Chapter 16
16
‘Tell me the whole thing again,’ Sal pressed.
I’d already repeated everything that had happened between me and Karim Malik many times over, yet it still hadn’t lost its thrill. I didn’t think it ever would.
‘ Again? ’ I grinned, rolling on to my stomach.
‘I want all the deets.’
‘I’ve literally told you everything . That’s all that happened.’
‘So far.’
Sal waggled her brows suggestively and I giggled, hugging my pillow tight to my chest. I’d told her that he hadn’t messaged or called yet, and she’d said he was just trying to play it cool, that there was no way he wouldn’t reach out after the Bollywood-level moments we’d shared.
‘Why are we doing this over FaceTime?’ she asked. ‘Can’t you just come over to mine with those treats you promised? At least then we can gush properly.’
‘Mum gave me a massive list of chores,’ I grumbled. ‘Dad’s friends are coming over for dinner today. You’d think they’re coming to inspect if there’s any dust behind the TV.’
‘She did give you permission to come over though, right?’
‘Yeah, but I can’t stay for long because I still have to finish cleaning.’
‘We literally have to ration our time together!’ Sal replied irritably.
‘I’ll come now. Oh my God, you’re going to love the tropical cheesecake. I believe it was Karim’s favourite.’
I hung up the phone to the sound of Sal shrieking like a wild animal. I put on a white T-shirt and the thinnest tracksuit bottoms I owned, as the September sun was still hot.
A few minutes later I was sitting on her bed, and we were devouring the desserts in rapturous silence because they were that damn delicious.
‘I’ve got more news,’ I told Sal. ‘Farhan bhai secured an amazing deal for catering the desserts at the Malik mehndi and walima functions!’
‘Congratulations!’ she squealed. ‘I just knew Jashan was gonna make it big.’
‘Mum acted as though she didn’t care when I told her yesterday. But I saw her on her prayer mat earlier today and she was crying. Tears of gratitude for once. I could tell.’
‘I’m so glad things are finally looking up. Maybe your parents might even reach out to your brother now?’
I shrugged as I snuggled into her side. I felt completely and utterly calm. I regretted not calling her the previous night; I should’ve because she always made me feel like everything would be just fine.
‘I’m going into a sugar coma,’ I muttered through a stifled yawn.
‘Me too,’ Sal replied, scrolling through her phone, and suddenly bringing it close to my face. ‘Have you seen this yet? It’s going kinda viral!’
It was a video of Imran Sayyid’s fitness journey.
I found myself blushing a little as I watched clips of him doing push-ups, throwing fists at a punching bag and lifting a barbell into a smooth biceps curl. His six-pack was visible through the sweat-soaked grey vest clinging to him.
‘He’s in really good shape now, right?’ Sal exclaimed. ‘Only one day till school starts. With how much both his muscles and his followers have grown, girls will be all over him.’
‘Nothing new there. I don’t know how much more popular he could become.’
Imran was in the same clique as Hania, and although he’d been seen with plenty of girls in the past it had certainly never damaged his reputation. His family’s reputation, on the other hand, had been irreversibly tainted when his eldest brother had been imprisoned for selling Class A drugs.
Most of our local South Asian community had started whispering and keeping their distance from the Sayyids. My mum had stopped speaking to them soon afterwards, only lingering around long enough to glean bits of gossip that she could share with the other aunties.
My parents had made it clear that I was to stay well away from Imran. It was silly of them to even mention it because they didn’t allow me to speak to any boys. But they’d probably felt they needed to make it extra clear because the Sayyids’ house was exactly opposite ours and they’d allowed me to play football with Imran when we were children.
In the last year of primary school, things changed. The boys had become taller, leaner, more aware of the fact that we were girls. Although they didn’t leave us out of football, they started treating us differently, making comments about our ability to play as well as them. One boy even stated that we should sit every game out in case we were injured and got the boys in trouble, to which Sal responded by showing him the middle finger, tackling him and scoring a goal.
Something else also changed: I began to notice just how attractive Imran Sayyid was, how good his tanned arms looked in T-shirts, how my heart thundered whenever he came close.
