Zara Hossain Is Here

by Sabina Khan

  I’m kind of glad that Nick isn’t working today because I’m not sure what this is yet, but I know it’s something. Chloe is a lot more reserved than I am—or at least that’s the impression I’ve gotten. I don’t want to scare her away by being too much. And if Nick were here, he’d be making weird faces and smooching noises like the brat he is. Solo, I might be able to play it cool.

  “I’ve never had a soul mate before,” she says, looking off into the distance. I almost choke on a piece of the sour gummy.

  “Yeah … me neither …” I say between coughs as I try to clear my airway. “But right now, this froyo can be both of our soul mates.”

  Real smooth, Zara. Real smooth.

  “Oh, okay,” she says, her face completely unreadable.

  I don’t know what to say next because a thousand questions are tumbling around in my useless brain right now.

  She starts talking about some TV show that she really likes, and I promise to check it out. I’m glad the awkward moment is over … and I’m sad when she suggests going back to the library.

  * * *

  That evening, there’s a news story about a terrorist attack that killed four Americans in Pakistan. The next day, I dodge dirty looks from everyone. I swear they think I’m some sort of mastermind who single-handedly controls the entire Muslim ummah. It’s always the same. I’m exhausted from the burden of representing almost two billion people. It’s gotten to the point where anytime there’s a crime reported in the news, I find myself praying that the perpetrator is white and non-Muslim.

  After SJC that afternoon, Ms. Talbot pulls me aside. “Are you okay?” she asks, her eyes filled with concern. “You were awfully quiet today.”

  “It’s nothing new,” I say. “Did you hear about the attack on the US embassy in Islamabad yesterday?”

  “I did. It’s awful,” she says. “Did someone say something?”

  She’s very astute, but it doesn’t surprise me. It makes it easy for me to talk to her because I don’t have to explain every little thing to her. There aren’t a lot of people here that I can talk to without it taking a lot out of me.

  “Not really to me, but I can tell what they’re thinking,” I say. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m imagining it all.”

  “Probably not,” Ms. Talbot says. “Most people won’t take the time to educate themselves about issues that affect us all. It’s easy to think that a lot of it is happening so far away that we don’t need to bother.”

  “I guess, but then why do I feel guilty every time something like this happens? I mean, I’m not remotely responsible in any way, but it feels like I’m supposed to take the blame.”

  “Zara, of course you don’t have to do anything like that,” Ms. Talbot says. She leans against the table and looks at me. “Please don’t ever think that. I’m so proud of what you’re doing here. This is what matters, making people aware. But it’s going to take time.”

  “I know,” I say with a deep sigh. “But it’s so frustrating.”

  “Hang in there,” she says. “And remember I’m always here for you.”

  * * *

  My heavy heart lifts a little when I see that Chloe’s waiting for me. We walk out to our cars together.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing what you two were talking about,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m fine,” I say. “Just tired of the same old thing, I guess.”

  “I know it’s not the same thing,” Chloe says, “but I get being tired of all the ignorance. My parents make me go to these church events, and sometimes I just want to scream at their conversations.”

  “You mean about queer people?”

  “Oh my God, Zara, you can’t even imagine how ridiculous they sound. It’s like they’ve been living under a rock.”

  “Sadly, I can imagine. I know people like that too. They talk about us like we’re a different species altogether.”

  We reach my car, and she suddenly turns to face me.

  “Hey, let’s do something fun. I wanna cheer you up.” Her face is so earnest, I can’t say no.

  It turns out that we both love Marvel movies. When Chloe asks me if I want to see the latest one with her, I don’t tell her I’ve already seen it with Nick. I love Marvel enough to watch the movies multiple times, and I can’t wait to be alone in a dark movie theater with Chloe. The possibilities are endless. Maybe I’ll casually put my hand on her armrest and see if anything happens. I’m not expecting any Bollywood-type action, but a little hand-holding would go a long way in helping me figure out if Chloe feels anything at all beyond friendship.

