw the quad less than a kilometre away.

When he committed to play football at this school, he didn’t necessarily know what he was getting himself into. What they told him about Université d’Arrandelle was that it was the city was nice, gated, and the school was one of the jewels of the country. Of course, he wanted to go to Université Impériale d’Auréonce. Everybody did. Every athlete, every student, every future employee of any job in Colette wanted to go to Impériale Auréonce. The issue is that they’ve also won seven National Championships in four different sports, were a consensus top ten school in the world and had every high achiever that ever existed. So, it wasn’t feasible.

Ali tried reaching out to them three times, but heard nothing.
He applied as a regular student as well. Rejected.
So he turned towards other opportunities — all he ended up with was Université d’Arrandelle, Conservatoire Royal des Arts d’Auréonce, and Université Centrale de Cairoçes. And the only reason he didn’t go to CRAA was because of the money opportunity at UDA being that much higher.

But he did not expect how Courantist UDA would actually be. Everyone was wearing a cross. He had seen seventeen students in his own dorm already, none of them weren’t wearing a Courantist cross. Growing up in Cairoçes, he had essentially lived in one of the main Mehrabist cities in the country. So, moving here was an adjustment.

He looked at his dad, who definitely had the same thoughts, but wasn’t saying anything. They arrived at his dorm on the sixth floor. He scanned his key on the door, and it opened to a small common area with a TV and a fridge and a window. There were three doors — one with the name KOFI AGYEI on it in bold letters and the other in— he stopped, rubbing his eyes. ‘No way, this cannot be correct.’
ROBESPIERRE KOUASSI.
‘This cannot be the same guy, right?’

He walked into the room. It was small, but it had a lamp, a desk, a closet, and a view of la Rivière d’Arran and le Mont des Cloches hills. Rue des Trois-Marches was also right below him. It was already busy. Markets were filling, people – locals and tourists – were filing into bars and restaurants, and filling the street. He looked down below, just starting to watch people, trying to make up stories about them.

“Ali, are we going to stare at people all day or set up your room?”
His dad’s voice pierced his thoughts. Startled, he jumped back before laughing with him. He went over and started unpacking each box. He set his prayer mat down first, made up his bed, and then set up his desk. He took a seat on his small, wooden chair in the corner, looking at his dad setting his clothes boxes in the corner.

“Just make sure you actually put these away, yeah?” he laughed, walking over. “Otherwise, you should be set.”

They walked out of the room so his dad could get back to the car and get to his hotel. The place was starting to be more and more organised. He heard voices in the other two rooms, but he tried not to pay much attention to either as he felt it was not much of his business. They walk down, and the sun starts setting. “Wow,” Ali said, looking at the sky. The way the trees glowed in the sunset sky was glamorous. Colours of red, orange, yellow, and even a tint of purple started dancing across the sky.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” his dad said, looking at him. They reached the car again, and his dad wrapped him in a big hug.
“I’m so, so proud of you, Ali,” he said. Ali could feel a tear from his eye, and could hear some from his dad, “I-I always knew you would be able- you-driven-alwa-”
This was the first time in his life he heard his dad unable to speak. The silence hung up between them like a flag in the wind, neither of them wanting to say anything.

When he finally let him go, he sniffled. “Go have fun, Ali,” he said finally, wiping a tear off his face, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

He saw his dad hop in the car, and drive away. He turned his head, looking at the buildings. He has lived in this city now. Arrandelle. He looked ahead of him and saw one kid, no older than eighteen, but had a public image well above it. Or so he thought. He saw a young man with dark skin, a muscular build, and puffy, black hair step out with his mom, dad and two siblings. He couldn’t tell, but they were all laughing.

He stopped in front of them; he could sense the city’s eyes on them. The kid smiled, a real, genuine smile. “Hey, man. My name is Robespierre. What’s your name?”

Maybe his jaw was hanging a little too long, because his parents also reached their hands.
“Mansa, nice to meet you,”
“Marie, what’s your name, lad?”

Ali shook out of it, shaking both of their hands and waving at the two younger kids right next to them.
“Ali.”

OOC - So good to be back, man.

They began their walk back to the dorm, the cobblestone beneath them feeling like bumps. The city was alive; market vendors were beginning to set up their stands, performers set up their street performances, and the green leaves in the trees were starting to glow. Tonight was the night the gates were opening — both gates. The traffic to get into the city would decrease, more people would be let in, and nobody would be going home tonight. The stars shine bright, the breeze was crisp and slow, and the night was vibrant as any night.

There wasn’t a word that Ali could say that would be enough to talk to Robes. He just looked at him, admiration dripping like oil from an engine. The way he walked was elegant, the way he talked was too humble, and the way he did anything embodied perfection. There he was, a guy with an Underground station in Auréonce named after him, being a football God, and a role model to millions of people across the country at his school. “So,” Ali tried to start a conversation, “Wonderful weather, eh?”

“Just shut up,” Robes smarted, bursting into tears of laughter, “‘Wonderful weather’ is something I’d say to my grandma, bro.”

