Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
A t least one thing is abundantly and obviously clear: I cannot marry Rizwan.
I call him to say as much, and he is a good sport about it, for which I am glad. I am fond of him, in a way, but he is not the Great Love of My Life, and he deserves better than someone who is settling for him. He deserves someone who loves him just as much as he loves her.
And he does not love me, not really. He does not know me or see me, not the true me. Not the way Fawad does.
“I won’t easily forget you,” Rizwan tells me, as we say goodbye. “You were my first love.”
And that’s it! I feel a literal lightbulb going off over my head. I think I know a way to fix all of this without everyone being miserable for the rest of their lives.
(Cannot do much for Rizwan, unfortunately, but he’s handsome, clever, rich, and has a British accent, so I am sure he will be fine, in the end.)
When the workday is over, I stop by the grocery store for a basket, and various delicious things to fill it with, then text Sadaf for the address. I rush home to assemble the basket and wrap it prettily, hoping it will get my foot in the door.
After that, I am on my own.
“Humaira?!” Madiha Raja says, as I stand in front of her house carrying a basket half the size of me. “H-Hi. Salaam. What?—”
“Salaam!” I say, voice overly bright to mask how nervous I feel. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah—Yes, of course,” she says, stepping aside to let me in. Her small house is cozy and smells like ghee in a very homey way. Setting the basket down on the table, I risk a quick glance around.
“No one’s home,” Madiha says. “Except my Dhadi, who’s napping upstairs.” She looks at the basket, eyes wide as she takes all of it in. “What is this for?”
“For your brother,” I say, trying to keep my voice even despite my embarrassment. “It’s an apology. I was hoping to speak with him, actually.”
“He’s out,” Madiha says, “but he’ll be back soon.” She pauses, looking at me carefully. “Is this about ... Shanzay?” she asks hopefully. I swallow the lump in my throat.
“I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
For a moment, I’m not sure if Madiha will lash out at me, be angry or upset, as she has every right to be, after I have jeopardized her brother’s happiness, but instead, she surprises me by smiling.
“I was hoping you would say that.”
Just then, we turn at the sound of the front door opening.
A handsome young man enters, then stops when he sees me. I take a deep breath and smile nervously.
“Huzaifa, I’d like to speak to you…”
* * *
After it is done, there is the waiting, the dreadful waiting.
I wonder if Huzaifa will speak to Shanzay tonight, or if he will wait, or if he will speak with her at all. I want to call Shanzay and tell her of all that has happened, but I hold back, waiting, waiting and praying to see how things will fall into place, if they even will at all.
Then, two days later, at work, Shanzay pulls me aside, and we huddle at the coffee station. Her face is serious.
“Huzaifa called me last night,” she says. I cannot decipher what she is feeling. Oh dear. I am afraid my meddling will have made things worse… “He proposed to me,” she says, hiding her smile. “And I have accepted.”
“Thank God,” I breathe, then I scream and hug her. “I’m so happy for you!”
And I am, truly. Even though he is still studying and perhaps isn’t in a financial position to take care of her, he loves her, and she loves him, so everything else will fall into place.
She screams as well, clutching me tightly, and we bounce up and down. My heart is so full, I think I will burst. We pull apart, though our hands remain clasped.
“Shanzay, I’m so glad we’re friends,” I say, squeezing her hand. “I know I haven’t been the best friend to you. I’ve been a bit self-centered and delusional, which is why things got a little messy there for a second, but I promise I’ll do better.”
“Aw, Humaira, thank you. You can be a bit self-centered, yes, but I’m so glad to have you as a friend,” she says. “And it all worked out in the end, didn’t it?”
I squeal, overjoyed. “I’m so happy it did! You’ll be married! We have to go shopping!”
She laughs. I hug her again, and she squeezes back.
“Now let’s compose ourselves before Uncle scolds us,” Shanzay says, giggling. I nod.
“I have something to tell you as well,” I say, taking a deep breath. “I think ... I am also in love.” I brace for her reaction, and she grins.
“With Fawad?” she asks. I gasp, looking around nervously as if he will appear.
“Shh!” I order her. She giggles. “How did you know?”
“You looked so heartbroken when I said I liked him,” she tells me. “I began piecing two and two together and realized just how silly my crush was when you both are clearly in love with each other.”
I gasp, shocked by this information.
“Who is it clear to?” I ask. Shanzay laughs.
“We are all fools in love.”
“You’re not angry with me?” I ask. “Be honest.”
Shanzay shakes her head. “Don’t fret over me. I truly love Huzaifa – I think I have loved him since the very beginning. I was hoping he would call, oh, I was praying he would call. Every day.” She breaks off, emotional. “And he did! I am so happy.”
My eyes well with tears, seeing her so content. “Me, too,” I cry.
A coworker walks in to get coffee, then promptly turns around when he sees both of us nearly sobbing and laughing. A short while later, someone else enters, releasing an alarmed noise.
“Goodness,” Papa says, seeing the sight of us. “What on earth is happening?” He comes to stand in front of me, putting his hands on my shoulders. “Is everything alright?”
I nod, enveloping him in a tight hug. For a moment, he doesn’t react, but then his arms come around me.
“I am not suffocating you, am I?” he whispers, voice unsure.
“No, Papa, you aren’t,” I reply, tears wetting his blazer. “I love to have you just this close.” His body relaxes, tension leaving him, and he hugs me tighter.
When I pull back, I can see his eyes are misty.
“Why on earth are the both of you crying?” he asks.
“Shanzay is getting married!”