  We drop my car off at my house, and I run in to tell my parents that I’m going to the movies. Soon enough, Chloe and I are seated in the luxury loungers in one of the Century 16 theaters on South Padre Island Drive. Chloe puts her drink in the cup holder between us, so it looks like any hand shenanigans are out of the question. But then the lights dim, and I notice her moving her cup to the other side, and I start to get a little sweaty. I don’t know what this says about my social skills, but I made peace with my awkwardness a long time ago. I take a deep, shaky breath and casually let my hand fall somewhere in the middle of the armrest. I know it would be weird to turn my head in her direction to see if she’s noticed. So I resist the urge. For about two minutes. She turns her head slightly, and I look away quickly, pretending to be engrossed by the movie trailer on the screen. But then I feel her slide her hand into mine, and everything feels right. I curl my fingers around hers, and we watch the movie.

  My heart is beating a million miles per second, and I have the urge to burst into song. Something romantic and cheesy from a Shah Rukh Khan movie.

  Even when the movie’s over, I don’t want the evening to end just yet, so I suggest we get milkshakes.

  “Should we just share one?” Chloe asks when we’re standing in line at La Paletera.

  “Sure, that sounds good. You pick though.”

  Chloe orders a cookies-and-cream milkshake, and we find a table in the back.

  “So, did you love the movie or what?” Chloe asks, sliding the glass toward me. I take a slow pull of my straw, trying to calm my nerves.

  We both reach for the glass at the same time, and our fingers touch. Hers are on top of mine, and she just keeps them there. Our eyes meet and linger for the first time during this whole evening. A wave of longing washes over me, and I want nothing more than to lean over and kiss her lips. To taste the strawberry-vanilla lip gloss that I imagine she’s wearing. But I can’t forget where I am. Here in Corpus we’re still a little behind the times.

  Chloe just smiles, and I wish I could read her mind. Is she as nervous as I am?

  We talk about the movie, but it’s what we don’t say that has me all tingly inside. We pass the milkshake back and forth, and every time our fingers touch I feel a charge running through me. It’s like a spark has been lit and a slow fire is burning inside. I don’t want the milkshake to finish, so we can keep doing this. But I also need it to be done so we can move on to the next part.

  Chloe takes a long, long sip, a smile in her eyes as she holds my gaze.

  Maybe I’m not the only one who feels this way.

  “Ready to go?” she asks when we’ve finished every last drop of the milkshake.

  We walk out into the sultry evening. Her car is parked a few short steps away, and we get in. I turn slightly to buckle in my seat belt, and she reaches out to cup my cheek at the exact same moment. That’s all the encouragement I need. I lean in, and when our lips touch, something delicious and warm flows through me. Chloe’s lips move tentatively on mine, and it’s so sweet because it says everything perfectly. Also, I was right—she does taste of vanilla and strawberry.

  We stop kissing, and somehow our hands find each other. We sit in a comfortable silence for a few seconds.

  “So, this happened,” Chloe says, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

  “Well, I was hoping it would. I mean, you don’t just share a milkshak
e with a girl and then leave her hanging.” I cringe as soon as the words come out. What does that even mean?

  “You know I’ve been working up the nerve since the first time we talked,” Chloe says.

  “I’m glad you finally did,” I say as we lean into each other again.

  I want to stay with her in this bubble of happiness for as long as we can.

  It’s Nick. For the past few days, I’ve been blowing him off to spend time with Chloe, and I feel guilty.

  A few seconds go by.

  Is he for real?

  Chloe and I head out to Ocean Drive with Zorro and my elderly neighbor’s dogs, Lola and Felix. I walk them for her sometimes when she’s not feeling too great. The sun is setting, and there’s a slight breeze that makes it bearable to be outside. The mosquito repellent I sprayed on myself is sticky, but I prefer not to be eaten alive by mosquitoes. Chloe opted against any spray. I promise to make sure her tombstone says she’s a hero.

