I shot back casually, "What's that got to do with us? We're not marrying Muslim men."
Lia twisted a strand of her hair, smiling slowly. "Never say never. If they ever allow one woman to have multiple husbands, I might consider converting."
Chatting and laughing, we found our way to Professor Emadin's office door. I waved at Lia. "I'm heading in to meet the professor. See you later."
"Okay, I'll wander around myself."
Standing at the door, I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and knocked firmly. Hearing "Come in," I pushed the door open.
Three people were already inside. The man in the main chair was middle-aged, maybe early forties, with brown hair and a prominent nose. His skin had a healthy bronze tan from Dubai's constant sun – clearly Professor Emadin.
First meeting with my supervisor, speaking English – nerves were inevitable. I gave a slight bow. "Professor, nice to meet you. I'm Cece, a new student this term." Cece was the English name I'd chosen for myself, similar to my Chinese name.
Hearing my name, Professor Emadin stood up and shook my hand warmly, then introduced the other two in the room. "These two are also new Master's students. This year, I'm supervising just the three of you." He pointed to one. "This is Singh, from South India, Sikh."
Singh was tall and slender with deep brown skin.
Professor Emadin then gestured to the man beside Singh wearing a white thobe. "This is Ayub, a local from Dubai."
I nodded. Seeing his white thobe, I was instantly reminded of the handsome man in the lobby. Ayub must be that guy's friend. But Ayub was clearly much more outgoing; he grinned widely at me, a bounding energy radiating from him despite the traditional garb.
The meeting wasn't academic. Professor Emadin mostly chatted with interest about our living situations and future plans. Only near the end did he ask us to copy some learning materials onto our USBs to prepare for upcoming courses and research.
I finished copying first, slipped my USB drive back into my bag, and stepped out. The moment I crossed the threshold, Lia grabbed my arm urgently. "Cece! Emergency! The supermarket downstairs doesn't sell sanitary pads! Did you bring any?"
"Yeah, yeah, hang on. Let me find them." I sat on a hallway chair and started pulling things out of my bag, finally locating a spare pad and handing it to Lia.
She snatched it and spun towards the restroom, but stopped dead in her tracks. I looked up and saw the handsome Arab man from earlier stepping out of the elevator near us. His eyes moved from the pad in Lia's hand to my belongings scattered across the floor. A small frown creased his brow.
Back home, this wouldn't even register – maybe a light tease at most. But in front of a conservative Arab? Was this taboo? In a city where public kissing could get you in legal trouble, my mix of fascination and fear for Dubai deepened; I didn't even know where the boundaries were. Lia obviously panicked too. She jerked her hand behind her back, kept her head down, and hurried to the restroom.
The hallway felt vast and silent, leaving just me and the robed man. His expression was unreadable. I dropped my gaze and started hurriedly gathering my things. When I looked up again, he had deliberately averted his eyes. Feeling awkward, I mustered a weak, apologetic smile. "Sorry," I said, unsure if the apology was even necessary.
Clearly, despite his gentlemanly demeanor earlier, the open presence of a sanitary product had made him uneasy. While accustomed to interacting politely with foreigners in Dubai's metropolis, his deep-seated religious sensitivity remained.
"Cece, still here?" Ayub's voice cut through the awkwardness. He'd stayed a bit longer to copy files and had just emerged from the office.
I was about to answer when I spotted Lia returning down the hall, a welcome sight. I gestured towards her, forcing a smile for Ayub. "Just waiting for my friend. She's back now, so we're off."
Ayub, oblivious to the tension, simply nodded. "Alright, see you. My friend here has been waiting ages." He walked over to the other robed man and immediately launched into animated conversation in Arabic – none of which I understood.
Lia and I hurried away, a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. What if that man told Ayub about Lia and the pad? And if it was something Arabs found offensive... it felt like an invisible barrier might form between Ayub and me from the start.
***
Putting it aside, Lia and I headed back to the hotel. I collapsed onto the plush bed, feeling groggy. But closing my eyes brought only scattered, anxious thoughts. Before Dubai, everyone raved about the luxury, the dazzle. But beneath this glittering surface, I sensed unknown depths. Some called it paradise, others hell. What would it be for me?
