Chapter 45
45
‘You’re all over Instagram. It’s pretty intense. Are you OK?’ Imran asked.
I couldn’t breathe. I tried to exhale slowly to steady my voice, but a flood of sobs broke out instead.
‘I’m not OK,’ I cried. ‘I’m not OK. I’m not OK.’
I kept repeating it.
And I couldn’t seem to stop.
Imran was saying something to me. It sounded pacifying, kind, but it was incomprehensible to me right now. I was so sure he’d hang up, but he stayed, continued to listen to me echo the same thing as though I’d lost my mind.
I’m not OK.
After some time, Imran became silent, my voice grew hoarse, and the tears clinging to my lashes dried. Now that all the emotion was gone, cried out of me, I felt numb.
‘This will never go away. I won’t make it through this,’ I said lifelessly, declaring the finality that I felt.
‘Yes, you will. Stuff moves quickly online,’ Imran reasoned. ‘This will all blow over in a week tops.’
Rage gripped my soul. ‘My parents have disowned me. Mum slapped me twice, then basically told me I’m a shameless whore who’s better off dead. Will that also blow over?’
He stuttered a little, then fell silent, as though he didn’t know what to say.
I sneered. ‘I’ve already told you about how my family is, haven’t I? I’ve dug my own grave, so I might as well jump into it.’
‘Zara! Don’t think like that!’ he exclaimed, but I ignored him.
‘We both know that if a boy from our community did something like this, people would just find it cool, maybe even romantic or funny,’ I said bitterly. ‘His parents would probably just tell him off lightly. But I’m a girl. It’s different for us. There’s no coming back from this.’
‘It is harder for girls in our community,’ Imran admitted gently. ‘It’s completely unfair that girls are made to carry the weight of their family’s honour, that they’re shamed for doing the things that guys get away with like it’s nothing. And I’m not going to act like I know how that burden feels.’
He took a deep breath and continued in a firmer tone, ‘But I want to remind you that you can be the change, Zara. You can choose to heal from this and have an incredible future where you refuse to let people’s judgements dictate how you feel about yourself and your life.’
His words were soothing, but they sounded distant, like he was describing an unrealistic dream I’d never be able to reach.
‘I’m all alone now. I have nowhere to go.’
‘That’s not true,’ Imran said frantically. ‘Come to your window.’ When I didn’t respond or move, he said more forcefully, ‘Either do it or I’m going to come to your house this very second, break down the door and bring you over to mine. I don’t care what your parents say or do.’
Not having the energy to deal with the nightmare of yet another scandal, I walked over to the window and stood there. Imran looked at me, and his expression shifted from worry to something that looked like pity. I hated it.
‘You need to trust me and listen to me, all right?’
I simply nodded, too tired to speak or argue.
‘You’re going to change first. Put on something comfortable.’
I probably looked like an awful mess, my hair tangled, mascara bleeding down my face, my outfit crumpled awkwardly. But I couldn’t care less. It was soothing to have someone tell me what to do. It meant I didn’t have to use my brain. I couldn’t even be bothered to draw the curtains; I just about had the energy to unpin my dupatta, so I began to undress straight away. I remembered the time he’d made that comment about not being able to watch me change behind the closed curtains. Apparently, this was his lucky day.
‘Zara,’ he murmured, ‘draw your curtains first.’
Ignoring him, I carried on undoing the pearl buttons down the centre of the dress. If my face and body were up for the world to stare at and criticize, then what did this matter? Nothing really mattered any more. My cleavage was on show now, as was half my bra.
‘Stop it,’ Imran said sharply. ‘Draw your curtains.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I replied coldly. ‘I’m a worthless slut now, remember?’
I looked up and met his gaze fiercely. We stared each other down for a while. His eyes didn’t stray from mine for a single beat. Whatever that look was on his face right now, it certainly wasn’t arousal or excitement. Eventually, I gave in and dragged the curtain across, hiding myself from view.
Imran kept giving me instructions, and I followed them all: tie your hair back, take your make-up off, drink some water, put some socks on, wear a warm jumper. He didn’t mention anything about me kissing a world-famous influencer, and I was grateful for that.
Others tried to get in touch with me in between – Saliha was messaging non-stop, Aisha baji tried calling three more times. But for some reason I wasn’t in the mood to speak to anyone but Imran. There was a stability and calmness about him that I needed right now.
And then it was like Guy Fawkes Night all over again. I sat on a chair, staring at him from my window, holding my phone close to whisper to him. He was wearing a black vest, which revealed his toned arms and part of his chest. I looked at the faint mess of hair in between his pecs; not too long ago, I’d imagined touching my way down his chest, getting on my tiptoes in front of him. I remembered the time in his bedroom …
‘Where were you?’ I asked him. ‘You disappeared on me.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Let’s not talk about that right now.’
‘I want to know.’
Imran ran a hand through his hair in the way I realized he did when he was nervous. Then he took a deep breath and spoke quickly. ‘I got a little scared, all right? I realized I was gonna fall for you if we spent too much time talkin’. And we’re only teenagers. I’m not ready for any of that.’
I certainly hadn’t expected that to be his response; I didn’t even know how seriously to take him. It was still far too easy to imagine him speaking to twenty other girls in the time since he’d stopped showing interest in me.
‘You aren’t the girl I’d want just a casual fling with. I want … the real stuff with you. And my dad dyin’ is the only real thing I can handle this year.’
‘That would’ve been perfectly easy to communicate to me. You chose to ice me out instead.’
‘I’m sorry, I was an idiot. Communicatin’ isn’t my forte. You were right when you said we weren’t really friends before, so I thought maybe it would be easier if we stopped speakin’.’
My eyes felt itchy with exhaustion. I rubbed them and checked the time. It was nearly three in the morning.
‘Well, in that case,’ I said through a suppressed yawn, ‘we can totally go back to being strangers. We’ve ignored each other for years while studying in the same school and mosque, so it shouldn’t be hard.’
‘No way. I admit that I was an idiot, Zara. I’m not disappearing on you again.’
‘I find that hard to believe.’
‘At least give me a chance. Let me be here for you right now. I can tell how much everything’s gettin’ to you. I’m not leaving you alone.’
I didn’t say anything. It was hard to communicate how much his presence right now meant to me without my voice breaking, and he’d heard enough of me crying for a lifetime.
‘Things will get better, Zara. There’ll be a day when you look back at this incident and feel nothing.’
‘It doesn’t work like that for brown girls, and you know it. I’m ruined. I don’t know where on earth I’m supposed to go from here.’
‘Pack your things,’ he replied simply. ‘You can stay at mine.’
Despite everything – all the stress and mania and fear – the mere thought of sleeping under the same roof as Imran Sayyid did strange things to my heart, my breath. And there was no way I was risking that temptation; I no longer trusted myself. I didn’t want to feel desire ever again. It was the root of this whole mess.
‘I’m going to call Sal,’ I replied, my shoulders already sinking at the looming absence of his voice.
‘OK. Just know that you have my home if nothin’ else works out.’
Hearing the word home on his lips was enough to make my chest tighten with yearning and pain.
The tears began anew, and when Saliha picked up the phone, she heard me crying like she never had before.
I opened the door to let her in. She held me close to her for an hour, a decade, a lifetime, and then she came upstairs to help me pack.
‘Saliha Begum,’ I croaked. ‘You’re literally the most perfect best friend and sister a girl could ask for.’
‘Sisters for life,’ she whispered.
I allowed myself to smile a little.