Chapter Twenty-One
‘I can’t believe you’re making me do this again,’ Malik mumbled a couple of weeks later as we drove through quiet London streets in the dark, well before sunrise. We were supposed to be at the coach stop by six in the morning and in Snowdonia National Park by 10.00 a.m. The trek was around six hours there and back so we would be back in London by ten that night. It was going to be a long, tiring day, but instead of dreading it, I felt excited. So far, except for Ulysses and the life-drawing class, I hadn’t regretted a single item on Noah’s list. Everything had contributed to bettering my life somehow, whether it was a fun experience, a day out or a makeover; my life was better because of it.
‘As far as I remember, this is the first time I’ve attempted to trek Snowdon,’ I replied blithely, like I didn’t know what he was talking about.
‘Let’s hope you do trek it, instead of realising it’s closed when you get there,’ he said, shooting me a dirty look.
‘I appreciate you taking me and not expecting me to get a cab with a potential rapist at five-thirty in the morning.’
‘The Brother of the Year award goes to me.’
‘It would, if you were a brother who confided in me,’ I said, giving him a sideways glance. ‘When are you going to tell me about this girlfriend of yours? When you’re standing at the altar?’
‘Altar? What are we, born-again Christians?’
‘You know what I mean.’
There was silence as Malik continued to weave through random side roads as he made his way south of the river, which was like crossing county lines for us north Londoners. I expected him to fob me off with another snarky comment and was surprised when he began to talk seriously.
‘I don’t see much point in advertising things unless it gets serious,’ he said eventually, staring straight at the road ahead.
‘Well, it must be a little bit serious at least. You guys went on holiday together.’ I tried to keep my voice light and non-accusatory. Malik’s and my interpretation of being good Muslims were different. We both prayed, fasted and paid our yearly Zakat to charity. But whereas I didn’t believe in getting super physical before marriage, Malik thought it wasn’t a big deal. To me, intimacy was sacred and should be enjoyed within the sanctity of marriage. It wasn’t something my parents had preached openly to me. Can you imagine my dad breaking the birds and the bees down for me? It was something unsaid, that you just knew to be the case. Whether you listened to your religion or culture was another story. Malik clearly didn’t and since he was finally opening up to me, I wasn’t going to ruin it by preaching to him.
‘Yeah, but a holiday is different from a lifetime together,’ he replied. ‘I don’t know if she’s the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.’
‘Tell me about her then,’ I suggested, trying not to pry too much. I was bursting to know more about this girl who had my brother confused, but if I came across as too pushy then I knew Malik would withdraw. ‘I know you think I have no life experience, but maybe I can help you figure things out.’
Malik looked at me sceptically. I knew he thought I was naive because I had never dated, but that didn’t mean I was completely clueless when it came to life.
‘She’s white.’
Oh.
I immediately understood why it was such a big secret. Interracial marriages are a lot more common now than they were when I was growing up, but there are still only two people in our entire extended family married to white people and that was done with a lot of drama, tears and threats of being cast out. The biggest issue was that of religion. If the partner converted, then the more traditional family members were a little placated at least. If they didn’t, certain uncles and aunties were renowned for boycotting weddings and making a big fuss about the scandal.
‘How old is she?’
‘A couple of years older than me,’ he admitted.
Shit. And there went another one. I had no idea how he was going to persuade my parents if things came to that. I tried to be positive, but I knew my parents and my grandmother. This wasn’t going to go down well. ‘How long have you been together?’
‘About a year, on and off.’
‘A year!’ My brother had been going out with a girl for an entire year and I was only finding out about it now? Why hadn’t he told me?
My facial expression must have given my feelings away because he nudged me gently. ‘Telling you would have been too much pressure. I needed to figure things out without you making digs at me or expecting me to propose.’
‘OK,’ I said, taking a deep breath and trying not to feel too hurt by his lack of trust. It wasn’t as though I had told him about Zakariya. It would be hypocritical of me to get offended when I was hiding things myself. ‘Tell me what makes you unsure. Is it the cultural differences? Because you know it can still be done if you really want to. It’ll require a bit more effort and convincing, that’s all.’
