The Thirty Before Thirty List

Chapter Thirty-Nine

A couple of weeks went by and before long, we were in hot, humid August, which was made infinitely more bearable because Malik and I had air-conditioning installed downstairs. It was Malik’s idea but I persuaded him to let me go halves with him. He had made a fair point about me not contributing financially and I had heard him.

My parents moaned and groaned the entire week the builders were there, drilling through the bricks and fitting the pipes and vents. They thought it was an unnecessarily extravagant expense. Now that we had got our house back, they were loving it. We ended up spending less time isolated in our rooms and more time together sprawled out in the living room, enjoying the coolness. Even Nani had been coming over more often to escape the heat in her house.

‘Oh, did you hear about that boy?’ Ma said one night as we loafed around in front of the TV with the AC on full blast. Baba was watching Bangla TV as usual, the newsreader talking in formal Bangla so fast that I barely understood a word she said. It could have been Urdu, or Farsi, for all I knew. I gave up trying and closed my eyes instead, resting my head on Nani’s shoulder.

‘What boy?’ Baba asked distractedly.

‘You know, the one who gave the alaf for Maya? What was his name, Zaki?’

‘Ohh, Jakariya,’ Baba continued, chewing the triangle of paan that Nani had made for him. ‘What about him?’

My ears pricked up at the mention of Zak’s name and I tried my best not to move or give any indication that I was listening to the conversation.

‘Lovely boy,’ Nani piped up, despite never having met him. ‘Such a shame that it didn’t work out.’

‘Ask your beloved granddaughter why,’ Ma grumbled. I imagined her side-eyeing me as she said this, but I didn’t open my eyes to check. ‘Anyway, did you know that he’s moving to Dubai?’

‘Oh, yes, I heard about that,’ Baba replied. ‘He got a fantastic offer from a big investment bank. Such a shame. Imagine, Maya could have gone with him and made so much tax-free money. What a loss.’

My eyes flew open and as I was about to sit upright and say my piece, Malik spoke up.

‘Maya’s about to do her master’s, Baba. She can’t run off to another country now.’

Baba harrumphed audibly. ‘There’s a time and a place for everything. The time to study is over. Now is the time to get married. If she married this Jakariya, she wouldn’t need a better job, he earns enough.’

‘It’s never too late to study,’ Malik replied. ‘And I thought we believed that everything is in Allah’s hands? If Maya and Zakariya are meant to be, it’ll happen.’

My brother and my dad continued to debate and I settled back down in my comfortable position beside my grandmother, inhaling her familiar scent of Arabic-style oil perfume mixed with lavender detergent and Astral face cream. Malik finally had my back. He had heard me too.

That night, I tossed and turned in my stuffy bedroom, my skin sticky with sweat and contemplated sleeping downstairs like my parents had been doing. The windows were wide open – no doubt all sorts of spiders and mosquitoes were taking up residence in my room – and thoughts of Zakariya and Noah kept turning over and over in my mind.

I hadn’t heard from Noah since that awful drive back from the airport when he all but threw me out of the car. The strange thing was, I wasn’t broken. I missed him and I missed all the possibilities for the future that our relationship had held, but I knew what the stakes were when I told him the truth about the list and I was ready to pay the price for it. If I was being completely honest, I wasn’t that into him, which made me feel rather pathetic. I think I was more into his incredibly good looks than anything else. The truth was, we didn’t connect on an intellectual, spiritual or emotional level. If I had been getting it on with him and enjoying his spectacular body, it would have been worth it .?.?. but I wasn’t even doing that, so what was the point?

‘Why did I continue with it when I knew that he wasn’t the right one?’ I had asked Fareena once it became clear that I wouldn’t be hearing from him again. He disappeared from all my social media without a trace and yes, I experienced a pang of .?.?. something. Disappointment. Embarrassment. Loneliness. But it certainly wasn’t heartbreak.

‘But you didn’t, did you?’ she said gently. ‘When you told him the truth, you overcame your need to feel wanted and the desire for companionship. You realised that you couldn’t find the new when you were still holding onto the old, so you let go.’

‘The new? There is no “new”.’

‘Maybe not right now, but it’s there. All this time you’ve been shackled by Noah’s list. And yes, a lot of good came out of it, you experienced new things, you developed self-esteem, but you were using it as a crutch. Now the list has gone, Noah has gone, it’s time to find your own new things. It’s time for your own truth.’

