I Could Have Given In

"Salaam", a voice coming from behind me.
I look back and see a handsome fellow, tall, Arabic, hawk-nosed, curly black hair.
"Malaykum-salaam" I said back.
"Wein enta ro?" he asked.
"Shukol." I replied.
"Esh shukol." and then it dawned on me, why is he asking me.
He's a total stranger, a local, about his early twenties and I shouldn't be talking to him. Stories of set-ups and Mutawas are very much on the rise these days.
But he is persistent and although a bit cocky, he seemed to be friendly, so I go along and at this point he is walking beside me, with me. I thought as long as we're moving, I can always speed up and cross the street to the other side.
"Maktub bas."
"Wein?"
"Hmm gareeb."
My curiosity gets the better of me and with a bit of a caution, I asked. "Esh ebka, sadiq?""Mafi, mumken enta ebka sadiq?" he said.
"Liesh? Enta kuwayes?"
"Aiwa, ana kuwayes, miya-miya." and he smiled, I felt slightly weak in the knees.
"Akid?" I smiled back.
"Aiwa, akid. Mumken shoop baden? Shukol mita kalas?"
"Baden belel, saa-saba."
Such conversation would always lead to exchange of numbers and later calls, which would eventually lead to "your guess is as good as mine."
I could have given in.
"Mumken shoop enta, mumken mafi." and winking at him, "Maasalam!"I left him on the other side of the street still looking at me as I head towards the intersection. I could not forget the look on his face, a look of disappointment, but I just smiled back and wave a bit.
Oh, well. (Sigh)