Malik thought for a moment, his brows furrowed as he expertly navigated the London streets that were becoming busier as the sun rose higher.
‘There’s the obvious,’ he began. ‘She’s white. She’s not Muslim.’
‘OK,’ I said slowly when he stopped talking. ‘What is she? Christian? Atheist?’
‘She’s agnostic, which I guess is better than being an atheist.’
‘Much better,’ I agreed. ‘The fact that she isn’t sure might mean that she’s open to exploring the concept of faith and religion.’
‘I guess so,’ he said quietly, still thinking.
‘What else?’ I probed gently. ‘What’s she like?’
‘She’s kind and funny. She respects me and I respect her.’
‘So what’s the problem? Why aren’t you sure about her yet? It’s been a year, Malik. If this was an arranged marriage, you probably would have been married six months ago!’
‘I don’t know,’ he shrugged. ‘She’s really into her career. She has a full-time job but she has side hustles as well. I like that she’s driven but I’m worried she won’t want a family.’
‘Is this speculation or have you spoken to her about it?’
‘I can’t! If I do, she’ll think I want to marry her and that’s too much pressure.’
Once again, I bit my tongue and tried to hear him out.
‘I’m worried about raising a family with her, Dimple. She could convert to Islam, but she might not be a practising Muslim, you know?’
‘You’re hardly the pillar of piety yourself,’ I couldn’t stop myself from retorting. What the hell was my brother on about? Was he really one of those men who held themselves to one set of rules and had another for the women in their lives? The thought infuriated me and I turned to glower at him, my decision to remain non-judgemental flying out of the window.
‘This is messed-up, Malik,’ I said. ‘Sorry if you don’t want to hear it, or you regret telling me, but I’m your older sister. If I don’t hold you to account or tell you what’s what, then I’m failing you.’
I proceeded to tell him off for his hypocrisy and double standards for the next five minutes. She was good enough to mess around with for over a year, but not marry? My blood was boiling.
‘If you’re not interested in a future with her, she has the right to know so she doesn’t waste her time on you. But the fact that you’ve let it get this far and judged her for things you do yourself, is messed-up!’
We had arrived by this point and Malik had parked behind the private coach, the hazard lights on as he waited for me to finish telling him off.
‘Are you done?’
‘For now!’ I glared at him and got out of the car. ‘Do the right thing, you bloody fool. She doesn’t deserve this!’
As I yanked my fleece undercoat and raincoat out of the backseat, together with my backpack and water bottle, I gave him one last death stare before I got out, still shaking my head in disappointment as he drove away.
There was a queue of people outside the coach, chattering away while warming their hands on travel mugs, and I approached them nervously. I eyed the mugs of tea and coffee with envy. I was too scared to drink a thing that morning in case it made me need the toilet during the journey. Scanning the crowd for Zakariya, I quickly spotted him talking to a really pretty, tall brown girl with shiny jet-black hair tied into a high ponytail. She was dressed like me, but with her height she looked so much better. She laughed at something he said and I felt a twist inside my gut. What was I doing here? This was Zak’s space, not mine. A place where he laughed with women who looked like they belonged on the cover of one of those Asian bridal magazines. I wouldn’t fit in.
As I debated turning around and skulking away, Zak spotted me. Smiling warmly, he beckoned to me and I had no choice but to contain my nerves and walk over to them.
‘Maya! Assalaamu Alaikum! You made it.’
‘Wa Alaikum Salaam,’ I replied, offering him a stiff smile that was more grimace. Of course I had bloody made it! We had texted last night to confirm all the details. Why was he acting like he wasn’t sure if I would come? Was this for the benefit of his lady friend, who was looking curiously at me?
‘Salaams, I’m Zara,’ she said, offering her hand to me and smiling a perfectly straight, white smile. I made a mental note then and there to visit the dentist and get my teeth whitened. They weren’t bad, but they didn’t dazzle like hers did. I was suddenly desperate for dazzling teeth. ‘Zak is rubbish at introducing people. If I waited for him, we would complete the entire trek and I still wouldn’t know who you were!’