It was a nice sentiment, but I didn’t have time to find my own truth. It was Pretty’s nikah in a couple of weeks and there was still so much to do. As joint chief bridesmaids (don’t ask), Pinky and I found ourselves lumbered with a mammoth list of things to organise, from planning an epic bridal shower to organising the mehndi night to putting together all the favours. It was beyond time-consuming, but at least it kept my mind off other things. And this wasn’t the big shebang; it was the Islamic ceremony to make them legit in the eyes of God so they could hang out the halal way. The big, fat Bengali wedding was going to take place the following spring.

Now that Arabic classes were over for the summer holidays and Zakariya was getting ready to leave for Dubai in less than a month, we hadn’t had the opportunity to see each other. Every night I’d pick up my phone to text him to see if we wanted to meet before he left and every time I’d chicken out and put it back down, my heart contracting as I did. With his imminent departure and some other girl on the scene, what was the point?

On the day of Pretty’s mehndi, Pinky and I spent the morning at the venue in east London making sure the events team set up the decor properly. Pretty wanted a traditional Bangladeshi-style henna party, which meant lots of flowers and brightly coloured sarees draped to look like decorations. The dress code for the event was yellow and as per our Bridezilla’s instructions, Pinky and I had to wear matching sarees, along with their first cousins from their mum’s side.

As the nikah was going to be a simple, holy affair at the mosque, Pretty wanted the mehndi to be the complete opposite: a DJ, dancing, shisha, the lot of it. Pinky and I therefore spent all of our free time trying to make her vision come alive and as I stood back and surveyed the scene, I decided that we had succeeded.

The hall was packed with friends and relatives; aunties dressed in colourful jamdani and kathan sarees were huddled around the tables, enjoying biryani, tea and their favourite past-time: gossiping. If they weren’t boasting about their offspring, they were keeping their beady eyes peeled for an unsuspecting future daughter-son-in-law. A handful of uncles in either traditional cotton shalwar kameez or casual shirts and trousers sat in the opposite corner of the hall, chewing paan stuffed with betelnuts and talking politics, religion and basically all the topics white people considered bad form at weddings.

Meanwhile, kids were sweating on the bouncy castle, teenage girls self-consciously shimmied on the periphery of the dancefloor to the latest Bhangra beats, teenage boys watched them from afar and the rest of us did a bit of all the above. I found it hilariously ironic that we were never allowed to go clubbing, but it was fine to turn the ancient tradition of applying henna to a bride into a nightclub.

‘Pretty looks stunning, doesn’t she?’ I breathed in awe to my mum, as I watched my cousin sitting on the stage, her arms spread out as the mehndi artists decorated her pale, buttery skin with intricate henna designs. She wore a classic Bangladeshi green and gold saree and had red flowers trailing all the way down her curled hair. Instead of sitting on a regal sofa like most brides, she sat on the floor like they used to do back in the day, on a luxurious silk carpet surrounded by patterned Aarong cushions. She looked like something out of a colonial-style Bangladeshi poster, right down to her dark, kohl-rimmed eyes.

Ma had dressed me in the yellow and gold chiffon the bridal party were all wearing and helped me fasten little flowers in my hair, which we had styled into a chic updo. Like Pinky, I wore a deep red lipstick and a golden tikli sat majestically down my middle parting. Fake lashes and bangles completed the look and I had to admit that I looked pretty amazing. Until I moved. My movements were restricted by how tightly Ma had wrapped the nine yards of cloth around me, secured by safety pins everywhere so I had to shuffle rather than walk, trying my best not to trip over the pleats. When I was stationary, I looked elegant, but as soon as I began to walk, I turned from swan to duckling, yellow feathers and all.

‘She does look beautiful,’ Ma agreed. ‘Now come, I want you to meet your Lilly khala, she’s looking for a bride for her nephew, you know.’

‘Ma!’ I moaned as she pulled me across the room. ‘I’m not ready to do this whole biodata thing all over again.’

‘Well, get ready,’ my mother said curtly. ‘That was the agreement.’

My mum all but dragged me over to the potential mother-in-law and plastered a fake smile all over her face.

‘Assalaamu alaikum Lilly Affa, bala asoinni?’ Ma greeted the aunty. ‘This is my daughter, Maya. Maya, this is your Lilly khala.’

‘Asaalaamu Alaikum khala,’ I squeaked, as Ma pushed me forward to allow me to be inspected by this woman who had an eligible nephew. The aunty began interrogating me about what I did and when I mentioned that I was going back to uni to do my LLM, Ma elbowed me so sharply she almost poked a hole in me. The last thing she wanted was people knowing I had commitments for the next year.

Surprisingly, Lilly khala didn’t seem put out that I had aspirations that went beyond getting married and popping out babies. She gestured for me to sit down next to her and asked me about the course, where I hoped it would take me, what I liked doing for fun. The conversation was easy.

