isra.
ifra.
Ifra and his family had arrived at The Capital by ship when he was eleven years old. It was the first time Ifra had ever seen something so perfectly white and clean. The ship was huge for its minimal crew and Ifra's small family of four. He and Leila spent much of the trip running around and looking into each empty cabin, admiring the perfectly made beds, the granite counter tops, the water taps that ran clear, and the smooth sanded painted closets. The Captain of the ship took great pride in the ship. "The Capital sends the best for The Best," the Captain boasted as the family boarded.
Despite the shininess of the ship, Ifra was hesitant. Leila felt differently. He could see it in her eyes, which often looked faraway into all the dreamy possibilities whenever she gazed out onto the ocean. Ifra wasn't so sure about the move. He didn't want to leave behind all his friends and everything that he called familiar. Their father had countlessly reiterated how different The Capital would be compared to their country but refused to elaborate on how, which scared Ifra.
Sometimes, even years later, Ifra found himself longing for his old country. He thought that the country wasn't as bad as most made it out to be—as Leila made it out to be. There was a certain busyness in the old country that wasn't present in The Capital. The constant buzz energised Ifra. People talked to each other freely in the old city, entirely unlike The Capital, where people averted their gaze and pretended to not hear anything that did not concern them.
It wasn't until he started attending The University, that Ifra finally found himself settling into the sterile city. There, he was surrounded by students that were like him—children of The Best or even The Best themselves. They understood what it was like to be plucked from their home countries and placed here, being expected to accept and thrive in the foreign soil. He and Leila were the lucky—they took root and quickly bloomed in The Capital.
Leila bloomed in more ways than one. "Your sister is, like, hot," many of his friends would confide in Ifra. He never knew what to say to that but instead deflected.
"We share the exact same DNA so of course she is," Ifra would fake laugh in response.
He never expected to be challenged until that day.
"You can't have the same DNA though," Vito said after a minute, raising his head up from his sketchbook. He rested one cheek on the end of his pencil, an action that also raised up one side of his glasses. "Identical twins can't be different genders, they would have to be fraternal twins."
There was a beat of silence before Ifra let out a small, "Oh." He recovered quickly with a grin and leaned across the table. "Well, we still have good genes, don't you think?"
Beside Ifra, Sen put down their book and groaned. "I was just saying your sister was hot, do we always have to bring it back to you?" They waved a hand as if shooing him away. "You two are the perfect hot golden twins. Happy?"
Ifra smirked, relieved. "Maybe." He sat back down on the bench. The three of them had a block of free time and were waiting for Leila to get out of class when Sen made the oh so familiar remark. He hadn't expected it from Sen. He wouldn't expect it from Vito either, Vito was too bashful for that sort of thing, even though it was insanely obvious that Vito was a bit infatuated with her.
It was a couple months ago when they first met Vito. Leila was knocked off Ifra's shoulders at the protest, sending the both of them tumbling to the ground. People cleared out space in a circle around them. In the commotion, Ifra spotted Vito, who was staring dumbfoundedly at Leila, a look that Ifra was all too familiar with when it came to her. She reached out to Vito for help and Ifra thought Vito would faint the moment they clasped hands.
The protest. Looking back at his screen, he scrolled down the news feed. His stomach churned as he scanned through the items in the list. Bad news after bad news.
Whack. "Knock it off!" a voice said. Ifra was hit by a rolled up paper that was held by none other than Leila. She stood with a playful smile on her face, one that often mirrored Ifra's own smile.
She towered over him. Leila often wore stilettos despite the two of them already being quite tall and the same height at that. "It makes me feel womanly," she would say. From a young age the two of them would sneak into their parents room when they were out and Leila would dig out her mother's heels and parade in front of the mirror in them. Ifra would stand on the bed and criticise Leila's colour choices while playing with his father's ties, whipping them around like a lasso.
"Enough doom scrolling," Leila continued as she sat next to Vito, who was suddenly blushing profusely and fumbling around with his pencil. "Don't get mad—"
"Get even," the rest of them said in unison. A couple of chuckles went around the table.
"If only I could get even with my stupid Sociology prof, he makes me so angry," Sen muttered and then immediately launched into a rant, one that Vito and Ifra heard just a few minutes earlier.
Ifra leaned back, taking in the scene. Leila's presence changed the atmosphere. He tried to suppress a wince when he felt the familiar twist in his stomach.
"Fifteen denari?" their mother's deep voice rose, booming throughout the tiny store, spilling out the open door and into the street. Ifra remembered random passer-bys stopping in their tracks to stare through the window. This was years before they moved to The Capital. "This was only five denari just last week!"