‘Salaams, Zara, I’m Maya. It’s nice to meet you,’ I lied, taking her delicate, manicured hand in my unkempt paw. She was speaking about him as if they were a couple and all the excitement I had felt at the day I was going to spend with Zakariya was replaced with nausea. Why had he invited me on a date with him and his .?.?. whoever this ‘Zara’ was.
Zara.
Zara and Zakariya.
Her name was an anagram of his. Well, partially. It sounded like a couple name, much better than Zakariya and Maya. Our couple name would be something hideous, like Makariya.
Zara began to chat animatedly about how she had got into fitness a few years ago and how she had wanted to do this trek for ages. She only recently started volunteering for Islamic Relief, blah blah blah. I tuned her out. All I could see was Zakariya’s reaction to her endless chatter. His eyes were bright as he absorbed her energy. The more she talked, the more deflated I became. I knew I would never be able to match that sort of vibe. If she was the disco ball in the centre of the room, I was less than the shadows dancing on the wall. I was the wall itself.
‘Hey, sorry I’m late, everyone.’
I was about to throw myself in front of the oncoming traffic when a deep voice came from behind me and I turned around to see the HOTTEST guy I’d ever seen. Literally. He was even hotter than Noah. I remembered Noah as polished and groomed; this man looked like he had rolled out of bed and straight onto the Tube, and still looked bloody amazing. He had chestnut-coloured messy hair and a beard that wasn’t sculpted like a royal park; more organic and natural, but still somehow neat and groomed. His eyes were almost hazel and he was so tall that he towered over us all. I forced my bottom jaw to stay connected to my top one as I soaked in his beauty.
‘Sorry, a?kim, don’t kill me,’ he said to Zara, throwing his arm around her. She elbowed him playfully and leant into his embrace. I looked at Zak to gauge his reaction, but he seemed genuinely happy to see this man. Could I have been wrong about the chemistry between him and Zara?
‘Salaams, Adam,’ Zakariya said, smiling. ‘This is my friend, Maya. Maya, Adam. See, Zara? I am capable of introducing people.’
‘Once doesn’t make you capable,’ Zara retorted. ‘Babe, did you get me a coffee?’
‘I did, indeed. Skinny latte, extra hot.’
‘I’ve trained you well, haven’t I, Turkish?’
‘You have indeed. I aim to serve.’
Ordinarily, I would have found all this cutesy behaviour a bit sickly, but instead I was relieved. Zara was with Adam not Zakariya! My spirits lifting, I raised my eyebrows at Zakariya and he shrugged. ‘They had their nikah recently, so they’re still in that loved-up honeymoon phase.’
‘What’s up with calling him Turkish?’ I asked quietly so they didn’t overhear. They were now talking to others in the crowd and I felt myself relax a little. The fact that they were Islamically married explained why they were comfortable with PDA in front of everyone, although I couldn’t imagine myself being tactile in public. I found it difficult to be myself in large groups, especially when I didn’t know anyone. My anxiety was beginning to kick in and I asked myself why I agreed to come on this stupid trek with a bunch of strangers. I should have done it on my own.
‘He’s Turkish,’ Zakariya shrugged, like it was normal to call someone by their ethnicity instead of their name.
‘You’d better not start calling me “Bengali”,’ I said, half serious, half trying to be witty.
‘Why would I? You’re not my fiancée. You’re some random who’s following me around,’ he retorted. Ouch! Was that supposed to be a joke? There was something in his tone that suggested that it was a dig at me, disguised as banter.
‘Oh, really? More like you’re some random who followed me to an art class and then showed up at my house, trying to marry me,’ I snapped, smarting at the implication that I wasn’t good enough to earn a nickname.
An uncomfortable silence followed and we both stood there, not knowing what to say next. We had hours left to spend together. If it was going to continue like this, there was a good chance of me jumping off the edge of the mountain.