My first arrival in Dubai coincided with the fiercest heat of August. Stepping out of the airport, a wave of humid, suffocating air slammed into us. In less than thirty seconds, sweat was already pouring down uncontrollably.
"I knew Dubai was hot, but this is ridiculous! And we have to put up with this crazy weather for four whole years!" That was Lia complaining. She was wearing a black spaghetti-strap top with only a sheer cardigan thrown over it. Right now, she was dragging her luggage with her right hand while using her left to vigorously fan her face with the flimsy cardigan, occasionally exposing flashes of pale shoulder skin.
Just then, a Muslim man in traditional white robes standing nearby shot Lia a disapproving glance. His face twisted into a clear frown, brows knitted tightly together. I quickly grabbed Lia's restless arm and subtly shook my head at her, pressing my lips together.
"What?" Lia blinked, baffled.
"Honey, did you forget? We're in Dubai now! This place has strict rules! You need to watch your behavior."
Realization dawned on Lia's face. She immediately pulled her cardigan closed, properly covering her shoulders. The man in white robes saw this and finally shifted his gaze, his expression softening slightly.
Before coming, I'd heard about its intimidatingly strict rules. That's why I hadn't brought any shoulder-baring tops or above-the-knee bottoms. Lia wasn't as cautious; she packed whatever she liked. She said coming here was all about embracing the luxury! But once we arrived, even her bold style had to be toned down.
"Hey, Cece, Lia, over here!" A familiar voice called out behind us. We turned to see Quinn Yin, our senior who had come to pick us up.
Lia and I got here through the university's exchange program. Full scholarship for a two-year master's degree, followed by a mandatory two-year stint working for a Dubai oil company – a four-year contract. There aren't many women in the petroleum program. Senior Quinn Yin came a year earlier as the only female in her cohort. Our group had nine exchange students: seven guys and us two girls. The others arrived at the university a day earlier.
Senior Quinn Yin helped us cram our luggage into the taxi's trunk and opened the door. "Quick, get in!" I noticed the taxi roof was an unusual shade of pink – female passengers only, driven by a female driver. Outside the airport, I saw a queue of regular red-roofed taxis driven by men, sparking another wave of unease.
Dubai is considered the most open place in the Middle East, yet even taxis are strictly color-coded by gender! I took a deep breath, gazing out at the dense forest of skyscrapers – structures of all sizes piercing the sky, some boasting bizarre, extravagant shapes. For a moment, it felt like falling into a dream steeped in bewildering luxury.
"Oh, I almost forgot to tell you something earlier," Quinn Yin twisted from the front seat, saying casually. "The graduate college is new. Plus, practically all the Master's students here are guys. The school hasn't built female graduate dorms yet."
"What?" I blurted, startled, feeling sweat trickle down my neck. "Where do we stay? They guaranteed accommodation!"
"Relax, let me finish," Quinn Yin grinned. "The university booked each of us a suite in the five-star hotel they invested in. Until the dorm's built, we're staying at the hotel!"
A five-star hotel suite! The thought alone was thrilling. When Lia and I actually arrived, our excitement overflowed.
The entire place radiated one concept: Opulence. Everything visible screamed luxury. Gold and blue accents lent a majestic air to the lobby. After Quinn explained our situation, the butler handled all check-in formalities. Lia and I relaxed on plush sofas, sipping fragrant coffee while we waited.
The thought crossed my mind: this was indulgence on a staggering scale. But I would later learn this initial taste of Dubai's "luxury" paled in comparison to what was to come.
An attendant escorted us to our room, detailing every amenity. The living room, walk-in closet, study area, bathroom… the space dwarfed my expectations. Remembering the cramped six-person dorm back home felt like recalling a different world.
"Awesome!" Lia whispered, her awe palpable. "I almost hope the dorms never get built! For a free suite like this? I'll endure this killer heat and all those rules!"
I smiled silently. Dubai felt like a city built on audacious dreams, pushing everything to extremes. Facing this golden metropolis, my heart held both eager anticipation and flickering apprehension. But regardless, from touchdown onward, my new four-year life had irrevocably begun here.
