Chapter 22
Over the next few days, I notice Aashiq more. Like, a lot more. Like more than is appropriate for someone who technically isn’t real.
I notice the curl of hair at the nape of his neck and how he ruffles it when he’s thinking deeply about something.
It doesn’t happen often, because Aashiq is of the “speak first, think after” variety, so whenever I see his fingers reach for the tiny strands at the back of his collar, I know something profound is coming.
I notice the way he prefers to stretch his legs out on every surface, whether he’s sprawled on the couch or lying on the floor or spread out on my bed.
It’s like wherever he used to be in my brain was so crowded that this is his chance to take up as much space as possible.
And I notice the happiness that glows in his eyes whenever he looks at me, like he can’t fathom being anywhere else.
I know how bizarre I sound. I try to rationalize it in my head by constantly telling myself Aashiq isn’t real, but every time he brushes against my shoulder when he passes me in the kitchen as he makes sure I eat something good, it feels real.
Every time he gets excited when we reach a breakthrough in the new book’s outline and he gives me a high five, it feels real.
And every time we go out for our evening walk to talk about the story, the desire to hold his swinging hand feels so, so real.
I ignore it—mostly—by throwing myself into work.
Not just writing the outline for the new book, but at the office as well.
After the day I spent with Joe, he asked me to keep filling in for his assistant after it became clear they needed more time away.
It was mostly administrative work, but I eagerly accepted, and every now and then I get to tag along on his cases to see how things work inside the courtroom.
He also told me he’s already put in a good word for me with Colin, so that improved my mood, too.
Except that’s not enough for Aashiq, apparently, because when we arrive at the office this morning, he pivots in front of me, blocking my path to my desk. “Today’s the day,” he declares.
I frown but shrug off my jacket. At this point, I’m used to his antics, so I’ve gotten good at just continuing with my business.
“The day for what?” I ask. I go to sidestep him, but he follows my movement.
I end up closer to his chest, with little space left between us.
My eyes widen as my heart skips a beat. This proximity isn’t helping with the delusions I’ve been having lately.
“The day you ask Colin for your funding package for your JD!”
My stomach sinks. “What?” I splutter, shaking my head. “I’m doing no such thing.”
“Why not?” he questions. “You’ve been doing well at work, and Joe said he spoke with Colin on your behalf. It’s the perfect time for you to sweep in and get what you were promised.”
“I’ve already asked Colin, remember?” I remind him. “The day before my birthday. He brushed me off.”
“How hard did you try, really?” Aashiq questions. “Did you sit down with him and discuss your plan properly? Or did you half-heartedly ask while he was busy doing other things?”
He’s got me there. But… “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “He’s already dismissed me, and I can’t go back and ask him about it again.”
“Why not?” Aashiq presses. “You deserve the world.”
Warmth floods my cheeks at his casual speech. It’s a profound statement—the world is a vast place, after all, and not exactly something you can tangibly take into your own hands for yourself—but he said it so sincerely, without a hint of irony, that I knew he meant every word.
But annoyance quickly replaces those fuzzy feelings.
I know Aashiq’s perseverance is well-meaning, but sometimes I wish he’d drop something once I’ve made it clear I don’t want to talk about it.
Plus, I’m not even fully sure I believe what he’s said.
“Because beyond asking for the actual money, I don’t have any kind of plan. ”
“Sure you do!” Aashiq counters. “What schools did you have picked out?”
I grit my teeth, but at his unrelenting stare, I sigh. “Columbia was the dream,” I answer. “But you have to have backups for the dream, so I also had New York University and Brooklyn Law School.”
“Alright, there you go,” he says. “That’s a start—you have your top three schools picked out. What about your LSAT score?”
“I never took the LSATs,” I admit. “I didn’t think I wanted to be a lawyer until a few years ago, and by then I had no time to study or take the test. Plus, I didn’t want to spend so much time and energy on studying if I didn’t have a way to pay for law school.”
“Okayyyy…” Aashiq drawls. “We can work with that. But if we want to see this come to fruition, then you need to ask Colin for the money.”
“How?” I ask. “He’s barely in the office. He’s not even here right now!”
