Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
T he next day, on Saturday, Naadia has gone back to her place, which is literally perfect for me.
I could never invite Rizwan over to my own house for various reasons (beginning with Papa, then going on to I don’t want to seem too interested, then going on to it would not be proper, then ending once more with Papa) but because Naadia is a married woman, she can do such things. In desi society, married women can get away with quite a lot.
“You have to throw a brunch party tomorrow,” I tell Naadia on FaceTime, while I sit on a patch of sunlight in the family room, painting my nails (halal nail polish for the win!). “I’ve already worked out who to invite: me, of course, then Shanzay and Emad, and Rizwan. And whoever else you want to invite, I guess.”
“Why don’t you just throw it?” she asks.
“I can’t!” I reply. “I need to be aloof .”
Naadia snorts. “Fine, but I’m just going to order food because I don’t feel like cooking.”
“Um, lame, but okay,” I reply. “I would come early to help, but I would rather show up late and have him wonder where I am. Ooh, and you could say you don’t know if I am coming or not! That would be a great touch. Have him wonder, you know? Give me a mysterious air.”
“Excuse me?” she replies. “You want me to lie ?”
“Don’t be dramatic,” I say. “Remember all the trouble I went through to set you and Asif up! Need I remind you of a certain beach excursion?”
“Okay, okay, I get it.” She laughs. “You’re a crazy lady, but I will pretend to wonder where you are, or if you are coming at all.”
“Yay!” I clap.
“But you’ll have to make me chocolate croissants as payment.”
“Ooh, fantastic idea! I can woo him with my divine baking.”
“Um, no, because I’m going to eat them all. He can’t have any.”
“You’re delusional if you think you’re eating all of them.”
“You mean you’re delusional if you think I’m not.”
“Hello, I’m trying to bribe the prospective great love of my life! You can’t have all of them!”
“Fine, but you’re making me a batch just for me next time.”
“Deal.”
After laboring for hours over the very sensitive croissant dough, I am gratified to find they have baked to flaky perfection the next morning. I hand one to Papa as I am heading out the door hoping it will distract him, but he makes me stop in his office for an interrogation.
“Where are you going?” he asks, even though I have told him half a dozen times I am going to Naadia and Asif’s apartment in downtown Brooklyn. Her medical school is in Manhattan, a quick subway ride away, and Asif’s law offices are in Brooklyn, walking distance from their place.
“To Naadia’s for brunch, remember?” I say patiently.
“You’re driving all the way to Brooklyn? For brunch?”
“Yes, Papa.”
“Doesn’t seem like a good idea.” He says this every time I go to Naadia’s, which is about an hour and a half away (without traffic it could go down to an hour and ten, but there’s always traffic). To be fair to Papa, driving in Brooklyn is a headache, but they live in a very fancy building and there’s a parking garage right next door, so at least I never have to worry about parking.
“Well.” I tap my feet impatiently. He won’t stop me, of course; he’ll let me go, he just needs to be fussy about it first.
“Hm.” He chews his croissant, analyzing me. “Why so much makeup? Who are you trying to impress?”
“Maybe I’m trying to impress a boy,” I tease. Papa’s reaction is visceral and immediate.
“Impress? A boy? Why would you ... why would you even do that?” he sputters. “Or think that? None of these boys are worthy!”
“Papa, I was joking, please,” I reply. Obviously not the moment for some humor. Noted. “You know I wouldn’t do such a thing.” Though I did take extra care with my appearance today.
It’s as if he doesn’t hear me. He begins a lecture about “aaj kal ke larke” and how useless boys are these days. Surely he must know I will eventually have to marry one of them.
“Besides,” Papa adds, at the end, as if sensing my thoughts, “you cannot get married and leave me.”
“I know, Papa,” I reply, smiling sweetly to placate his frown. “But can I go for brunch now? I’m running late. I’ll be back by the evening.”
He nods. I move to exit, and his voice calls out. “Where is your coat?” I hold it up to him. “Gloves?”
“It isn’t so cold,” I reply.
“If your car breaks down and you are stranded on the side of the road and it starts to snow, then what?” I release a measured breath, clenching my jaw. Papa is of the attitude that catastrophe can come at any moment, so you must prepare for the worst. “Perhaps I should go with you.”
“I’ll be fine, I’m leaving, Allah hafiz,” I say, kissing his cheek and scurrying out the door before he can follow.