While Sal remained carefree, I started behaving differently around the boys, no longer shouting sarcastic comments or moving my body recklessly; I became quieter, more reserved.
Imran and I attended Quran classes at the same mosque, but since it was segregated I never really saw him, apart from maybe a few glimpses here and there near the entrance, but it would be considered inappropriate and immodest for us to stand about chatting, not that I ever tried, and he never attempted to reach out to me either. I sometimes thought I saw his gaze settle on me, but I could never be sure because I purposely kept my eyes fixed on something else if I sensed he was nearby.
The last time I’d spoken to him was a year ago, when I was walking down a corridor at school; he’d tapped my shoulder and extended a hand towards me, holding my library card, which it turned out I’d dropped. I’d murmured my thanks and he’d given me a quick wink before strolling off. It had been the smallest, most meaningless interaction and yet my heart had pounded wildly, and I hadn’t been able to concentrate much for the rest of the day.
Although Sal always took a few minutes to chat to Imran if she happened to spot him on our road, I never dared to. The last thing I needed was for my parents to catch me speaking to him, and anyway, Imran Sayyid just screamed trouble. A whole load of handsome, overconfident, rebellious trouble.
‘You don’t have a crush on Imran, do you?’ I asked Sal, who was still staring at his biceps on her phone screen.
‘Oh, hell no!’ Her eyes snapped to mine. ‘Roadman ain’t my type.’
‘That’s the spirit.’
There wasn’t a single girl we knew who’d come out of something with Imran Sayyid with dry eyes.
‘I know we’ve barely chilled, but Mum will get annoyed if I’m not back soon,’ I said reluctantly.
Sal made a face but immediately stood, threw her hijab on, then pinned it into place. She walked me to my door so we’d have a few more minutes together.
‘Saliha Begum,’ I sang as I hugged her. ‘You’re literally the most perfect best friend and sister a girl could ask for.’
‘Sisters for life,’ she said with sass, and then looked over my shoulder and began to wave. ‘Speaking of the devil …’
I turned and –
Imran Sayyid.
He was grabbing his gym bag from the boot of his black Volkswagen Golf GTI. When he noticed us, he lifted his head a fraction in greeting.
The middle Sayyid brother, Saqib, had done well at university, studying economics at University College London and getting himself a high-flying job in Dubai soon after graduating. He sent his family back plenty of money, which was how Imran had been able to buy himself a car and indulge in the flashy lifestyle he currently enjoyed. I’d heard he’d even fine-dined a handful of girls from school.
‘It’s been a while,’ Sal said with a smile. ‘What you been up to?’
‘Jus’ this and that, innit,’ Imran replied, swinging the gym bag over his shoulder. The motion emphasized the perfect shape of his biceps.
He’d grown in height and muscle density – perhaps even in sex appeal, if I dared to admit it. I gulped a little, scolding myself for my inappropriate thoughts. His gaze found mine and I abruptly began to study Saliha’s hijab.
‘What’s happenin’ with you, mate?’ he asked, locking his car and strolling over to us until he stood at the edge of the pavement. Sal walked closer to him, too, and tugged me along with her.
‘Oh, you know, jus’ this and that,’ she said, imitating him.
He chuckled.
It was a soft, deep sound that left my nerves in jumbles.
‘We’re planning to revise our notes for maths and chem tomorrow,’ Sal said. ‘Wanna join us?’
‘Calm,’ he replied, looking genuinely interested.
My insides grew hot with annoyance at Saliha. I wished she’d asked me first. How could I focus on studying if Imran Sayyid was in the same room?
‘I’ve still got the notes Saqib made,’ Imran said. ‘He did real well in his exams. I’ll share ’em with you guys.’
‘That would be amazing,’ Saliha replied eagerly, and then looked at me.
There was a pause as though they were both waiting for my input. I looked at Sal with my what are you doing? eyes.
She gave me her stop being weird look in return.
When she turned back to Imran and smiled, I was still staring at her hijab pin, clueless of where else to look. I knew I’d come across as a complete weirdo if I kept gawking at her head though, so I dared a glance in his direction.
He was looking straight at me.
I held my breath.