As if on cue, the door behind me opens. I spin around to see my boss strolling in, coffee in hand, staring down at his phone.
Aashiq presses his hands to the small of my back, and his gentle push sends a thrill through my body. “Speak!” he whispers.
The words tumble out as I stagger forward. “Good morning, Colin!” I squeak out.
Colin abruptly glances up, startled. “Oh, good morning, Ziya,” he greets. He peers at the desk. “Where’s the guy who follows you around?”
I furrow my brows and peek over my shoulder. Aashiq is still behind me, but he must’ve made himself invisible to everyone but me. He hasn’t done it in a while, which worries me because if he expects me to confront Colin without him, he’s out of his mind.
Don’t worry, I’ll still be here. Aashiq’s voice tickles the hairs at the back of my neck, and I ignore the goose bumps sprouting on my skin. But you need to have this conversation with the two of you. Now, go on.
I bite the inside of my cheek. “He’s not in yet,” I reply to Colin. Sweat dampens my palms, and I resist the urge to wipe them on my dress pants. “No one is. Before everyone else gets in, though, I was hoping we could talk?”
Don’t say it like a question , Aashiq states. Be firm in your resolve.
“I was hoping we could talk,” I repeat, dropping my voice so it carries obvious finality.
Colin raises a brow, and I’m not sure if it’s because I repeated myself or because he’s shocked that I’ve determinedly asked to speak with him. I wait for his dismissal, my shoulders caving inward, but to my surprise, he says, “Okay, sure. Let’s go to my office.”
My pulse quickens, but Aashiq’s hand on the small of my back reminds me to keep my spine straight as I follow behind Colin. I lift my chin and square my shoulders, hoping that’ll encourage confidence to hold myself together.
When we enter Colin’s private office, my mind flashes back to the first time I saw it.
I was nearly twenty-four, and completely burnt out from working odd jobs to pay rent.
It turns out it’s hard to find a job in the legal field when you don’t intend on becoming a lawyer.
I spent hours doom-scrolling on LinkedIn, gritting my teeth as I passed on posting after posting because they wanted people who had their JDs.
At the time, I had a political science degree, because I thought it’d be my “safe” route while I worked to get my writing career off the ground.
Unfortunately, I underestimated how long that would take, so after a couple of years waitressing (which is an all-around terrible job but infinitely worse in New York City), dog-walking for a woman who lived in the Upper East Side (which I quit after only a couple of weeks because the commute and hours absolutely killed me), and working at a cozy indie bookstore (which I loved and would never have left, but the owner retired and decided to sell the place and it became a candle store), I knew I couldn’t last much longer working in a job not in my field.
By Allah’s grace, though, I refreshed the LinkedIn page one night while downing a two-liter bottle of soda right when the job posting for a legal secretary position was posted.
I applied right away, and a week later, I was in Colin’s office giving my interview.
I remember being absolutely mesmerized; New Scope Law was on its way to being one of the biggest firms in Brooklyn, and after a few years of being out of the loop within my own field, I’d forgotten what it was like to be surrounded by the law.
It reminded me of how much I liked the legal industry, and why I wanted to be part of it in the first place.
The aura was just so professional and serious.
The imposter syndrome during the whole interview was so real I thought I was going to puke on the shoes my mom bought me for the occasion.
Thankfully, though, there was no cookie toss, and Colin hired me.
The office is as flawless now as it was then. A floor-to-ceiling window shows an unobstructed view of the Brooklyn skyline, and a tall potted plant sits in each corner of the window wall. When I first started working here, I watered them every morning, until eventually I realized they were fake.
Colin’s large mahogany desk sits by the window, with his own chair behind and two comfortable black chairs in front, perfect for keeping clients relaxed and calm.
Framed certificates cover the cream-colored wall beside it.
They range from Colin’s undergraduate to JD and PhD qualifications, to his fifteen years working as a volunteer for the ACLU.
He’s an intimidating man, hence why I’ve been so reluctant to properly ask him for money to fund my own studies.
I take a seat as Colin sits behind his desk. Aashiq hovers next to me, and his presence is enough to soothe the tension in my shoulders. I place my hands in my lap and straighten my back, then lift my chin. Even if I don’t feel confident, I can at least give the impression I do.