***
That same Dubai afternoon, I received a meeting notice from Professor Emadin.
My postgraduate supervisor, a Canadian, was known for extreme dedication. A highly-paid foreign faculty recruit, he did theoretical research and took industry projects, letting students earn extra cash.
Since it was my first campus visit, I asked Lia to join. Stepping outside, the heat hit like a furnace wall, soaring above 45°C (113°F). Breathing became laborious.
I quickly raised my sun umbrella. Still, sweat soaked my T-shirt and jeans. I pleaded mentally for a breeze. When it came, it felt like a hair dryer blasting hot sand into my face.
Twenty minutes later, we reached Professor Emadin's building. We stood greedily under the lobby AC, gulping cool air – feeling like we'd sweated more today than ever before.
My bangs were plastered in wet streaks, face sunburned crimson. As I combed fingers through my wind-tangled hair, Lia nudged my ribs twice.
"Look! Arabian hottie!"
Lia kept her voice low, but in the quiet lobby, the man heard. He turned with a puzzled look, his gaze meeting mine.
Golden-brown eyes, deep-set and intense. Sculpted nose, thick lashes, features handsome in a gentle way. Clad in a traditional white robe, he was strikingly handsome.
Lia nudged me again, snapping me from my daze. I pulled myself together.
Seeing us stare silently, he looked confused. "Excuse me?" he asked in English. "Were you calling me?"
I froze, unprepared. Then I remembered: Lia spoke in Chinese! He couldn't have understood! Steadying myself, I replied, "Ah, yes! We were wondering… Professor Emadin's office?" It was a nervous cover.
Surprisingly, he knew. The man nodded. "I just walked my friend over. His office is 707."
"Thanks! I was worried about finding it," I said politely, nodding slightly. He seemed about to leave, but his eyes lingered on my sweat-plastered bangs. Then his lips curved into a gentle smile. Turning back, he advised kindly, "In Dubai, walk nowhere. Remember to take a cab next time."
As he smiled, his trim beard shifted. Light seemed to sparkle in those deep-set eyes, radiating warmth.
My heart fluttered unexpectedly. My shallow preconceptions had painted Middle Eastern men as macho brutes. This charming gentleman in white shattered that stereotype.
I thanked him again. With a gracious nod, he left. I finally pulled away Lia, who stood starry-eyed. The exotic encounter lingered; even in the elevator, we hadn't recovered.
"Cece, did you see him? Seriously handsome!" Lia bounced slightly in excitement, then suddenly sighed heavily.
"What? You were so excited a second ago!"
Lia lowered her head slightly, sympathy in her eyes. "I just felt sorry for him. For traditional robed Arab men, marriages are arranged – they don't even see their bride before the wedding night! See those women in black robes covering everything but eyes? Who knows if they're beautiful? What if he marries someone plain?"
I laughed. "Dubai's relatively open – lots show their faces! Besides, gorgeous foreign women seeking citizenship are everywhere. He could pick a beauty!"
Lia shook her head. "Muslim men don't marry non-believers."
I shrugged. "So convert to Islam."
"I've read converts have their stomachs ceremonially cleansed! They can never touch pork again. Meals with non-Muslim families become awkward... so many rules! Not to mention..." She stopped, a sly smile playing on her lips.
My curiosity sparked. "Not to mention what? Finish!"
Lia giggled. The elevator dinged open. She sauntered out, hopping playfully before turning. Holding up four fingers, she declared: "Not to mention... Dubai men can marry four wives!" She dramatically stretched the last words.
Her theatrical delivery made me laugh. "I've heard that too. Few actually marry four though. They must treat each equally – no favoritism. Buy one wife a gift? Buy the others matching ones. Nights together? Divided precisely. Neglected wives can sue for unfair treatment!"
Lia seemed even more sympathetic. Clearing her throat, she concluded mock-seriously: "So the moral is: don't fall for anyone in a white robe. Life afterwards? Nothing but trouble!"