Chapter Eight
Eight
Wind howls through the forest across from my house. Lightning illuminates the sky, followed by the sound of a thunderclap. As soon as I’d glimpsed the note, I ran back to my car and hit the accelerator all the way home. But even now, safe inside my house, Gertie circling my legs, I don’t feel much better.
“Is Borzu coming?” asks Azar. I’d called him from the car, and he arrived just after me.
“He’s ten minutes away.”
“What about Genevieve?” He moves to the window, parts the sheer white curtains, and gazes out at my driveway.
“I’m guessing she’s flying above the Colorado Rockies right now. She’s attending a family reunion in Utah.”
“I forget some of your team members have lives outside of this agency.” Azar sits down on the couch next to me. I’d told him he didn’t need to come over—what could he do in this situation? But as the wind howls and the streetlights flicker, I’m grateful he’s here.
We study the note on the coffee table, as though looking at it long enough will reveal some sort of clue. But there’s nothing to be gleaned from bleeding marker pressed against paper.
Thunder rumbles, rattling the windows. “I should tell Borzu to turn back. It’s getting worse out there.”
“You really don’t want to call the police about this? This is serious stalker shit, Nur. What if it’s…” His voice trails off.
The podcaster. I know what he’s thinking. But what good will reporting this note do? The police barely blinked when Kaden Sineway lit fireworks in the agency parking lot to express his displeasure with us. They won’t care about this. We’ll handle it on our own.
Raindrops pelt harder against the skylights above. Thunder sounds, crackling like popcorn. Gertie yowls and leaps into my lap, burrowing her head into the crook of my arm.
“Silly girl, I won’t let the storm get you.” I scratch her behind her ears. I wish my own worries were as simple as Gertie’s.
Azar leans down and studies the note on the coffee table again. I take in his profile. He’s in a salmon polo shirt. Stone-washed jeans.
Oh no.
“Azar. Were you on a date?”
He shrugs. “It’s fine.”
“You were on a date.” I clamp my hand over my mouth. His face is clean-shaven; his hair has an undeniable hint of gel. “Those are your out-on-the-town jeans. Admit it. If you don’t tell me, I’ll just find out on her Instagram later.”
“Keeping tabs on me, Nur?”
“Hi, have we met?”
“It wasn’t anything big. Les Mis is in town. She’s already seen it a couple of times.”
I blink. “Let me get this right. You were watching a musical ?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, other than you’ve said you’d rather eat squid than watch a musical. And you’re deathly allergic to squid.”
“What can I say? Things change, Nur.”
Yeah, I think. I guess they do.
“Is it serious between you?” I ask, shooting for casual. “Is she your girlfriend?”
“Girlfriend?” His forehead crinkles. “It hasn’t even been that long.”
“A few weeks is plenty. A lifetime in Azar years.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. It just felt like it was time,” he says. “You have to get on with the next part of your life at some point, right?”
Get on with the next part of your life. The part of your life that doesn’t include me. Maybe it was inevitable, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.
“What about you?” he asks.
“What about me?”
“I know, I know—you’ve sworn off all that.” He rests his elbows on his knees, his gaze intently on mine. “Do you ever think about it? A relationship?”
There’s that question everyone asks. It feels different coming from him.
I try to brush him off with a laugh. “Not this again!”
“Gertie’s sweet as can be.” He leans over and rubs her head. “But I figured eventually you might want a relationship of the human variety.”
Yes, I want to say. I did think about a relationship. Once. With you.
I remember the day he moved back to town. The doorbell rang, and there he was. Like a mirage. At my doorstep holding takeout from Lee’s, my favorite pho place. Decidedly over the gray-skied winters of New York, he’d quit his toxicology fellowship and moved back to Atlanta. We’d sat side by side on this very couch, our steaming bowls of soup resting on the coffee table. I’d chattered on and on about the agency, funny client interactions, trying to fill the room with words, to pretend his liquid brown eyes gazing into my own did nothing to me. That despite our best efforts, the past did not hang heavy in the air.
We finished eating. I warmed a pot of water on the stove for chai. He’d turned to me. Stuck his hands in his pockets—his tell for when he was nervous. For when he was debating if he wanted to say what came next at all. Then—“I was thinking. Since I’m back in town, maybe we should talk about…” Azar gestured to the space between us.
I stiffened. There it was. He’d named the tension in the room.