‘See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?’ Ma stage-whispered when we walked away ten minutes later. ‘You did so well! I bet she’s going to call to arrange a dekha dekhi soon!’

‘Don’t arrange anything until I’ve seen his biodata, please,’ I warned Ma as her pupils practically morphed into hearts right before me. Ma spotted another distant relative’s cousin’s wife’s aunt or something and disappeared to talk to her, so I took the opportunity to duck outside for a breather.

The night was sticky and humid and the faint sounds of Coke Studio Bangla could be heard through the closed doors of the venue. The heat, together with the music and scent of biryani, made me feel as though I was in Bangladesh. Not that I knew what being at a Bangladeshi wedding in Bangladesh was like; I hadn’t been since I was seven years old. But this was exactly how I imagined it: the smells, the sounds, the air, the heat. Leaning back against the cool of the steel fire exit door, I closed my eyes. In two days, Pretty was going to get married. Pinky was going to lose her identical twin sister. I was going to lose a friend. But I was hoping rather than an immense loss, we were going to gain a new brother.

‘Maya?’

His voice brushed against my ears, causing the flesh on my bare arms to instantly prickle in anticipation, interrupting my thoughts in the most delicious way. Taking a deep breath, I tried to compose myself as I opened my eyes.

‘Hey, Zak, salaams,’ I said quietly, a tremor in my voice as I stepped away from the wall and turned to face him. He was wearing a jet-black kurta with black embroidery along the neck and baggy black shalwar trousers. He looked dashing, like the hero of a Bollywood movie, and I felt my stomach twist and turn like a blender as he stared down at me. Why had I never noticed before how kind his eyes were? His expression may have been in a permanent state of sullen indifference, but his eyes were different. They were so expressive. Forget being windows to his soul, they were like trapdoors that you could fall through if you weren’t careful.

‘How are you?’ I managed to croak.

‘Tired,’ he shrugged. ‘I’ve been packing all week. Can’t believe I’m flying out in a couple of weeks. You look nice, by the way.’

‘Thank you,’ I replied dully, looking down at the ground. ‘I can’t believe you’re leaving so soon either. How do you feel?’

‘Excited. Nervous. What about you? Are you ready to start your course in a few weeks?’

‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ I shrugged. ‘My workplace is making things hard for me, so I’m handing in my resignation on Monday.’

‘What? That’s big.’ Zak looked taken aback by my admission and ran a hand through his hair.

‘It is,’ I sighed. ‘But I want to do my LLM full-time. I don’t want it to drag over two years. My manager’s refusing to be flexible so .?.?.’ I let my sentence trail off.

‘So .?.?.’ he repeated thoughtfully. ‘Why are you in such a hurry to finish the course? What’s the rush?’

‘There’s no rush,’ I lied. ‘I want to be able to move on with my life, that’s all. I don’t want to long it out unnecessarily.’ I want to hurry up so next time someone like you comes along, I’m ready.

‘“Long it out”, huh? I like it when you go all street on me, Maya Rahman.’

I glanced at Zakariya in surprise. Was Mr Too Cool for School flirting with me?

‘It’s funny hearing you talk like that,’ I smiled, nudging him playfully.

‘Hey, I’m a Camden boy,’ he said, smiling easily back. ‘I’m just as much of a north Londoner as you are.’

‘Not for much longer. You’ll be wining and dining with sheikhs in Dubai soon.’

Zak grimaced. ‘I wish I wasn’t going out there alone.’ He inched closer to me, a move so subtle that I didn’t think he had noticed it himself. But I did. I shuffled nervously away from him until my back was once again pressed against the wall.

‘What about that girl?’ I managed to say, avoiding looking into his eyes. ‘Why don’t you get your nikah done so she can go with you?’

‘What girl?’ Zakariya looked confused, as though he had no idea who I was talking about. His reaction irritated me and my voice rose a level.

‘The Ally Pally girl?’ I said, watching his reaction carefully. ‘The one I saw you with? Why are you acting like you don’t know who I’m talking about?’

‘Oh, her,’ he chuckled softly, refusing to rise to the bait. The sound of his laughter tugged on my heartstrings and instantly calmed my frazzled nerves. ‘The thing is .?.?. she’s actually my cousin.’

‘What?’ I stood upright in horror. ‘You’re marrying your cousin? ’

‘No! She lives in Scotland. I was showing her around!’

‘I could have sworn you said—’

‘What was I supposed to say, when you told me the guy you were with was your date?’ Zakariya interrupted me, agitated. ‘I didn’t want to look like a fool who was holding on for no reason.’