It is cold out, but my car warms quickly, and I’m on my way. It is a bit of a hassle to get there, and I don’t understand why they choose to pay so much in rent when they could stay at the Sheikhs’s, which is such a large house. Fawad lives there alone, but Naadia and Asif wanted a place of their own – even if it is only a modest two-bedroom – to save them the commute.
By the time I reach my destination, everyone has already arrived. While I hate to be late, I do love making an entrance.
It has the desired effect. I walk in through the front door, which is unlocked, and loudly say salaam.
Everyone immediately looks my way as I saunter in: Shanzay, Emad, Rizwan, Fawad, Asif, Naadia, Sadaf, Haya, and Zahra. Everyone is squeezed together on the dark green sofas in the living room. Naadia’s apartment is small and feels even more so with how much she’s decorated it.
Every surface is covered with interesting lamps, photo frames, trinkets from various travels, or ceramic pieces from her college days. The walls are filled with art prints, and the sofas have various throws and pillows messily arranged on them. Tassel curtains hang in front of the windows, and a huge, fluffy rug covers most of the hardwood floors. Still, the boho interior has a warm ambience to it, especially with all the people crowded inside.
“Oh, you made it!” Naadia says, tone loudly surprised. She gets up to greet me in the entryway, and Rizwan does as well, trailing behind her.
“It’s good to see you again,” Rizwan says. He takes one of the plates of chocolate croissants from me, and I hand the other to Naadia, who slips away to the kitchen, leaving me and Rizwan alone. Good job, Naadia.
“I couldn’t let you go without giving you a chance to make yourself memorable,” I reply, taking off my coat. “I am quite generous like that.”
Rizwan smiles, taking my coat with his other hand, but a moment later, he scrunches his face with puzzlement, remembering he does not know where the coats go.
“I’ll take that,” I laugh, going to hang my coat on a hook. “We can put that in the kitchen.”
Rizwan follows me to the kitchen with the chocolate croissants where Naadia is brewing coffee. There is a nice spread of bagels and eggs and lox on the countertop with orange juice and milk.
Fawad is in the kitchen, as well. He is standing in front of the counter, his shirtsleeves rolled up as he cuts up some strawberries. I watch his slender hands move, the deft fingers, his signet ring glinting.
Fawad looks up as I enter, and our eyes meet. Then he looks behind me, to Rizwan holding what I’ve baked, and his eyes narrow.
“Fantastic,” Fawad mutters to himself. I furrow my brows at his comment, wondering why he is in such a surly mood so early on in the day.
“These smell amazing ,” Rizwan says, distracting me. “I love chocolate croissants, and even if I didn’t, I’m sure after today I would have been converted.”
I smile up at him, butterflies fluttering in my stomach. He is so sweet. Naadia exchanges a glance with me, wiggling her eyebrows as he sets the croissants down. I go to stand beside Naadia, elbowing her while I pretend to help her with the coffee.
“Do you need any help?” Rizwan asks Naadia and I.
“No, she’s alright,” Fawad cuts in before Naadia can answer. I give him a strange look, which he ignores.
“I’m fine, thank you,” Naadia says to Rizwan. “You can go sit with the others.”
Rizwan nods, taking his leave, and I huddle close to Naadia so we can giggle together. She pinches my arm.
“What a cutie ,” Naadia affirms. “That accent!”
“I know right,” I respond in a hushed tone.
“And you’ll be pleased to know he came in a gray trench coat,” Naadia adds. We love a man in a good Burberry trench coat. I gifted Asif one for his birthday when he was courting Naadia, and it definitely played a hand in her falling in love with him.
“How long has everyone been here?” I ask.
“Not too long.”
I glance at Fawad, who is clearly trying to listen to our whispers without seeming like he is.
The warmth and comfort of two days ago has gone. There is a cold expression on his face. I want to make a childish comment at him about how Rizwan is here and just as handsome and spectacular as I had always thought, and how the waiting was worth it, but before I can, Sadaf comes to the kitchen to grab some water.
“Humaira!” she cries, enveloping me in a hug. “I haven’t seen you in forever, where have you been?”
“I knooow,” I say, leaning into her tall frame. We pull back and smile at each other. Sadaf is almost half a foot taller than me, wearing a pair of dark jeans over her long legs and a black sweater with a black hijab. Her gold nose ring is the only jewelry she has on, and it gives her a very striking look.