“Alright, chill!” The itch on the back of his neck became more and more annoying. “I just have no clue what I can possibly say to you.”

“Uh, you could just say ‘Hi, what’s your favourite food,’ like a normal person, eh?”

Ali rolled his eyes as they kept walking. The sun progressively lowered, almost as if it were on cue. They scanned into the building and rushed towards the elevator. In its own, the elevator was surprisingly modern, as was the rest of the building. Perhaps Arrandelle figured out that if its flagship university couldn’t be a top-five school anymore, they could at least upgrade all of the amenities. Beautiful.

They walked to their door, and Kofi was immediately waiting on the inside of the room. His foot was up on the couch, body angling the other way. The sun outside was now fully down, so they flipped the switches in the dorm. Ali took a seat next to him, extending his hand and speaking quietly, “My name is Ali,” he said, almost in a whisper.

“What, man?”

“I said–” He cleared his throat once.
Twice.
Thrice.
“My name is Ali,” he repeated.

Kofi pointed at Robes, “This is the weirdo we roomed with?” he laughed. Robes rolled his eyes. Kofi grabbed Ali and squeezed him, rubbing his hair with his fist. When they separated, they were both laughing — but differently. Kofi was fully warm, and Ali was nervous. The floors continued to shine, he knew, because that’s all he was looking at. Kofi extended his hand, lightly. The smile on his face was almost too genuine not to shake his hand, so Ali did.

“Kofi,” he said warmly, “Nice to meet you, man.”

The water from the sink was running heavily as Robes washed his hands. Ali took his phone out and started scrolling through twitcher. Apparently, the Prydanian Foreign Minister Sören Högh had just gifted the Khastenian Foreign Minister Natasha Danikina a Spilvel set of the Kariyevgrad Opera House. Beautiful gift, Ali shuddered. He walked towards the window and looked down below. Drums were beginning to play, the trees’ leaves were falling off, but it was buzzing outside. This was much more beautiful than any Cairoçes festival except for Sultan’s Day, which was ironic because the South of Colech doesn’t recognise the Sultanate anymore.

“Do you want to go?” Kofi asked, stealing the words right from Ali.

He pondered for maybe fifteen seconds.
Then instantly stopped.
“Yes,” he declared, “Very much so.”

Robes groaned before throwing his sweatshirt on. “Kofi, bro,” he sighed as Kofi got up and stood by the door, “Go put some pants on, lad.”
Kofi looked down, seeing himself in shorts and a T-shirt, the same ones he’d arrived in. Outside, the weather was cold, and the wind was breezing. It was definitely not shorts and tee weather. It was barely even nine degrees outside. Kofi pointed at both of them, almost as if he was about to say something before walking back to his room defeated.

When Kofi returned, the festival and night market was in full swing– it wasn’t even a festival. “I swear, every night is like this,” Robes shrugged, sighing.
‘Oh, right, he lives here full time while being an Arrandelle City legend.’
They reached the street, and the sight was too much in the best way. After not even a step, a man approached them both with papayas grown in Saharille. They were extra green, but tasted extra juicy. “Welcome to Arrandelle,” he said, smiling warmly. Free stuff on the first day never hurt anyone before. He looked right at Robes, who was eyeing Kofi’s papaya.

Right across from them, there was a clothes stand. It was a very small stand with maybe fifty outfits. But one caught Ali’s eye. Something about it drew him to the stand. It was a dark green robe that went from the chest to the feet. It had a white “Y” shape in its centre with scribed designs in dark green all over it. He went to feel it, but heard a man’s voice.
“No, no, don’t touch!”
He took a step back, throwing his hands up. “Sorry, sorry, sorry!”
The man looked no older than fifty, but looked like he had studied this whole stand’s history since he put it on the drawing board. He had silver glasses, light skin, and looked native Santonian. He looked like his name was Pierre, and he liked to eat escargot for no reason other than to claim its roots since it’s a Santonian-Colech dish.

“Monsieur, do you understand the origins of such a garment?” he asked, voice frantic. Ali could’ve sworn he had seen it before, but couldn’t tell where — maybe from family heirlooms.
“No, sir.”

“It’s expensive, and it’s rare. Please don’t touch, garçon!”

“Désolé,” he said, stepping back to hear the drums behind him.
There were ten men with djembes marching down the street. He couldn’t help but notice a few of the kids he recognised from orientation dancing. And he simply couldn’t help himself, tapping his foot to the rhythm. The garment stared right back at him, and the temptations arose once again. But Kofi and Robespierre walked through and dragged him out of the stand. Both of them looked him in the eyes, taking him to a nearby street food vendor. He had barely been here six hours, and already Arrandelle was swallowing him whole.

“You’re gonna love this guy!” Kofi yelled as they walked a group of upperclass women, pointing at Ali, “Ladies, he’s Ali from Cairo! Fabulous he! Follow me to get rounds paid for by him personally!”

‘Great, this is going to be a long night.’