Giving up on the swirling thoughts, I rolled off the bed. Better to preview the materials Professor Emadin gave us.
I grabbed my bag and rummaged through it. My USB drive was gone. I definitely remembered putting it back in my bag after leaving the office. Where could it be?
Then it hit me. When I'd helped Lia find the pad, I'd emptied my bag entirely. Flustered by the robed man's displeased expression, I'd gathered my things in haste – and must have forgotten the USB drive on that hallway chair or floor! If no one took it, it should still be there.
Objectively, the drive wasn't crucial. It held standard learning materials and… private photos of me in traditional Chinese gowns (qipaos). Some shots had a subdued elegance, others a bold flair – decidedly different from my current jeans and tee. And while tasteful, the thought of strangers seeing them and speculating was deeply uncomfortable. They were personal.
With that, I grabbed a taxi back to the building. But a thorough search of the area around the professor's door – chair, floor, every nook – yielded nothing. The USB drive was gone. Defeated, I took another cab back to the hotel.
***
Dusk had settled. We lounged on plush couches in the hotel's high-rise restaurant. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, Dubai's night lights blazed like stars, blanketing the landscape.
"First night here, I thought we'd try authentic Middle Eastern," Senior Quinn Yin said, ordering a few dishes before passing the menu to Lia and me. The menu was a tangle of Arabic script and unfamiliar English names. I chose two vaguely appealing dishes based on the pictures.
Chatting while waiting for food, Lia bubbled with enthusiasm. "Senior Quinn Yin! Cece and I saw this super handsome Middle Eastern guy today. Twice!"
Quinn Yin glanced at her. "A local Emirati?"
His deeply-set, golden-brown eyes flashed in my mind. I found myself nodding. "I think so. His friend, Ayub, is definitely local – actually, he's one of the students my professor is supervising too."
Quinn Yin's gaze shifted to me, eyebrows raised. "Oh? Under the same supervisor? If I were you, I'd keep some distance."
Though I hadn't planned on getting chummy with Muslims, Quinn Yin's warning made me frown. "Why?"
"The locals get incredible welfare benefits. Most are pretty laid-back; few bother with graduate degrees. The ambitious ones head to Europe or America. Those sticking around for a Master's at this age usually already have a secure government job. They're just chasing a degree to pad the resume, not actually learn. If you get too close, expect them to constantly lean on you for academic help. It gets exhausting."
I was puzzled. "If they have jobs, how do they find time?"
Quinn Yin gave a wry smile. "You'll see. Things move incredibly slow here. Locals get huge privileges. Many own several companies, all managed by expats – money just rolls in, work is minimal! So, the vast majority are super wealthy... and super lazy. They build their wealth on foreign labor. This Master's degree? Their work probably covers the tuition. Unlike us scholarship students who have to be TAs."
Hearing this left me feeling vaguely unsettled, though I couldn't pinpoint why. I made a noncommittal sound and pressed, "So, they're just here for the paper qualification?"
Quinn Yin considered this. "Not all, but most. A senior from my year, Yan, got saddled with one. The guy constantly pestered Yan to do his assignments."
Mentioning Yan seemed to animate Quinn Yin; there was a hint of indignation in her tone. Lia's gossip radar pinged. She leaned in, a sly grin spreading. "Senior Quinn Yin... you and this Yan senior... you two wouldn't happen to be..." Quinn Yin's fork clattered sharply onto her plate. "Don't say that!" she blurted, flustered. "I was married before I came to Dubai! Lots of seniors know my husband!"
Her reaction was too strong. Lia instantly realized her mistake and snapped her mouth shut. Thankfully, our food arrived just then. Curiosity about Middle Eastern cuisine swept aside the awkwardness and other conversation.
In my limited experience, my idea of Middle Eastern food began and ended with Turkish döner kebabs – spit-roasted meat glistening with juices, sliced into wraps. I'd already seen towering stacks of meat displayed in shop windows on the ride to campus, an impressive sight from afar.
The dishes placed before us now completely shattered those simplistic expectations.