“I’m glad Naadia threw this little brunch together and I got to see you,” Sadaf says.
“Yes, so good of Naadia,” I say, giving her a conspiratorial smile.
“What?” Sadaf asks, confused when she catches the look on my face. She has a sister, too, so she knows all about the silent communication. “Fill me in.”
Naadia gives her the rundown about Rizwan, only sidetracking a few times.
“Oh! This is him ?” Sadaf says. Naadia and I have of course mentioned Zeeshan Uncle’s enigmatic nephew before. “He’s a total hottie. I love this for you, Humaira. Ten out of ten.”
“Right!”
“Even though all men are trash,” she reminds me. Sadaf is tough with a capital T and takes no nonsense from men. “When they look that good, a girl can make an exception.”
“Amen to that,” Naadia agrees.
“And what an entrance, Humaira! Love the new skirt,” Sadaf says.
“We are just so glad you could make it,” Naadia says in mock gratitude, fawning over me. I laugh, shrugging her off.
“I decided to grace you with my presence, after all,” I reply, flipping my hijab end. This, at last, prompts a comment from Fawad, who is putting the tray of fruit beside the rest of the food.
Oh. I forgot he was in the kitchen with us.
“You didn’t know if you could come, yet you had time to bake croissants?” Fawad asks, tone unpleasant. I cut my glance his way, but before I can say anything, he walks out.
Um. Okay. Whatever.
“Everyone come eat,” Naadia says to the others. Everyone comes in to get food, and Rizwan goes straight for the croissants, piling three onto his plate and smiling at me as he does. I giggle, then go to grab Shanzay, who looks great in a black jumpsuit and cardigan.
I had already called her about Rizwan, so she knows. It’s him .
“He’s so handsome,” Shanzay whispers to me.
“Isn’t he!” I squeal. “How is it going with Emad?” I ask, voice low.
“Well, I think!” she replies. “He’s a great listener, and asks me all about working at the office with you, and what types of projects you and I work on, and what we do for fun.”
We both grin, then join the others to get food. I properly greet and hug Haya and Zahra, who are engrossed in their own conversation. I’m glad to see them, too.
“I’m sure everyone’s been asking, so I won’t ask how wedding planning is going and will instead ask something much more fun,” I tell Haya. “How’s honeymoon planning going?”
Haya blushes, her cheeks turning the same pink as her glasses. She’s wearing a pastel blue sweater with a matching hijab and a pair of cream pants. She has a heart-shaped face with big brown eyes and is just the sweetest thing. Zahra elbows her, giggling.
“I bought her the cutest sets of lingerie,” Zahra informs me. She’s wearing boyfriend jeans and a blouse with an oversized cardigan on top, her scarf a dark green.
“Stop,” Haya says, covering her face with her hands for a second. Then she turns back to me. “Carlos is booking everything, it’s going to be a surprise.”
I gasp. “A surprise? That’s so stressful.”
“Don’t worry, we’re guiding him,” Zahra says. “He texts me and Sadaf like every other day asking for our opinions. At this point, I’m planning her honeymoon.”
Haya giggles. “Perfect.”
“And not to toot my own horn, but it’s going to be amazing. I will be living vicariously through you.”
“It could be you soon,” I say to Zahra. “Any romance in your life?” (If you couldn’t tell already, I love a good gossip.)
Zahra laughs. “No, nothing interesting going on in my life.”
“What about that guy who works at the restaurant with you?” I ask. “I feel like you always have funny stories about him to tell.”
“Yaseen? What? No, no, no, he’s just my coworker! Friend, if anything.”
“She is always talking about him!” Haya says, voice vindicated. She turns to Zahra. “See, I told you so.”
Zahra’s jaw drops. “I am not! And even if I am, it’s because I see him, like, every day.”
“She’s always giggling,” Haya tells me.
“That’s because he’s objectively funny!”
Zahra is giggling even now. Interesting.
We chat a little more, then I leave the best friends to go attend to Shanzay, though Emad and Rizwan have been very attentive toward her. Emad makes room for me on the couch, and I squeeze in beside Shanzay, bumping her shoulder with mine. We share smiles.
Fawad must truly be in a mood, for he sits on the side, a sullen expression across his face. I wonder if his parents called; he is usually in a mood after that...