“I know I promised I’d never bring it up again, but it was so good to see you last month at my parents’ going-away party.” He looked down, studying the wooden floorboards. “It hit me how much I’ve missed you. We were such good friends, Nur. I can’t remember a time we weren’t friends, and it just hasn’t been the same for so long. Now that I’m back…” His voice trailed off, searching for how to finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. I heard how he emphasized friendship—twice in one breath. I also heard what was left unspoken: Let’s make sure we don’t have any misunderstandings again.
“Our friendship means so much to me too,” I quickly told him. Hoping he didn’t notice the heat rising up my neck.
“Nur, that night, in the dorm—”
“Can we just…never talk about that night ever again? Please?” I tried to smile, but my eyes watered. “You’ve been away for years, and I’m so glad you’re back. I’ve missed you. So much. I want our friendship back too. The way it was.” And to make sure he knew I understood, I added, “That is all I want.”
The chai pot had bubbled over on the stove while he regarded me. I tried my best to appear calm, though my nerves pulsed through me like a live wire. Then he smiled. “That sounds perfect, Nur.”
Just like that, the tension had vanished into the ether. I’d accepted his terms. He was my friend again, and we could go back to the way we used to be. We could leave the past where it belonged.
“Nur?” Azar taps my leg, jarring me to the present.
“Sorry.” I clear my throat. “Nothing’s changed on the relationship front for me. I’m good as is. Tell me about Zayna. What’s she like?”
“She’s—she’s fantastic. Hilarious. She loves to travel and try new restaurants. I think you’ll really like her.”
He’s downright chipper, which isn’t a typical Azar mode. He seems so happy.
“She sounds amazing. If you like her, I know I will too. Hopefully I get to meet her soon.”
He looks visibly relieved. “Definitely. Let’s make it happen.”
Suddenly, it dawns on me. “Did you leave Zayna at the theater to come here?”
“This was important.”
“Azar…” I lean back into the sofa. Zayna’s going to love me now. “I should have texted to see if you were busy before unloading on you.”
He locks his gaze into mine. “I want to be here, Nur.”
Headlights brighten the living room. Borzu. I head to the door. I think of what happened with Lilah. The look on Nina’s face when she realized I’d taken a call instead of watching her daughter. She hadn’t even been surprised. Just resigned. Because she knows I put myself first, doesn’t she? I hadn’t even considered that Azar could be busy. I had simply launched into what happened as soon as he answered the phone. For that matter, had I asked Borzu if he was free before asking him to come over? Is this who I am? Someone who prioritizes myself over others?
“Thanks for coming,” I greet Borzu. “I hope I didn’t pull you from something important.”
“Not unless you count rewatching Breaking Bad . It was wild to finally try out my new Tesla in a thunderstorm. The lightning flashing through the glass ceiling was surreal.” He pulls out his laptop and sets up shop on the coffee table as I press my rickety front door shut with a shove of my shoulder. On windy days like today, it can have a mind of its own. “Should we get Darcy?”
“She has an early-morning consult with a wedding photographer. Not like she can do anything about any of this anyway. I’ll fill her in tomorrow,” I say as rain beats harder overhead.
“Now, I hate to say I told you so,” Borzu says, “but I’ve been on you for years to get security cameras installed around the agency.”
“The paperwork and red tape to get clearance was endless,” I remind him. “The city has their own network, anyway.”
“Apparently whoever left this note knew all about their cameras. Or at least how to get around them.”
“What do you mean?” My stomach drops. “There’s no footage of who left it?”
“Kind of?” He glances at me. “You have to see it for yourself.”
He loads a video of the intersection across from our agency. Rain bouncing off concrete. A car zips by. And then—
A hooded figure wearing all black, including a black face mask—practically blending into the night. They raise a hand toward the camera. I lean forward to make it out when there’s a splash against the screen. I flinch. The screen blurs.
For a moment no one speaks. Goosebumps trail my arms.
“What…was that?” I ask in a half whisper.
“I’m guessing foamed-up detergent.” Borzu expands the feed. Lightens it. “Whoever did this knew someone might look at the cameras and decided to get ahead of it.”
“We might as well be looking for Bigfoot,” I murmur.
“ Someone must have seen this guy.” Azar points to the frozen image. “Look at him! He’s wearing a hoodie, long sleeves, and a face covering and wandering around in the pouring rain. There’s no way he wasn’t spotted spraying the cameras!”