He shakes his head, pulling away from me to go to pour himself some coffee. “You girls are so emotional,” he says. Then, he looks at me. “You won’t leave me, will you?”
Shanzay and I exchange a glance.
“I don’t know if I will marry soon, Papa,” I say. “But I promise, I will never leave you.”
I kiss his cheek, and when I pull back, I see his eyes are filled with tears, which makes me lose it once more, and Shanzay starts crying again, as well.
“Good God!” Papa says, voice stern. “This is a workplace! Get it together!” He shakes his head. “Take the rest of the day off, the both of you!”
He does not need to tell me twice. I quickly drive home, wiping my tears, grinning, laughing, smiling as I do. Without stopping to check my appearance or do anything else, I rush over and knock on Fawad’s door, hoping he is home.
Luckily, he is. The door opens, and he stands in front of me, eyes worried when he takes in my disheveled state.
“What is it?” he asks, stepping outside.
“Ask me!” I say, grinning. He furrows his brows, confused.
“What?”
“Ask me!” I scold, growing impatient, already.
“Ask you what?” He repeats, growing impatient, too.
I lift up my left hand, fingers splayed, prompting him, and the anger melts away. His eyes well with tears, and my mouth drops open.
“No, don’t cry!” I say, heart constricting. “Don’t cry!”
He lets out a little laugh, then says, “Marry me, Humaira, marry me, won’t you please?”
“Yes!” I cry. “Yes!”
Oh, how I wish I could be kissed now! But we do not touch, for fear of things getting carried away.
We simply look at one another, and even that is enough to make my heartbeat flutter and my cheeks heat.
Then I start to cry, realizing something, and blurt out, “But we can never marry!”
I turn and run. He immediately follows.
“Humaira!” he calls. “Humaira!” he cries, catching up to me at the end of his driveway. “Good God, woman, will you not rest until you’ve killed me?” he asks, holding a hand over his heart.
I start crying harder, and his voice softens.
“Beloved, why can we not marry?” he asks, drawing near. His hands fall to my shoulders, holding me steady.
“Papa,” I sniffle. “I cannot leave him.”
“Ah,” Fawad says, understanding. “Yes, I have given it some thought, and I believe I have found a solution.”
“There is no solution! I cannot leave him alone in that great big house.”
Fawad shakes his head.
“My heart is here, with you,” he says, face tender, “so what does it matter where I live, if my heart is with me?” He smiles. “I will move in with you – for however long is required.”
I gasp, looking at him. “You—You would do that? For me?”
“I will walk back to my own house a few times a day for my sanity, but yes.” His face is bright. “Yes, and I would do far more than that without a second thought.” I take in a shuddering breath. “Please stop crying now,” he says, giving me his handkerchief. “I cannot bear to see you upset.”
“I am sorry,” I say, wiping my tears. “I know you think I’m an ugly crier.”
He laughs out loud. “No—No you are beautiful, you are always beautiful.” He taps my nose. “It is your heart, etched onto your face.” He looks at me with open adoration. “I will love you until the end of my days.”
“And I will love you until the end of mine,” I swear.
Smiling, he leads me inside, where he makes me lemonade, then we go out and sit on the grass in the front, beneath the sun, eating strawberries from his garden.
It is only when Papa’s car drives by that we jolt back to reality.
“Let’s go tell him,” Fawad says, standing.
“Now?” I ask, alarmed. He grins.
“Yes.”
Together, we walk back to my house, where Papa is just coming out of his car in the driveway. He looks at the both of us, and it is as if he knows.
He sighs, looking up at the heavens.
“Papa—” I start, batting my eyelashes at him very sweetly. If we ease him into it gently, I am sure he’ll be fine.
“I love your daughter,” Fawad says, completely lacking tact. “I would very much like to marry her.”
Papa looks at us, and I brace for a dramatic reaction. He opens his mouth and … smiles?
That cannot be right. I blink, taking a step toward him and inspecting his face. But yes, he is smiling! His eyes are mischievous.
“It’s about time,” he finally says.
“What?” I say, positively shocked. “After all the fuss you made about not wanting me to get married!”
“Well, I realized you must be married eventually,” Papa says casually, “so I thought it may as well be someone of my choosing.”
“ Your choosing?”
“Yes,” he says, quite pleased with himself. “You chose each other, just as I had planned.”
“The matchmaker has been outmatched,” Fawad says, laughing. “Oh, well done, Mahmud Uncle.” He is just as pleased.
“I cannot believe this!” I exclaim. “Papa, you are so devious!”
“Where do you suppose you get it from?” He grins devilishly.
“But how did you accomplish such a thing?” I ask. “And how could I have not noticed?”
“You are not so clever, after all,” Papa says. “Did you not find it peculiar it was always Fawad I called upon to check on you? When you were sick or scared from watching horror movies? Did you not notice I often left you two to your own devices and retreated to my office so you could better mingle?”
If I think about it now, I can see it clear as day.
Oh, how silly I have been! Maybe I am truly not so clever, after all.
“Well, it’s good he’s so acquainted with our house. Papa, you’ll be happy to learn Fawad is also willing to move in with us,” I say.
This pushes Papa over the edge of happiness into absolute glee. He lets out a laugh.
“Is he? How splendid!” he asks, clapping his hands. “Oh, what an excellent match I made. I knew Fawad would not disappoint me!” He chatters excitedly. “Now, do not worry, for I won’t infringe on your privacy at all. Won’t this be such fun? The three of us, together! We must…”
Papa walks ahead, Fawad and I behind him. I look at the face of my future husband. He smiles, just for me, his hand brushing against mine as we walk forward, into the beginning of the rest of forever.