Yours, Eventually

Chapter Twenty-Four

Twenty-Four

Asma woke up late the next morning to her phone buzzing incessantly. Maryam again. When Asma looked, she found that fourteen missed calls and texts had amassed since the previous night. Begrudgingly, she picked up the phone.

“Maryam?”

“Where have you been?” Maryam nearly shouted over the line. “I’ve been trying to get you for the past twenty-four hours? What if I were sick, or one of the boys? What if there was an emergency?”

“Well, I assume you would have called Iman or Abu and they could have walked down the hall and woken me up,” Asma replied, still groggy from sleeping so hard after the previous night out with Omar. “Anyway, I know about Lubna’s engagement. Sophia told me at the party.”

“What party?”

“A three-year-old’s frog-themed birthday party,” Asma said, a palm pressed to her forehead. Already exhausted by this conversation.

“Oh right, Iman told me about that,” Maryam replied. “But how does Sophia know already?”

“Farooq told her, of course,” Asma replied. She felt a catch in her throat as she said his name. Her desperate, unsuccessful attempts to reach him the previous day had left her feeling spent and resigned. Perhaps this was how it would have to be from now on, she thought through her exhaustion. She’d have to grow accustomed to his presence in her life, no matter how painful, as Lubna’s husband. Or would she? Her thoughts were all over the place.

Maybe it wouldn’t all be bad. There was the glimmer of something when she thought of the previous night with Omar. And her new job offer in Sacramento. Perhaps there was a life she could have here. Maybe not the one she’d wanted for so long with Farooq, but something worthwhile all the same.

“Licking his wounds, I imagine,” Maryam said. “I mean, we all think it’s very sudden. Almost nobody saw it coming. Though, not to blame the victim, but he should have been more careful. Those high-powered business types think they’re immune. He was traveling so much for work, it’s no wonder Lubna’s attention was elsewhere.”

“Maryam, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Asma said, dragging herself out of bed and rubbing her eyes, some of yesterday’s makeup smearing across her cheeks. She’d been so worn out over the emotional roller coaster of the previous day, she had just splashed some water on her skin and crawled into bed.

“I know, we were all totally confused too,” Maryam continued. “Aunty Bushra is so upset, she thinks Lubna led him on. She’s been trying to get hold of him, but he’s not answering anyone’s calls. It’s like he just disappeared.”

“Who?” Asma asked, trying to keep up with Maryam’s manic pace as her brain was still turning on. “Who disappeared?”

“Farooq,” Maryam replied, drawing out the name as if Asma wouldn’t recognize it.

“What?” Asma repeated. “Wait, Farooq isn’t answering anyone’s calls?”

“Asma, am I not speaking English? Why is this so hard to follow?”

“Tell me again. From the beginning. Why can’t anyone get hold of Farooq?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Maryam said, her voice suddenly dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe because Lubna just got engaged to one of his friends? I mean, is that a good enough reason?”

The phone nearly slipped from Asma’s grasp, and she fumbled to catch it.

“Maryam, Maryam,” Asma said, interrupting Maryam’s continuing tirade about how Asma really needed to pay better attention. “Who is Lubna engaged to?”

“ Naveed! ” Maryam replied, shouting the name at Asma. “Honestly, where have you been? Lubna threw Farooq over for Naveed!”

“What?” Asma asked, suddenly breathless.

“Yeah, apparently Farooq asked Kamran to cook for Lubna while she was at the rehab center—you know, hospital food is garbage—and Naveed is still off from work and has all this free time, so he would drop the food off. So I guess all those weeks together…they just fell for each other!”

“I can’t believe it,” Asma said, sitting down hard on her bed. Farooq was not getting married. Asma felt so dizzy she put her head between her knees, as she had the day before with Sophia, still gripping the phone.

“And poor Farooq too,” Maryam said, apparently not realizing Asma’s shock over the phone. “Apparently this isn’t the first time he’s been dumped pretty hard. I guess there was some girl in college too. Still, I bet he never guessed he’d get dumped again after making all that money! But honestly, I give Lubna credit for her decision. Love over money. It’s very mature. Something must have been knocked into place when she had that fall and hit her head.”

“Right,” Asma said, and her voice must have sounded vacant, because Maryam finally took notice.

“Asma, are you sure you’re not sick? You sound a little…slow today.”

“I’m fine,” Asma said, clearing her throat. “Actually, Maryam, I have to go.”

“Okay, well, act surprised when Lubna tells you, all right? You didn’t hear any of this from me.”

“Okay, Maryam,” Asma said, hanging up the phone. She sat there, breathing hard for a few minutes, willing her heart rate to come back down. But it was all too much, the rush of relief she’d felt when Maryam had said the words. Lubna was engaged to Naveed. Not Farooq. The thoughts swirled around in Asma’s head.