  Zorro flirts with Lola the entire way, and Felix is not having any of it. After getting tangled up in their leashes multiple times and almost falling over a kid on a tricycle, I decide that Chloe can hold Zorro. He behaves better if he’s with someone else. Felix calms down, and Lola is completely oblivious to the chaos she’s causing. After we’ve walked for a while and the dogs start getting tired, we give them a drink and sit on one of the benches by the water. It’s a beautiful evening, marred only by the buzzing mosquitoes that are eating Chloe alive.

  “I wanted to ask you something,” Chloe says. In reply, I smack her on the thigh.

  “Ouch.” She glares at me, but I point triumphantly at the mosquito carcass on her leg. She flicks it away. “Anyway, I was wondering about something. Do your parents know?”

  “That I’m bisexual? Yeah, I told them last year.”

  “And they were okay with it?” Chloe is barely able to hide her shock.

  “Well, yeah, they were surprised at first and a little worried, but we talked about it and then they were okay.”

  We stare out at the water. The light of the setting sun makes it look as if it’s on fire.

  Chloe sighs. “I wish my parents had taken it as well as yours.”

  A wave of sadness washes over me. “I’m sure they just need time to get used to the idea.” I take her hand in mine and squeeze gently.

  “It’s not that. They just don’t accept it. I told you, they’re super religious and this goes against all their beliefs.”

  “I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for you,” I say, wanting to comfort her in some way. “I have a friend in Houston who’s Muslim like me, and he’s having a really tough time with his parents too.”

  “I just wish they would stop trying to make me feel so guilty all the time. I mean, I love them, but this is so messed up.” She looks at me, and her eyes are full of tears. My heart breaks for her.

  “You know I’m always here for you, right?”

  She leans into me, and we sit just like this for a bit. The dogs start getting restless, so we drop them off and head over to my house.

  “Why don’t you come in and meet my parents?” I offer. I don’t want her to have to go home feeling the way she is.

  She nods, and we head inside. Ammi is already there making dinner.

  “Ammi, this is my friend Chloe. Chloe, this is my mom.”

  “Hi, Chloe. Would you like to stay for dinner? I’m almost done,” Ammi says. “It’s just egg curry and roti. Do you like Pakistani food?”

  “Is it like Indian food? I love naan bread,” Chloe says. I cringe at her use of the term naan bread. I’ve stopped trying to explain to people that naan is a type of bread, so you can just call it naan. Otherwise it’s like saying bun bread or roll bread.

  I decide now is not the time to correct her. Instead, I say, “So, you’ll stay?” And I’m genuinely excited when she says yes.

  Abbu comes home soon after, and we all eat dinner together. I look at Chloe as she chats with Abbu, and she looks so happy and comfortable. It’s important to me that my parents and my girlfriend like each other. Girlfriend. Hmm. I wonder if that’s what she is to me. We haven’t really talked about anything like that yet.

  “Zara, you never told me you like to sing.” Chloe’s voice pulls my attention back to the conversation.

  “What? Oh, just karaoke,” I say hurriedly before this becomes a thing. “Actually, my dad is really good, right, Abbu?”

  Abbu smiles.

  “No, no, nothing like that,” he says, waving dismissively. “When I was much younger, I used to sing ghazals sometimes. Now I just like to sing along to Bollywood songs.”

  “C’mon, Abbu, don’t be so modest. You know you’re much better than that,” I say.

  Chloe smiles at Abbu. “I’d love to hear you sing something.”

  I’d love to kiss her on the lips right now, but I restrain myself.

  “Zara, why don’t you set up the karaoke machine?” Ammi says. She doesn’t have to ask me twice. I go to the living room and set everything up. Abbu bought the karaoke machine as a gift for the whole family at Christmas when I was ten. We still pull it out every now and then, especially when the desi aunties and uncles come over. Then it’s practically a Bollywood festival.

  I look through our stack of karaoke CDs until I find one that Abbu brought back from Pakistan a few years ago. Mohammed Rafi and Lata Mangeshkar, my favorite Bollywood singers. When it comes to Hindi music, I’m partial to the oldies.

