Nadiya Khan - A Love Story

Nadiya Khan - A Love Story

This story is about a young solicitor who, one ordinary weekday morning, is served by Nadiya Khan, a middle-aged checkout lady at his local supermarket. For Adam, it is lust at first sight and he is determined to take things further.

Comments welcome as always.

Sylviafan

If you'd asked me before that fateful Wednesday in March that I was going to fall for a middle-aged lady of Asian descent with long grey hair, I'd have laughed at you. What I didn't realise at the time, and what I've subsequently come to believe, is that there are physical appearances which might not necessarily conform to one's pre-conceived idea of beauty, but when one actually sees them in the flesh - wham! Call it raw sexual attraction if you like. It's a very personal thing; somebody else may see no attraction at all in the object of your desires. Furthermore, you don't have any control over it and it can hit you in the most unexpected places. Like a supermarket checkout.

In fact I shouldn't even have been in the supermarket, but I'd been out to see a client and both the supermarket and my house were, at a pinch, on the way back to the office so I thought I'd sneak in and do my weekly shop in company time. Not that my weekly shop was particularly burdensome; I still ate a lot of meals at my parents' house and when I ate at home it was as often as not a takeaway meal. Not very sophisticated, I know.

I should introduce myself. I'm Adam, Adam Slater, and I work as a conveyancing solicitor in a large law practice in a Midlands city in the UK. The work's mostly commercial but we do private house sales too and a few other bits and pieces. I've been there since finishing law school, which was six years ago, and I'm very happy with my career; if I work hard and toe the line I can expect to be made partner by the age of forty - that is if I'm not caught skiving off on company time!

Appearance wise I'm pretty ordinary. I suppose my best features are my hair, which is thick and black and wavy, and my eyes, which are deep blue, both a legacy of my Celtic origins; my mother is from Cork. I'm average height, five nine and about a hundred and fifty pounds with regular features, apart from my nose which got broken in a rugby game at school. I could get it fixed but that feels a bit vain; also, I harbour a secret delusion that it makes me look more interesting.

One of the reasons I went shopping that morning was because at weekends the supermarket was a nightmare: full carpark, choked aisles, empty shelves and mammoth queues at the checkouts. This Wednesday, at just after ten thirty, it was virtually deserted as I wandered up and down the aisles with my trolley listening to Motown being played over the PA system.

It was pretty empty at the checkouts, too. Perversely there seemed to be more of them open than there were on a Saturday morning so I just headed for the nearest one, where the checkout operator stood waiting for the next customer. She smiled at me as I arrived at her bay and started loading my goods onto the conveyer belt, but I didn't really look at her, I was just vaguely aware of long, grey hair.

I got my first proper look at her after I'd emptied my trolley and put a "Next Customer Please" divider down behind my groceries, although there was nobody behind me. I pushed my trolley past the Perspex screen, which was still in place three years after Covid, and looked across at the checkout operator. And wham!

The first thing I noticed was her hair: closer up I could see that she wore it in a fringe across her forehead and at each side of her face it fell to below her shoulders in a thick, straight, grey curtain. In fact "grey" doesn't really do it justice. It was a deep and vibrant grey, if that's not a contradiction in terms. Almost metallic, with a slight hint of something warmer, violet perhaps. I'd never seen hair like it.

Then there was her face: well-defined lips, high, prominent cheekbones, a hooked nose and dark eyes, surmounted by thick, black eyebrows, her skin the colour of caramel. It wasn't a classically beautiful face but it was striking, characterful. The face of somebody that I would like to get to know, to talk to and to understand.

'Would you like help with your packing?' she asked; they always ask that whether you're eighteen or eighty. Her voice was clear, the accent melodious but not of the East, as her looks indicated, but somewhere closer to home, London or the Home Counties perhaps.

'I'll be fine,' I told her, the words almost sticking in my mouth. She started swiping my items through the bar-code reader and I shoved things into my bags, torn between wanting to look at her and trying to keep up with the packing.

She waited patiently as I stuffed the last few things in and hefted the bags back into the trolley.

'Have you got a loyalty card?' she asked.

I fished out my wallet and presented the piece of plastic. 'One of my most treasured possessions,' I told her, facetiously.