“Humaira, you’re such an excellent baker,” Rizwan says. “I am sorry to have missed your pies from Thanksgiving.”
“Ugh, those were so good,” Emad agrees. “You should open a catering company, Humaira, you would literally make a fortune.”
“Aw, thanks,” I reply. “You know, Shanzay is my protege, and I have been teaching her some of my recipes.”
“I am not half as good as you are,” Shanzay says, voice high.
“No you are!” I respond. “She is,” I tell the boys. “She loves baking. She’s so good at it, too!”
Shanzay gives me a funny look. “I don't really love baking...” But her voice is low, so I do not quite hear her.
Besides, the effect on the boys is immediate: they look impressed.
“With Humaira as a teacher, I’m sure your desserts are just as good,” Emad says to Shanzay, eyes warm. She smiles.
We continue chatting, Emad and Rizwan both talking about their work in very grand terms, clearly trying to impress us and outdo one another. I loop my arm through Shanzay’s and lean against her. She leans back, the both of us pleased with our crushes’ notice.
After a little while, I take out my mini polaroid camera and hand it to Rizwan. “Will you take a picture of me and Shan?” I ask sweetly.
“Of course,” he replies. We angle together, and I see Emad looking at us intently, just as I hoped he would.
“Emad, why don’t you join in, as well?” I say.
“Sure!” he replies, too enthusiastic to hide it. He comes to sit beside me, but I shift so there isn’t much room, and point to Shanzay’s side. She elbows me as he comes to sit beside her.
“Ready?” Rizwan asks.
“How do we look?” I ask, adjusting my hijab.
“Perfect,” he replies, but he’s looking at me.
“Three ... two…”
As he snaps the picture, I shift to be half out of frame, and when it prints, I see I have been mostly successful. You can only see the corner of my smile; the main focus is all on Shanzay and Emad.
“We look amazing,” Emad says. “I will be keeping this, thank you.”
Shanzay and I exchange a glance. Ah!
When everyone disperses to pray, I pull Shanzay aside for a private moment in the corner.
“Emad is most definitely interested in you,” I say. She gasps.
“Really?” she asks, excited, then nervous. “How can you tell?”
“From the way he is so attentive, of course! And his gaze was on you constantly,” I say. “Plus, did you not see how excited he was about the polaroid? It’s your first picture together! No wonder he wants to save it. So sweet!”
“But what should I do? How do I behave?” She nibbles her bottom lip. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Do not worry, dear Shanzay,” I say. “I will teach you, of course.”
“Humaira, you’re so kind,” Shanzay says. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
I give her a hug. “Happy to help.”
We go to pray, then join the others back in the main room, where everyone is spread out on the sofas and floor, broken off into little pairs. Naadia is sitting on the edge of a chair with Asif, the pair talking with Sadaf, while Haya and Zahra are in their own little world. Emad and Shanzay have their own conversation, while Rizwan asks me about my job and where I studied, then I ask about him.
“How was Oxford?” I ask. “I’ve always wanted to go. When we went to England last, I didn't even get to visit!”
“I did enjoy my time there,” he replied.
“I love all those old libraries,” I say. “Even though the books must be terribly boring, the architecture and design is so beautiful and enchanting.”
I hear a little noise behind me and turn to see Fawad over my shoulder. He’s been listening in, expression sour.
“Only you would forsake such a wealth of knowledge and history for aesthetics,” Fawad says, dark eyes stormy.
I bristle at his tone. That was an unfair thing to say, and he knows it is. I open my mouth to set him straight, blood drumming through my veins, but before I can, Rizwan speaks.
“Aesthetics are important, too, and cannot be entirely ignored,” he says as I face him. “We are a shallow sort of people, drawn to what is beautiful.”
And as he says beautiful , he smiles just at me. My cheeks warm and I smile back, mood placated.
I turn around to give Fawad a superior glance, to which he makes an exasperated face and rolls his eyes. Without another word, he stalks away.
No one else really makes anything of it, for he moves quietly and quickly, but it does not escape my notice when he disappears from the main area entirely and goes to Asif and Naadia’s bedroom.
I know I should let it go, but after a moment, I follow him. When I enter, he’s loosening his tie in front of the mirror atop the dresser and releasing a long breath. I close the door behind me and walk further into the room.
He sees me in the reflection and turns, face stunned.