But the longer Asma sat on the bed, the lighter she felt. Soon a small smile crept over her face.

For the first time since Lubna’s accident, she felt something toward Farooq that she never thought she’d feel again: hope.

—

The South Asian Alliance for Language and Reading’s Literacy Gala was the it function of the year—an annual gathering of the who’s who of Northern California’s Pakistani elite. On this night, the Bay Area’s richest and most exclusive Pakistani families paid thousands of dollars to put on their fanciest clothes and jewelry and gather in a swanky hotel, be treated to a gourmet five-course plated meal, drink alcohol surreptitiously from the hotel bar, and raise money for South Asia’s most vulnerable of populations: poor girls deprived of basic life necessities like food and education.

For years, Mr. Ibrahim had been dying to attend, prior attempts thwarted by poor timing and a lack of business connections. But this year was his chance, and he wasn’t going to let a lowly heart attack stop him. Omar’s fund had purchased a table at the dinner months earlier, and Mr. Ibrahim had claimed seats for the Ibrahim family at the table almost before Omar could offer.

Asma had been planning to feign illness at the last minute. She couldn’t think of a function more outside her comfort zone and she wasn’t yet ready to see Omar. She had ignored his calls all week, unsure of how to reconcile whatever was going on between the two of them with her new information about Farooq’s lack of a relationship with Lubna. Omar had texted her that he wanted to talk, but Asma decided she needed to figure out what she was feeling before they did.

She changed her mind about the gala after hearing about Lubna’s engagement to Naveed. If Maryam was right, that Farooq had gone incommunicado, the gala might be her only opportunity to see him. She was desperate to talk to him, to figure out if they still had a chance. Yusef was the keynote speaker, so Farooq was sure to be there.

Asma kept her eyes peeled for Farooq from the minute she entered the hotel lobby with her father and Iman. They followed the signs to the pre-event reception in the grand ballroom’s majestic foyer, decorated with huge, multicolored floral arrangements. Waiters in matching black-and-white uniforms carried trays of mango lassi shots to temper the spiciness of the appetizers from the buffet station that sat at the center of the room.

The first people Asma recognized were the last people she had any interest in seeing: the Dadabhoys. Mrs. Dadabhoy and Shagufta stood at a small cocktail table, the sour look on Mrs. Dadabhoy’s face and Shagufta’s preoccupation with her cell phone keeping other guests at bay. But not Mr. Ibrahim and Iman, who made a beeline for their table.

Asma held back and looked around the reception. Farooq was nowhere to be found. She moved in on the appetizers and piled up her plate, then stood in a corner trying to look natural while balancing her mound of mini kabobs. She gave up when the chutney began to drip off the side of her plate and joined her family and the Dadabhoys at the cocktail table.

Asma walked up in time to hear her father giving a running commentary on the other guests.

“There’s Dr. Ali,” said Mr. Ibrahim. “He just bought a new house in San Ramon. It was over three million dollars. Five baths, but only four bedrooms.”

Mrs. Dadabhoy looked bored. She paid no attention as Mr. Ibrahim babbled on, instead scanning the crowd and checking out each person who crossed their path.

Someone entering the reception caught her eye and she cut off Mr. Ibrahim midsentence.

“Farooq Waheed?”

Asma’s head jerked toward the entrance. Farooq had entered the reception, alone. He was wearing a sharp black suit and stood by himself. He looked around the reception hall, tall and confident, smiling and nodding at those who passed, all of whom seemed to know exactly who he was. The sight of him took Asma’s breath away.

“Do you know his company is worth hundreds of millions of dollars?” Mrs. Dadabhoy asked.

“Yes, indeed,” Mr. Ibrahim beamed, proudly. “MashAllah, he did all that without even going to college!”

Asma almost spat out the kabob she was chewing and glared at her father. She knew he was a devoted social climber, but this hypocrisy and rewriting of history was too much for her to bear.

She was about to stalk off when Omar joined them at the table.

“Asma, there you are! I was hoping we could speak for a few moments.”

Asma panicked as she saw Farooq heading, seemingly unaware, in their direction. The last thing she wanted was to be forced into making small talk with him in front of this crowd.

“Sure—I’m just going to run to the bathroom. We can chat when I get back.”

But once again, she was too late. Farooq was just a few feet away. Her father called out.

“Farooq! Farooq Waheed!”

Farooq turned, looking shocked when he saw who was beckoning him. He was too close to ignore Mr. Ibrahim. He walked to the table and gave his salaams, making steady eye contact with Asma as he greeted her.

“This is Farooq,” Mr. Ibrahim said to Mrs. Dadabhoy, as if Farooq were an old golf buddy. “His sister stays in our Palo Alto home. And his brother—Dr. Waheed—is a professor in the Ivy League!” Mr. Ibrahim spoke as though he were bragging about his own children.

Asma noticed Farooq’s back stiffen, but he kept a strained smile on his face. “How is your health, Uncle?”