'I'm very pleased to hear it,' she smiled as she scanned it, displaying very white, even teeth. I smiled back and took the opportunity to look at her name badge. You were served today by Nadiya, it said.

'That's fifty pounds and fifteen pence,' she told me. I swiped my debit card and the till churned out a receipt and a couple of vouchers. 'There's five pounds off your next shop,' she said, laying them down and pointing to one with a tapering finger, the nail cut quite close. 'But it's only valid for a week.'

'Great,' I said, trying to muster some enthusiasm whilst looking at her hands for evidence of a wedding ring.

I threw the receipt and vouchers into one of the bags and gave her a last smile. 'Thanks, Nadiya,' I said, lengthening the first "a" and hoping I was pronouncing it correctly.

I got a big smile in return which lit up her face and made her look even more ridiculously desirable to me. 'Thank you,' she said, 'and enjoy the rest of your day.'

I wheeled my trolley out into the carpark in a bit of a daze, wondering where I'd parked my car. After I'd loaded the stuff into the boot I sat in the driver's seat drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. What was that all about? I'd just had a five-minute interaction with a supermarket checkout lady and I was feeling like I'd had a visitation from the Archangel Gabriel. What was it about her that had affected me, I asked myself. On the face of it she was nothing like my type; I generally went for leggy blondes with full breasts. Well Nadiya certainly wasn't blonde and although she'd been wearing the utilitarian uniform of the supermarket worker, I doubted that she was either leggy or full-breasted. Then there was her age. She had to be fifty if she was a day.

But she had affected me. That amazing grey hair, her skin tone, her rather hawk-like face, her smile with those white teeth. And something about her manner had attracted me, too. An air of friendliness, of self-composure, of being comfortable in her own skin. And she wasn't wearing any rings, I had registered.

I drove to my house and unloaded the groceries, then I went on to work, where I faffed about for a couple of hours, thinking about Nadiya, until mid-afternoon when I got a grip on myself and concentrated on my paid employment.

For the next few days I pushed thoughts of the checkout lady out of my head as soon as they crept in, which was frequently. It was ok at the office where there were numerous displacement activities, like work, but at home I seemed to think about little else and I lay awake at night thinking of her and resisting the urge to masturbate, as though that would somehow consummate my fixation.

By early the following week I had accepted that I was going to go into the supermarket on Wednesday morning and see if she was there. Just to convince myself that I was being foolish, I told myself. It wasn't hard to arrange another illicit couple of hours away from the office and ten o'clock saw me wandering the aisles with my trolley, the Motown now replaced by eighties pop.

Thirty minutes later I approached the checkouts and yes, about halfway along the row I could see her distinctive grey hair. I approached the checkout at about the same time, as luck would have it, that she was finishing with her current customer.

'Hello,' I said after I'd loaded my stuff onto the conveyer. My heartrate had increased and my guts felt queasy and liquid. She was just as desirable as she'd been the week before, and just as unobtainable! How did you go about asking a checkout operator for a date? And what were the chances that she'd accept?

'Hello,' she replied, smiling at me and starting to scan my items through the barcode reader. And again I was torn by the need to pack my items and the desire to examine her more closely.

'Have you got your loyalty card?' she asked after all my items were packed. I fished out my wallet and held it out for her to scan. She surprised me by looking up at me with a grin on her face.

'It's one of your most treasured possessions, right?'

'How did you remember that?' I asked, amazed and hugely pleased that I appeared to have made an impact on her as well as vice versa.

She shrugged. 'I try to remember a detail about every customer. It helps to pass the time.'

'That's impressive,' I told her. 'You must see a hundred customers every day.'

'Something like that,' she agreed as I touched my debit card against the reader. I wanted to keep talking to her but another customer was loading their goods onto the belt.

'Well, goodbye again, Nadiya.'

'Goodbye,' she smiled and turned to her new customer.

The following Wednesday I was unable to skive off work and the Wednesday after that I went in at midday but there was no sign of Nadiya on the tills; maybe she was on her lunch break. It was April by now and the weather was improving and the days were getting longer but I couldn't seem to rejoice in this annual renewal. All I could think about was Nadiya. And when I thought of her I didn't imagine her naked or impaled on my cock or anything like that. I just imagined talking to her, perhaps walking in the hills with her and eating lunch at remote pubs. I needed to take things to the next level, needed to ask her out. If she said no, then this whole idiotic infatuation would be at an end. If she said yes well... Who knew?