There was a silence as I digested this and searched his face for clues about how he might have been feeling. He looked back at me and there was no mistaking what was in his expression, his voice, his eyes.

‘What were you holding on to?’ I whispered, the electricity crackling between us.

‘You,’ he said simply. ‘I was holding on to the thought that maybe one day, you would like me too. I wish you were coming with me. I know I have no right to ask it from you, but I can wish it, can’t I?’

My breath caught in my throat as I struggled to come up with a witty reply, some sort of joke to diffuse the charge in the air. My mind didn’t comply and I stood there, silently and stupidly, my legs like panna cotta. I dared to look up at him again and this time, his eyes were sad. Every part of me ached to wrap my arms around him and make that sadness go away and just as I geared myself up to give in to the overwhelming urge to be close to him, my phone buzzed, interrupting the moment and releasing the tension. I both resented the intrusion and was grateful for it. What was I thinking, planning to hug a man outside my cousin’s mehndi party, where all my family had gathered? I was going crazy, there was no other explanation.

‘Excuse me,’ I managed to say as I checked it.

NOAH: Maya, can we talk? I really miss you and I’ve realised that I don’t care if you copied my list. It doesn’t mean that I didn’t know the real you. I’m really sorry for how I reacted .?.?. I guess I needed some time to process it all. Please forgive me x.

I read and reread the message, my hands trembling. Why was Noah messaging me now , at this precise moment, after ghosting me for weeks? Was it a divine sign that Noah was the one I was supposed to be with, not Zakariya? I had been praying for clarity, direction. Was this the answer to my prayers?

‘Everything OK?’ Zak asked, shuffling from one foot to the other, discomfort oozing from him. His voice snapped me out of my stupor and I looked up at him standing there in his black shalwar kameez and all our little moments together began to flood my mind. The way he always looked out for me, was always ready to help me. He was dependable. And sexy AF. I thought back to how I had rejected him more than once, but yet there he stood, baring his soul once again, despite claiming that he never would.

‘Everything’s fine,’ I replied, as clarity dawned on me like a new day, pushing away the clouds and filling my life with light. The sign wasn’t Noah’s text. The sign was Zak, here in front of me, liking me for exactly who I was, not who he thought I was, jinn dance and all.

I put my phone back into my clutch bag as the tension that had been gripping my shoulders began to ease. I would respond to Noah later. I needed to do it properly, not in the middle of my conversation with Zakariya.

‘In fact,’ I continued, smiling up at him, everything’s better than fine. Shall we go inside and sit down with a cup of masala tea?’

‘Uh. OK?’

‘We’ve got a lot to talk about.’ Grabbing his hand, I gently led him towards the door. He looked at my hand like it belonged to an alien, as though he couldn’t quite believe what was happening, and I dropped it the moment I opened the door to the hall. It wouldn’t do to give the aunties fodder for their gossip session.

‘We do?’ he asked, looking confused as he followed me through the corridor that led to the hall, which felt like utter chaos after the calm outside. It was noisy, people pushed past us as they looked for the toilets, children ran by chasing balloons, but despite the mayhem, I had never felt so at peace.

‘We need to figure out how we’re going to do this,’ I said boldly, tiptoeing to bring my lips closer to his ear, so he could hear me above the music and chatter. ‘You’re leaving in two weeks, I’m not. My course is only a year. I’m sure we can figure something out.’

‘What? Are you messing with me?’ Zak stopped to stare at me, his mouth falling open in shock.

‘I’m not messing with you, fam,’ I said in my most London, Top Boy accent, looking up at him as he continued to gawk at me as though waiting for the punchline. ‘You wanna do this or not?’

‘I do,’ he said, and a smile so bright it could illuminate the room spread across his face.

We stood there in the doorway to the hall and smiled at each other. Big, cheesy, silly smiles. All around us, people danced, kids jumped away on the bouncy castle, elders sat around the tables chewing paan and drinking tea, but at that moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the room.

Later that night, when I was back at home and in bed, my feet sore and my mind still blown from all that had happened at the mehndi, I replied to Noah:

MAYA: Hey Noah, thanks for reaching out to me, I appreciate it. I honestly didn’t mean to trick you into thinking I was something I wasn’t. I suppose I’ve had a hard time lately figuring out who I am and I’m sorry for getting you caught up in it.

Thank you for everything you have shown me and taught me through your list – I will always be grateful to you for giving me the gift of adventure and exploration, both within me and in the world around me. I’ve enjoyed getting to know you, but you were right when you said we are too different.

Take care, Noah. I wish you all the best, always x.