“Humaira—”
“What is your problem?” I ask, irritated. “Why are you being rude to Rizwan, when he has come from so far, and after so long?”
Whatever he was going to say evaporates on his lips. He shuts his mouth, clenching his jaw. He turns back to the mirror and tightens his tie. Then he faces me, taking two long steps toward me.
He stands so close I have to lift my chin to look up at him, and he must angle his face downwards to look at me.
“I am being perfectly civil,” he replies evenly.
I scoff. “You should revisit the meaning of the word.”
I don’t understand it. Why is Fawad in such a bad mood regarding Rizwan? Fawad is probably just upset that I was right once again and that Rizwan is just as handsome and charming as I thought he would be.
“What are you doing with Shanzay and Emad?” he asks, changing the subject. He succeeds in surprising me. “You keep pushing them together.”
“I’m not doing anything.” Now it is my turn to look away. I take a step back. “If they are interested in one another, that is their own business.”
“Interested?” He scoffs. “You must be mistaken, as you usually are.”
I give him a dirty look, taking another step backwards. My shoulders hit the door, and I rest my hands against the wooden panes.
When I do not respond, Fawad gives me a puzzled expression, stepping forward so he is right in front of me again. The space between us is treacherously thin. “From what I know, Shanzay is interested in someone else.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“From a ... credible source.” He must mean Huzaifa.
“Your tenant should not go around spreading horrible rumors!” I snap. His eyes blaze.
“It’s not a rumor,” he snaps back, “but something told to me in confidence.”
“Well, it’s not true.” I pause. “Shanzay feels nothing for him.”
A muscle in his jaw tics as he looks at me with both awe and horror. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“Of course it was. All the best things in life require a bit of work.”
He shakes his head. “Last I heard, she was very much interested in Huzaifa, and from what I saw this summer, I would confirm it.” He frowns. “I hope you haven’t persuaded her out of this.”
“Even if I had persuaded her, which I haven’t, she must not have had deep feelings for him to begin with, to be so easily swayed,” I reply, breathless.
“You know she looks up to you and is easily impressionable!” Fawad exclaims. “Your dear friend.” This he says with sarcasm, as if Shanzay and I are nothing but surface level friends and I merely project a closeness unto us. “Of course she would be swayed, and it would be no mark on her feelings if she was. Humaira, you must behave.”
“Make me!” I snap.
His eyes flash. “I might just have to.”
My pulse quickens.
“Please, stop this nonsense,” I say, holding up a hand. His gaze galls down to it, and then so does mine. I see how close we are standing. If I shift my hand even a few inches forward, it would be resting over his heart.
I bring my hand back down to my side. “She is older than me and has her own mind,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel.
Fawad runs an agitated hand through his hair. “You don’t understand just how easily you get into peoples’ heads.”
“Pity I could never get into yours!” I say. “Or I would make you less infuriating!”
“I thank God I still have my senses about me,” he says, voice hard. We are both breathing heavily, glaring at the other.
Despite how furious I am with him, something sharp turns in my stomach at our proximity, the scent of his cologne invading my senses. This close, I can see the curve of eyelashes, my own reflection in his dark eyes.
I turn around so I don’t have to face him.
“I’ve had enough of this.”
I pull open the door and leave. Behind me, he lets out an audible groan of frustration.
I join the others, hoping Fawad will get over his surly mood and join us as well, but he never does.
He leaves early, slipping away when no one is looking, but I notice.
And I do not want to notice.
He was being weird, weirder than usual, and I did not appreciate it one bit. I focus instead on Rizwan, how well he and I get along. (Naadia even takes a discreet picture of us to send in our MMESG chat for Phuppo to see.)
I focus as well on Shanzay and Emad, who look to be enjoying themselves, as well. Emad does keep trying to pull me into the conversation, but that must be because he is shy speaking to Shanzay alone.
Eventually, it is time for the rest of us to go as well. When Emad leaves, he says goodbye to Shanzay, then shares a private smile with me, and I give him a wide smile in return, understanding his excitement.
Then, it is time to say goodbye to Rizwan, indefinitely, for his flight back to London is tonight. My stomach drops with disappointment, and I can see he is dispirited, as well, as we say goodbye.
“I do hope you will remember me when I return,” he says, giving me a slow, sweet smile. “For I will not so easily forget you.”
My heart skips a beat.
“Come again, and we shall see,” I reply, feeling excited already.