The week after she hadn't been around, I went in on a Tuesday morning; I couldn't make Wednesday but I had to do something and I reasoned that there was a fair chance she would work Tuesdays as well. And as it turned out, I was right.

It was like the first time I'd seen her; her lane was empty and she was sitting quietly, waiting for her next customer. I smiled as I approached her checkout and said, 'Hello Nadiya,' and she smiled back although I couldn't tell if she recognised me. But today was the day! My heartrate was up again and my palms were sweating as I loaded my stuff onto the conveyor belt and she started scanning.

This time when I'd finished packing she asked, 'Do you have your most treasured possession with you?' and I laughed and offered her the little rectangle of plastic. I bleeped my debit card on the reader and she handed me my till receipt and I looked around but there was no customer behind me. I swallowed and braced myself.

'I was wondering if you'd like to have a coffee with me sometime, Nadiya?' There, I'd done it!

She looked at me, her expression neutral. 'A coffee?'

'Yes,' I confirmed. 'Maybe after work one day? We could go to that coffee house on the business park, the one next to Halfords.'

She seemed to consider this proposition for a few seconds. 'Well I don't finish work until five o'clock,' she said, eventually.

'That's fine,' I gabbled nervously. 'I could meet you there at five.'

'Tonight?' she asked. I hadn't expected anything quite so soon but there was only one possible response.

'Yes, tonight. I'll see you there at five, shall I?'

She smiled uncertainly. 'Ok.'

'I'm Adam, by the way,' I said over my shoulder as I almost fled.

Outside I offered a silent prayer to Eros. I'd done it! I'd got a date with Nadiya. If she turned up. My guts churned again. What would it be like to actually sit opposite her and have her full attention?

I was a write-off that Tuesday afternoon to the extent that my boss asked me if I was alright. 'Bit of a tummy bug,' I lied and then I felt guilty because she insisted I take the rest of the afternoon off. It was only two o'clock and I had three hours to kill before my date with the checkout lady.

In the end I drove to the business park opposite the supermarket and mooched around the giant DIY outlet until just after four thirty. Then I went across to the coffee house, ordered a flat white and found a table at the back of the place, away from the door. It was nearly a quarter to five.

I fiddled with my phone for a few minutes and then stared out of the window into the carpark. Five to five. Bloody hell, Adam, I told myself, get a grip! I was never this nervous on first dates, even with Cassie, and she'd been a belter. And here I was waiting for a middle-aged checkout lady with grey hair and a beaky nose and I was short-breathed and sweating and my pulse was racing. What was it about her? The minute hand of my watch passed the top of its arc and moved imperceptibly towards the one numeral. Then it reached it and passed it.

At seven minutes past five the door of the coffee house opened and Nadiya entered. I waved and she came over to my table, took her raincoat off and sat down opposite me, still in her supermarket uniform of baggy, long-sleeved top and black trousers. So I still had no idea of what her figure looked like, although as she approached the table I could see that she was taller than I had estimated - maybe five feet four or five.

'What can I get you?' I asked.

'Oh, a cappuccino would be nice, thank you.'

I went to the counter and ordered and came back to the table, desperately trying to think of an opening conversational gambit. I sat down opposite Nadiya and smiled at her. 'How was the rest of your day?'

'I was only on the checkout until lunchtime. I spent the afternoon stocking shelves,' she replied, unenthusiastically. 'How about you?'

'Oh ok,' I said, vaguely.

'What do you do?' she asked.

So I told her about my job and the people I worked with, and for, and I told her about some of the funny things that happened sometimes and she listened quietly, her dark eyes on me, and she smiled in all the right places and laughed out loud once, showing me her lovely teeth.

'It sounds very interesting,' she said when I'd finished.

'Not really,' I replied. 'Most of the time it's deadly dull.'

'Even compared to working in a supermarket?' she smiled.

'It must have its moments,' I suggested and Nadiya nodded and told me some stories of irate customers and shoplifters and dubious old men who made suggestions to her when she was serving them.

I grinned. 'What, like asking you out for a coffee?'

Nadiya's cheeks coloured. 'No, not like that at all.'

'Where are you from?' I asked, to cover her embarrassment. 'You don't sound very local.'