Asma felt a rush of love so strong that she wanted to cry. Even though the man standing in front of Farooq had been the source of the greatest insult and heartbreak of his life, Farooq had the decency to inquire after his well-being.

“Much better, beta.” Mr. Ibrahim smiled and patted Farooq on the shoulder.

“Farooq’s brother-in-law Yusef Abdullah will be giving the keynote tonight,” Asma said, a desperate attempt to get Farooq to look at her again. “He’s a writer, so it’ll be really interesting to hear him speak to the importance of literacy in development work.”

“Indeed,” Mr. Ibrahim agreed. “He’s a very famous author. I am a big fan of his work.”

Asma wanted to lunge across the table and strangle her father. He hadn’t so much as read the back of one of Yusef’s books.

“I’ve heard so much about his latest book,” Omar said. “I really need to pick it up. I just haven’t had the time with work.” Omar looked at Asma. “I’m sure you’re going to miss reading for pleasure, too, once you start your new job.”

“Her new what?” Farooq said, his eyes darting from Omar to Asma.

“Asma received an offer to join the top practice in Sacramento,” Omar announced to the table.

“You did?” Mr. Ibrahim asked.

Asma stared at Omar, speechless, as he continued.

“It’s an amazing opportunity and I know she’ll be fantastic—they are very enthusiastic about having her on staff.”

Asma felt light-headed. What was happening?

“Congratulations, that’s wonderful news,” Farooq said, though she could still tell, all these years later, when he was lying.

She opened her mouth to tell him that Omar was mistaken, that she hadn’t yet accepted anything, but before she could, he nodded in the direction of the foyer’s entrance.

“It was nice to see you all. My sister and Yusef just arrived. Please excuse me.”

—

“What was that all about?” Asma hissed, dragging Omar away from the table the minute Farooq was out of sight.

“What was what about?”

“You! Announcing my job offer to my family!”

“You hadn’t told them yet?”

“No!”

Asma was almost shaking with frustration. She couldn’t believe Omar—he had done everything wrong. Why had she tried to go against her gut and convince herself that he could be right for her? He was just like almost everyone else in her life—completely oblivious to what Asma wanted. Any feelings she had started to develop toward him were incinerated by anger. Their conversation was interrupted by the flashing of the foyer lights as the doors to the ballroom swung open. She and Omar were separated as they were swarmed by guests jostling toward the entrance. Asma found herself swept along with the crowd into the ballroom.

Elaborately decorated banquet tables—complete with centerpieces of cascading flowers—dotted the hall, positioned toward a raised stage at the front, flanked by both Pakistani and American flags. Attendees mingled as a small string ensemble played folk music in the corner, waiters mixing among guests and ushering them toward their tables.

Omar waved at Asma from a table near the front where his fund name was prominently displayed. She ignored him, looking around the hall for Farooq. She spotted him a few tables away from Omar’s, greeting guests at his table. She made her way toward him, but as she did, the MC tapped the microphone asking everyone to take their seats. Asma hurried back over to Omar’s table, annoyed that he had saved her a seat right next to him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said as she sat down, “I had no idea you hadn’t yet told them, but I was a bit preoccupied. I need to talk to you about something.”

Asma wasn’t listening, her attention still on Farooq. She tried to catch his eye, but he wasn’t looking her way. And, despite her best efforts to telepathically communicate with him, he didn’t look her way for the duration of the dinner. By the time Yusef took the stage for his keynote, Asma was a mess. She tried to tune in to his remarks but kept losing focus until the very end:

“But what we can learn from these inspiring young women is the importance of perseverance, determination, and seizing opportunities even when it’s difficult. It’s never, ever too late. Thank you so much, it’s been an honor.”

The audience broke out into applause and cheers and stood up as Yusef left the stage. Asma didn’t take her eyes off Farooq. He finally looked her way and met her gaze. They stood looking at each other for a second until Asma felt a light touch on her back. It was Omar, placing her dupatta on her shoulder. He leaned in and whispered in her ear.

“It fell on the floor.”

Asma looked quickly back at Farooq, who was staring at his phone. He looked stricken when he glanced back up at Asma, and suddenly he was heading for the door.

“Be right back,” Asma muttered to the table before taking off after him.

She rushed through the crowd, still standing and clapping. By the time she made her way into the lobby, Farooq was at the far end, striding toward the exit.

“Farooq! Farooq!”

He slowed down as Asma hurried toward him.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get the chance to talk earlier. And I was so sorry to hear about Lubna.”

“Yes, well. I’ve been thrown over again, it seems,” Farooq said, his eyes averted. The strong, confident man she had been reacquainted with over the past few months was gone. He looked defeated, crumpled, and would not meet her gaze.

“I thought we could maybe take a walk outside and talk?” Asma persisted.