“It’s not a busy intersection,” Borzu reminds him. “Plus, it’s dark out with the storm.”
I think of the taunting voice on the recordings. “Any luck unearthing the podcaster’s identity?”
Borzu shakes his head. “Darcy went through the database twice this afternoon. Genevieve cross-checked all our applicants. No one stands out.”
“What about the disgruntled personalized clients from the past? Maybe Lindy or Jamaal? Things really went south with them.”
“Lindy was on a Tinder date in San Diego. Jamaal’s married with a kid, and living in Slovenia.”
“Your inbox might have some clues,” Azar suggests. “You said you’ve been getting a ton of hate mail lately. Maybe there’s something to uncover there.”
“We delete them as soon as they come in,” I say. “The subject headings are hard enough to stomach.”
“I can retrieve the deleted messages,” says Borzu. “I’ll get on it first thing tomorrow. Darcy can help me comb through them.”
“Wait.” A sick feeling washes over me. “Basit Latif. He’s beyond furious with me. I don’t think he’s the podcaster because we had our argument after the first recording had already posted. But I wouldn’t put it past him to threaten me like this. Or at least have someone do it for him.”
“Basit Latif?…Hang on a sec.” He types the name into his search engine. He taps a few more times, opens and closes several new windows, and then—“He’s in Jakarta right now. I can keep tabs on him if it helps you feel any better.”
“It would. Thanks, Borzu.”
The next couple of hours are rainy outdoors and useless indoors as we try to work out who the masked man is. When I walk Borzu to the door, it’s well past midnight. The rain has eased to a misty fog.
“The weather looks like it’s holding for a bit,” I tell Azar. “You should head out, too, before it starts coming down again.”
“I don’t know.” He eyes the skylight. “Looks like we could have a downpour at any moment.”
“Don’t you have work tomorrow? It’s your five o’clock shift.”
“Exactly.” He grabs a throw pillow, tucks it against the sofa arm, and lies back. “I pulled a double yesterday. Catching as much shut-eye as possible is strongly advised.”
“Azar—”
“You don’t want me to get caught in a storm, do you? They’ve got extra scrubs in the office.”
Gertie climbs onto his chest and settles in, giving her own opinion on the matter. I shake my head and stifle a smile. We both know the real reason for this sleepover. He wants to keep an eye on me. I can’t say that I mind.
I head to the hall closet. Maneuvering around my aunt’s old boxes, I grab a blanket and toss it to him.
“I remember this one from college.” He pats it and yawns.
“It’s old, but clean.” I settle onto the love seat across from him and kick my feet onto the coffee table. I wrap a throw from the sofa around myself. Rain starts to fall again, plinking against the skylights. Echoing against the wooden floors. Soon it’s like an avalanche of water is pouring down—I look outside at the blur of rain. You’d think we were in a boat, lost at sea.
“I forgot to tell you,” he says. “I talked to my mother today.”
“How’s she doing?”
“She’s coming for a visit in August. She wanted me to ask if you needed any new clothes from that boutique near Anarkali Bazaar that you like. She’s going there later this week.”
“Always. Your mom has great taste. I’ll call her tomorrow. When are you going to Pakistan to visit them ?”
“Work’s been so erratic lately, it’s easier for them to come here. Last summer they were here for three months, remember? There’s no way I could ever take that much time off.”
“Nina’s doing it,” I say sardonically. “She’s here going on five months, and it looks like she’s putting down roots.” I tell him about the transcripts.
“A permanent Nina presence?” He looks at me. “What do you think about that?”
“Khala’s thrilled to have her home.”
“What about you?”
“It’s complicated. I’m glad Khala is happy. But every time I go over there now, it’s like I’m a stranger in my own home. Nina’s a gray cloud hovering over everything. She can’t let a moment go by without a snarky comment about the agency.” I think about our last interaction. The paint-streaked walls. “Though she’s right, I can mix up my priorities sometimes.”
“Nina can be difficult,” Azar says. “When you’re as unhappy as she is, it seeps out toward other people.”
“More like it spews out like a broken water main.”
“On the bright side, if they’re staying, that means more Lilah time?”
“That’s a definite perk. I’ve gotten pretty attached to her.” Lilah is a few years shy of the age I was when I moved into Khala’s house, not fully processing that my life had forever changed. Maybe I can help her navigate her own huge transition. I look at Gertie snoozing on Azar. Her temporary relocation to my place is probably permanent now. She’s adjusted great, but Khala misses her dearly. I make a mental note to bring my aunt by ASAP for some time with her beloved feline.