  “Abbu, please can you sing ‘Khoya Khoya Chand’?” I beg, and Abbu smiles. It’s one of his faves too. As the music starts and he begins to sing, I lean back with Chloe next to me. Ammi shoots us a look, and I wonder if she can tell how I feel about Chloe.

  “He’s so good,” Chloe whispers in my ear. “I don’t understand a word of it, but it’s beautiful.”

  “I’ll tell you what it means later,” I whisper back. I feel content in this moment, sitting here with this girl I really like, listening to Abbu sing. She fits in perfectly somehow. I mean, she’s just met them, and I love how comfortable she is already. I’m careful not to let my parents notice, but I slide my hand into hers under one of the mirrorwork pillows that Ammi brought back from Pakistan.

  Later, when Chloe is ready to leave, I walk her out to her car.

  “So, do you want me to tell you what the song was all about?” I ask, shamelessly batting my eyelashes at her. I pull out all the stops when I really want something, and this is the best flirting technique I know. Maybe I should study Bollywood movies more carefully.

  “Sure. I’d love to hear it. Are you going to sing it to me?” she says, laughter bubbling up in her eyes.

  “No, no, I just think you should know what you listened to, that’s all,” I say quickly.

  Chloe leans against the side of her car while I strike what I hope is a dramatic Bollywood-style pose à la Sharmila Tagore and begin.

  “Oh, bashful moon in the vast sky,

  Your eyes will see the night pass.

  How will you sleep?

  Oh, bashful moon,

  The intoxicating wind blows,

  The flower in my heart blossoms

  My soul quivers.”

  Chloe’s lips drown out the rest of my words. Somewhere in the back of my mind a small voice reminds me that Ammi and Abbu are just inside, but that only seems to make this kiss more intoxicating.

  “Zara, do you have any idea how much I like you?” Chloe says, leaning back.

  “No, but I’d love to know,” I say, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

  “But is it okay if I don’t have a song?” she teases. Then she adds softly, “Do you really need me to tell you?”

  I shake my head. I can see it in her eyes. I can tell by the way her body gravitates toward mine when we’re standing close. I know we haven’t spent that much time together, but sometimes you just know. At least I know I do. I feel a connection—a connection that grew even stronger tonight when she was in my home with my family.r />
  My parents love me unconditionally, even when I put them in difficult situations. They only care about my happiness, not what society tells them they should care about. And I respect them so much for it. I have friends who struggle with who they are because their families don’t accept them. I know I’m one of the lucky ones. I could never really be with someone they didn’t love too. And I know they will love Chloe.

  “Hey, where’d you go?” Chloe swings my hand back and forth gently. “Are you okay?”

  She looks worried suddenly, and I realize it’s because she thinks she’s pushing too soon.

  “Yes, I’m okay,” I say, pulling her head closer to mine and kissing her softly on the lips. “Chloe, you know whenever you feel that things are getting too hard for you with your parents … you can always come here.” I put my arms around her.

  In the moonlight, her eyes shine brightly. “Thank you,” she whispers in my ear.

  She gets in her car and drives off. I stand there until I can no longer see her before turning to go back inside. Ammi is just starting the dishwasher when I come in.

  “I like Chloe,” she announces, wiping her hand on a kitchen towel. She comes closer and gently touches my face. “You really like her, don’t you, chanda?”

  My cheeks are on fire as I nod.

  She laughs. “Achha, now you’re acting all shy. But for chumma-chummi in front of the house, you’re not too shy.”

  “Oh my God, Ammi, stop,” I say, worried that Abbu will hear.

  “It’s okay, beta,” Ammi says teasingly. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”

  “There’s nothing to tell, Ammi,” I say, taking the large serving bowl she’s holding out and putting it in the cabinet.

  “Let me tell you,” she begins, “when your abbu and I first realized how we felt about each other, we had to keep it a secret from everyone.”

  My parents’ love story has always felt like a romance novel to me. Star-crossed lovers from different social classes, fighting with the whole world to be together. And even though I’ve heard the story so many times, I never grow tired of listening.