Now Farooq was looking behind her. She turned. Omar had followed her out of the ballroom.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Omar said, extending a hand to Farooq. “We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Omar Khan.”

“Farooq Waheed,” Farooq said brusquely, shaking his hand. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m in a bit of a hurry. Some other time, Asma?” He said her name as if he were addressing a casual acquaintance. Someone he wanted to brush off. It stung enough that Asma took a step back and realized her arm was now brushing Omar’s. Omar raised a steadying hand to Asma’s back—perhaps a reflex, or perhaps a possessive move, in the presence of another man. But it didn’t matter, because Farooq obviously believed it was the latter.

“Have a good night, you two,” Farooq said.

And before Asma could explain—to tell Farooq that he was wrong, that she only wanted him—Farooq left the building.

—

The women’s prayer hall at the mosque was emptying out except for a group of ladies at the front hugging and crying. It was the funeral for one of their distantly related uncles; Asma didn’t even remember him. Asma felt guilty for spending most of the janaza prayer going over the events from the Literacy Gala and figuring out how she could get in touch with Farooq. She’d just have to suck it up and ask Lubna for his number. As she stood with Iman near the back of the room, waiting for the crowd to clear so they could find their shoes jammed in the shoe racks outside the hall, she whispered some extra duas for the old man who had passed.

“He was ninety-one,” Iman said. “Why is everyone acting like this was a big shock? He literally died of old age.”

“You and Abu were the ones who wanted to come.” Asma considered suggesting to Iman that she, too, offer up extra prayers.

Two ladies broke off from the group and made their way toward the exit. As Iman saw them approaching, she whispered, “These aunties are the worst. I’m out.”

Iman left so quickly that Asma didn’t have a chance to follow. She was forced to greet the women, whom she only vaguely recognized, with salaams and hugs. They were thrilled to see her.

“Ibrahim bhai’s daughter, right? Mubarak, beti, so nice to hear your good news.”

“Good news?”

“MashAllah, it’s about time—you must be, what, thirty-eight?” the second aunty asked.

“I’m twenty-seven—”

The first aunty cut Asma off before she could finish.

“You know, these girls wait so long. They say, after I’m done with school, then after I’m done with this and that.”

“Then they get so picky!” said the second aunty.

They spoke to each other as if Asma were not standing right in front of them. She tried to follow along, unsure what they were talking about.

“I just don’t feel it, these girls say,” said the first aunty. “What is this feeling?”

Asma was saved by a buzz in her pocket—a text from Fatima: TELL ME WHAT’S HAPPENING!!!

Asma looked up from her phone to excuse herself, but the aunties were busy talking. They didn’t even notice when she slipped out of the prayer hall. But her aunty escape was thwarted when she encountered another group of them congregated outside the mosque. They greeted her with excitement.

“Finally! MashAllah!”

“Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah. Such wonderful news!” another one said, just as an old man walking by overheard and scowled.

“Inna lillahi wa inna illaihi rajioon. So sorry for your loss,” said the aunty to the old man.

Asma wondered if the aunties had her mixed up with someone else. But then her phone was buzzing in her hand, and she stepped away from the aunties and the uncles to pick it up.

“You have to tell me everything,” said Fatima.

“What?” Asma said. “I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience right now. Why is everyone acting like I won the lottery and I’m the last to know?”

“Oh my God, you actually don’t know, do you?” Fatima said.

“Fatima!” Asma replied. “What?”

“Okay, you have to get Instagram, I’m serious this time. Omar Khan posted a story of himself ring shopping at Tiffany’s.”

“Ring shopping?” Asma asked, her mouth suddenly dry. “Like…”

“Like an engagement ring. He’s holding a small velvet ring box in the photo. And it says ‘You all can keep a secret, right?’ With a diamond ring and a heart emoji. Asma…is he about to ask you to marry him?”

“No,” Asma replied. “Absolutely not. We’ve hung out maybe two or three times? There’s no way.” But then a thought occurred to her. “Fatima, when did he post that photo?”

“Like, at seven last night, why?”

Asma thought back; he must have posted it right before arriving at the Literacy Gala. Her heart rate picked up. Was that why he kept trying to get her alone? And why he was so possessive around Farooq? Another thought occurred to her then—Farooq. Maybe that was what he saw on his phone. Maybe that was the reason he’d left in such a hurry and been so terse with her when he did. Did Farooq believe that Omar was going to ask Asma to marry him that same night?

“People have been congratulating me all morning,” Asma said. “They must assume that Omar and I are engaged! And what about Iman? Rehana said she’s not interested, but Iman has never said anything to me.”

“Well…” Fatima said carefully, “have you considered what you’ll say if he does ask you?”

“I’m going to throw up,” Asma replied.

“Oh, honey,” Fatima said, and Asma could hear the reassuring smile in her voice. “Whatever you do, don’t do that.”