'I was born in London,' she replied. 'Wembley.'

I went to university in London and I shared lodgings not far from Wembley so we talked about the area and London in general and that led onto talking about art galleries and museums and Nadiya surprised me with her knowledge of art and artists. She ended up admitting that she had wanted to paint as a teenager but circumstances hadn't allowed. I asked why, but she wouldn't say, she just said it was the wrong time and changed the subject.

At some point I got us more coffee and quashed her proposal to pay. Outside the coffee shop, darkness was falling and I looked at my watch, surprised to see that it was after seven. We'd been talking for two hours.

'I hadn't realised it was so late,' I said. 'I guess you need to be getting home.' I hadn't asked her if she was married, she wore no rings but she hadn't volunteered any information. Neither had I, for that matter.

'I suppose so,' she said, standing up and taking her raincoat off the back of the chair. I stood too and put my coat on and we went out into the early evening darkness of the business park. 'My car's just across the way,' Nadiya said, heading for a battered Renault. We stopped beside it.

'Thank you Adam, I've had a nice time. And thank you for the coffee.'

'Would you like to do something this weekend?' I asked, 'if you're not busy.'

Nadiya looked up at me, her expression neutral. 'What sort of thing?'

'I thought maybe a walk, in the Peak District perhaps, with lunch in a pub or something.'

She smiled. 'That sounds lovely. Are you sure you want to?'

I wasn't quite sure what she meant by that remark so I ignored it. 'Which day is best for you? Saturday or Sunday.'

We settled on Sunday. We also swapped phone numbers and Nadiya said she would text me her address so that I could pick her up. And then it was time to say goodbye and we both stood a bit awkwardly until Nadiya reached up and pecked me briefly on my cheek and I smelled the faint odour of her scent. 'Goodbye, Adam,' she said and got into her car and drove away.

She called me on Saturday evening to say that the forecast for the next day was torrential rain and she didn't think a walk was a good idea. Privately I agreed, although I was heartbroken that I wouldn't see her on Sunday. I'd been thinking about little else since Tuesday.

'There's a film I wanted to see at the cinema,' she went on. 'I don't like going by myself so I wondered if maybe you'd come with me. I'm paying,' she added, hastily.

'Which film?' I asked, my heart soaring and hardly caring what it was. I'd have gone to see Bambi with her. Or Barbie.

The film we went to see that Sunday afternoon was Oppenheimer, and it was high on my list of films that I wanted to see, although I was surprised it was on Nadiya's. It was also one of the best films I have ever seen.

I met her in the foyer of the Multiplex. She was wearing a jumper and black jeans and for the first time I had some idea of how the woman beneath the supermarket uniform looked. She was, so far as I could make out, medium to slim build, with square shoulders, a flat tummy and small breasts. The jeans were tight-fitting and showed her legs to be shapely and strong looking. We had a coffee and a chat and then we went through to the screen room and watched the film for nearly three enthralling hours. It was so entertaining that I almost forgot to sneak looks at Nadiya, and when I did, on one occasion, she was looking at me, which was awkward.

Afterwards I took her to a Mexican restaurant where we had an early dinner and talked about the film as we ate; Nadiya had enjoyed it very much and had done some internet research on the man beforehand, so she was more knowledgeable than me. Again the time flew past and it seemed like only minutes before we were in the carpark again, standing by her scruffy hatchback.

'Thank you so much for coming with me, Adam. I wouldn't have done it on my own.'

'Would you still like to go for a walk?' I asked.

'Yes, I would,' she replied. Then she kissed me briefly on the lips and got into her car.

The following Saturday morning I picked her up from her house; she'd texted me the address during the week. It was an Edwardian mid-terrace in a rather rundown suburb of the city. She stepped out of the front door as I pulled up, threw a small knapsack onto the back seat and climbed in next to me, giving me a smile.

'I'm really looking forward to getting out into the countryside,' she told me. 'It feels like ages since I had a day out.'

I drove us out into the National Park that is located to the northwest of the city and parked in a remote carpark looking out over an expanse of hills and moorland. We hefted our packs and set off down a rutted, dirt track, the morning sun climbing into a cloudless sky, the early May air warm and vibrant with the song of birds. All in all the weather and the location couldn't have been more perfect.