“Auntie’s doing okay health-wise, though?” Azar asks. “No slipups since your birthday?”
“She’s better lately.”
“Did you tell her about the wedding implosion?”
“No way. We need to keep her in a good place. Dr. Pang said at her last doctor visit that stress is the worst thing for her. It’s hard, though. To see her so changed.”
“Her last scans all looked good.”
“No one, not even her neurologist, will get on board with the clinical trials.” I remember Nina’s dismissiveness. “She is getting older. It’s not like she could’ve kept up the pace she used to keep forever. But why not try to see what could work?”
“What about Khala? What does she want to do?”
“It’s like she’s given up. If Nina would be open to having a real conversation with me, we could team up and convince her to keep on trying. We can’t lose hope that something might cure her, or at least give her more time with us.”
“I’m sorry, Nur. This is all so hard.”
“It’s not like I have that many people in my life. I want to hold on to the ones I do have.”
“You have me,” he says.
“For now,” I say lightly.
“For always, Nur.”
We’ll see, I think.
“I just wish I could visit her without having to walk on eggshells around Nina,” I say. “It’s exhausting.”
“You know what you all need?” He yawns. “A family bonding experience. Something to pull you out of your routines.”
“Got any ideas?”
“A basketball game. Everyone gets a Hawks jersey and roots for the home team.”
“Next.”
“Doesn’t your aunt love those Bollywood flicks? A trip to the movies could do the trick.”
“Azar.” I toss a throw pillow at him. “Can you imagine Nina sitting through a musical romp?”
“What do you think she’s into?”
“I don’t know. Horror?”
“Might do her some good to watch something lighter together.”
“Maybe.” That’s one major difference between me and Azar. When someone treads over me once, I remember and act accordingly. Azar? He always sees the good in people. He makes excuses for their foibles. I guess I’m grateful for it, because he also sees the good in me, even when I feel wanting.
“Do you know where The Office might be streaming?” Azar yawns again. He nods to the television.
“It’s nearly two in the morning. You have to be at work in a few hours.”
“But I haven’t seen it in ages.”
“At this point you’ve got the entire series memorized word for word.”
“And you don’t?”
“I do. Which is why I’ve moved on to other shows.”
“You can’t ever move on from the shows that you imprinted on as a teen.”
But neither of us makes a move toward the remote. We keep talking. As time ticks forward, I try to follow the threads, but pretty soon I’m not sure what we’re talking about; I’m just grateful to have my best friend here with me. We speak until our eyes grow heavy, our words slower and more nonsensical, until he’s telling me about the tastiest burger he’s ever had in his life and, mid-sentence, his words trail off. He’s asleep.
Exhaustion wraps itself around me, but sleep is harder to come by. I turn onto my side and watch him. He’s lying on his back, his hands clasped together. His blanket’s askew.
I walk over and straighten it, tucking it up to his chin. He lets out a gentle snore. I give Gertie a quick head rub and then move as quietly as possible, taking care to use the runners to avoid creaking against the wooden floors, and head to the kitchen. Grabbing a glass of water, I lean against the fridge. I can’t stop thinking about that man. His dark sweatshirt. Arm raised toward the camera.
Pulling out my phone, I click the podcast app. Hit refresh.
My breath catches. There’s a new post. Time-stamped to less than one hour ago. I grab my AirPods from where they’re charging on the counter. I slip one into my ear. Click play. There’s that same deep masculine voice. He’s not angry today. He’s downright giddy. And tonight every word comes out crystal clear.
Guess who’s not getting married? Avani Patel and Dev Kasturi, that’s who! Two lovebirds hand-picked by none other than, drumroll please, Miss Khan herself. Don’t believe me? Check out Avani’s Instagram. Oh wait—she’s deleted it! Doesn’t want the world to see her shame after all these months preening on and on about being one of the chosen few to be matched by the perfect matchmaker. Well, how perfect is your magical match looking now, Avani? I see you, Nura Khan. Now the world does too.
The recording cuts off.
Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howls. I trace a finger over the phone screen. His glee at the cancellation of Avani’s wedding is chilling, but it’s the words in the middle of his rant that take my breath away: I see you, Nura Khan.
The same words that were dripping down the note.
I shiver. The note. The sabotaged wedding. They’re connected. They tie back to him.
They tie back to me.