Chapter 2 #3
When, not if. We hadn’t heard back about whether we got into our top university choices yet, but we had done our vision boards, manifested our life in London. We had to believe it. I thought about her question for a moment. “The art galleries. Tate Modern, maybe?”
“Then we could go vintage shopping in Brick Lane,” Nic added, smiling.
“And check out the kilo sales.” There were thrift markets all around London where clothes were weighed and you were charged per kilo.
I saw a girl online managed to score a vintage plaid Burberry skirt for so cheap; it was aspirational.
We had those kinds of markets in Hull, but the pieces were never as good.
“And we need to try all the amazing pastries I’ve seen on Instagram. Like that matcha macaroon cookie.”
We both sighed.
Nic said, “I can’t wait. I’ve been doing extra shifts at the pub to save up.”
Before Dad told us about the move, that had been my plan for the summer, too—to make as much money as possible so I could do all the things I wanted to with ease come September.
My student loan would only stretch so far: to cover my rent and bills, possibly groceries if I was frugal enough.
But I wanted to experience London to the fullest. I did have the inheritance my mum left me, but it was stored in a separate bank account, under strict instructions by my dad to save it for a house deposit one day.
My food arrived, and the sandwich was piled high with fillings: avocado, scrambled egg, a meatless patty, and melted cheddar. I had never seen anything so big, and while it looked incredible, I wasn’t sure how best to tackle it.
I said goodbye to Nic before cutting into the sandwich, using the stick placed down the middle to keep one half on the plate.
While I ate, I watched videos of my favorite fashion influencers shopping and styling their purchases.
I’d always been obsessed with clothes but was moving away from fast fashion.
There was something special about finding secondhand treasures—and I had a somewhat unrealistic expectation that one day I would find an authentic Prada nylon bag for a fraction of the price. A girl could dream.
Halfway into eating, my phone rang. Azar. I answered the call. My sister was breathless as she asked, “How’s things?”
I could hear car horns in the background.
“Where are you? It’s noisy.”
“On my way to pre-drinks. You sound sad. It’s only the first day—it’ll get better.”
“I’m not sad,” I mumbled. “Dad was flirting with the neighbor when I left the house. I’ve gone out to get away from them.”
“Ew, really?”
“Yep. He was blushing. It was gross. She brought cookies, too.”
“Is this The Sims? Do people really do that? And oh my God, if he couples up with an American woman…”
Would it be better if she wasn’t American? I doubted it. Dad hadn’t dated anyone since Mum died. It wasn’t like I wanted him to be alone for the rest of his life, but I also didn’t want to see him flirting. We had only just moved here.
“What did she look like?” Azar asked with an air of indifference, but I knew she was desperate to know.
“Blond, white. She probably does Pilates.”
Azar didn’t say anything for a moment, until she let out a prolonged “Right.” Azar was more of a weights girl.
She worked part-time at a women’s-only gym and taught self-defense classes there.
She’d always loved sports and athletics.
We couldn’t be any more different in that regard, as I longed for a soft life with minimal physical activity.
Regarding Penny, I knew we were both thinking the same thing: It was almost insulting that Dad was interested in someone white, blond, and thin, someone so visually opposite to our mum.
Mum was a classic Iranian beauty, her face soft but fierce, with thick, perfectly arched brows.
Whereas, I had similar facial features as my mum—high cheekbones and large eyes—Azar was like Mum in her mannerisms, the way they both moved with a gracefulness that was feline.
I was glad we shared her traits, at least, so that parts of her remained.
When we ended the call, I attempted to resume eating, my sandwich now lukewarm.
But it was too much, even for me. I had a healthy appetite, but American portion sizes had defeated me.
The waitress—an older woman wearing red lipstick—topped up my coffee graciously without my asking, giving me a bright smile.
Her teeth were pearly white. Everyone had white teeth here.
I gave her a close-lipped smile in return.
“My shift’s over, but Zain will be starting soon if you need anything else.” She slipped the bill from her apron onto the table and left.
I pulled my iPad out of my tote bag and flicked through my drawings.
I had dozens that depicted the flames from different angles, the fire slowly creeping closer to me.
Most recently, I had attempted to draw the crowd from my dreams, watching.
The only thing I ever remembered of them were their grim-set faces.
I swiped through. There was the full moon, shining down on me.
I had taught myself to draw out of a need rather than a hobby.
My illustrations weren’t perfect. They were more cartoonlike, taking inspiration from graphic novels I had grown up consuming.
The style didn’t really matter, though. I just needed to keep my dreams alive, needed to know they weren’t just in my head.
In one folder were hundreds of snakes, and all the different ways they wrapped around my limbs and slithered across the ceiling.
Sometimes, when I let my brain drift as I drew, I ended up with images I didn’t even recognize.
Of medieval rooms that looked like nothing I had seen before.
Rough sketches of courtyards with a fountain, the water rippling and reflecting the walls of a palace.
Of being on a mountain edge about to jump.
It was strange, but I assumed these images were from shows and movies I had seen, seeping into my subconscious.
As I sketched now, I began with the boy’s dark eyes. Not for the first time since I woke up, I wondered who this boy was to the version of me in the dream. What we had done to be burned together. Whether he even knew me, or if we were two strangers being punished for unknown crimes.
I kept working on his face, trying to get his contours right, the sharp cheekbones and soft brows. Soon, the waiter came over to ask if I wanted anything else.
Irritated at the interruption, I lifted my gaze to say a quick “no.” But when I saw the new waiter’s face, it was like I was in an elevator and the cord had suddenly been cut, the drop shocking me into speechlessness. A deep whoosh in the pit of my stomach.
Standing right in front of me was someone who appeared identical to the boy I had spent the last hour drawing.
The boy from my nightmare.