"I'm sorry," the clerk said. He raised his hands out as if to say his hands were tied. His eyes flitted from Ifra to Leila, who were standing beside their mother, clasping each other's hands. "Our courier service increased their fee, the latest shipment was very costly."
"I can find this for cheaper elsewhere," their mother huffed, dropping the box of spice onto the counter and swiftly turning around. "Let's go. Ifra. Leila."
Leila spun around to follow after their mother but Ifra stood in place, staring up at the clerk. She tugged on Ifra's hand but he stayed rooted to the spot and released his grip on Leila.
The clerk sneered. "Go on then, little boys. Listen to your mother."
"She's not a boy!" Ifra shouted defiantly. Looking back on it now, Ifra realised how childish he must have sounded. He turned and ran after Leila and their mother.
They were barely out of earshot when the clerk said loudly to the next customer. "Oh this? It is a little bit damaged, it's on sale. Two denari for you, my dear."
Later that day, Leila and Ifra were sitting in their room, playing with their toys. "Thank you Ifra," Leila said out of the blue.
Ifra couldn't remember what he said in response to that but this memory would resurface from time to time. It was around the time when his twin first started calling herself Leila. Their parents were silent at the first mention of it but they knew it was futile to refuse. Just the name Leila felt like the final piece of the puzzle, where everything suddenly clicked into place.
They were so young, it was a blessing that children were little androgynous beings. The both of them wore their hair long, running around with dark curly mop tops. Leila could get away with wearing long colourful dresses. Every stranger treated Leila like any other little girl.
In the early days, Ifra assigned himself the role of Leila's keeper. He defended her secret in every way possible whilst still trying to maintain an air of innocence. The two were joined at the hip because of this but everyone (even Leila herself) just assumed it was normal behaviour for twins.
Even in The Capital, Ifra still felt a lingering sense of responsibility for her. Around the time Leila made her declaration, their father, a well-known professor in the city, started to teach them the language of The Capital. Ifra silently thanked his father every time he stunned a Capital local with his accent-less speech. In hindsight, Ifra realised that this must have been when their father decided to apply to The Capital. Leila's deadname was not present in any of their papers once they moved. It was as if her past self never existed.
Life continued on. Classes. Chapter meetings. Basketball practice. Basketball games. Parties. Homework. Rinse. Repeat. It was eerie how quickly the campus and everyone else in it recovered from the recent events. Maybe everyone was trying to push away the memory of it and push away the impending doom that was hovering over the campus.
Leila tried her hardest to keep the anger on campus alive, despite her beloved motto saying otherwise. Ifra started to see less and less of Leila due to her efforts, something neither of them were used to. They lived together with their parents still, in a modestly sized apartment just a few stations away from the campus, but they came and went at different hours. They saw each other at meetings and parties but never had a moment to themselves.
They had a rare moment together one morning. Ifra came out of his room to see Leila sitting at the kitchen counter, nibbling on some bread.
"Ah, you're here!" Leila exclaimed, her face brightening as she noticed him. Ifra raised an eyebrow as he sat down next to her. It was odd to see her so chipper so early in the morning. "I've been meaning to talk to you."
"All ears, sis," Ifra said. He reached over to grab a piece of bread for himself. He didn't have any inkling whatsoever what this could be about. The Chapter, maybe?
"Vito asked me out," Leila blurted out, as if the sentence was all one word.
"What?!" Ifra shouted in surprise, louder than he meant to. He ran his hand through his hair. That bastard finally did it. He mentally kicked himself, having not seen any signs of this coming. He lowered his voice. "No way."
"Way," Leila nodded solemnly, looking down at her piece of bread in her hand.
Ifra immediately understood this sullen gesture. His stomach tightened, the familiar sensation making its appearance again. Vito was a good guy and even part of the community. Still, Ifra knew what dating meant for Leila.
"You're not thinking of telling him are you?" Ifra asked quietly.
"Why shouldn't I tell him?" Leila suddenly snapped, her head shooting up. "This is why we came to The Capital, isn't it? So we didn't have to hide?" She paused. "So I don't have to hide?"
"Aren't you fully yourself here?" Ifra asked, genuinely baffled. "What are you hiding?"
Leila shook her head. "You don't understand. I'm always scared of being found out."
"Isn't coming out the opposite of that?" Ifra felt like an idiot. Usually they saw eye to eye on everything, but this was always one thing he never fully grasped.
"Did you really think I would never tell anyone for the rest of my life?" Leila stood up, brows furrowed. "What if I get married one day and my husband wants to have a child? How would I explain to him that I don't have a god damn uterus?"
She picked up her bag off of the floor and walked off, her heels striking the hardwood with a resounding clack each step she took. The door to the apartment slammed closed.