by Sabina Khan
I get up and shake her hand.
“Thank you so much again, Ms. Delgado. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
“Vanessa will be in touch with you soon.”
By the time I get home, I’m floating on a cloud. I want to call Nick and Chloe so badly, but I resist the urge. Maybe when I have actual news. But for now, I’m going to focus my energy on staying positive.
* * *
Two weeks pass without a word from Senator Delgado, and the optimism that filled me after our meeting slowly depletes.
My parents have already begun to make arrangements for their move back to Pakistan. I notice Ammi starting to pack some of our stuff up. Nothing we use every day, but things that she’s kept stored away in the garage, as well as some framed photos that never made it back up on the wall after the last paint job. There’s still so much to be done, but luckily many of the family members over there are helping out.
When the call from Senator Delgado’s office finally comes in, her assistant invites my parents and me to share our story alongside her at a rally in San Antonio this weekend, which has been organized by the activist group Citizens for Immigration Reform—many of whom are Dreamers—to raise awareness for the dire state of immigration rights in this country.
“Please say that you’ll come to the rally on Saturday,” I say to my parents at dinner that evening.
“Of course, beta. We’ll come with you,” Abbu says. “It’s very kind of Senator Delgado to do this for us.”
“I don’t think people understand just how broken the immigration system is,” Ammi says. “Not just for the Dreamers, but also for immigrants like us with company-sponsored visas. We entered the country legally and followed all the rules, but we’re still at the mercy of the employers’ whims.”
“That’s exactly why we need to fight back,” I say. “So that things will actually change.”
“You’re right, Zara,” Abbu says. “We should do what we can so that your generation doesn’t have to deal with this.”
“So, does that mean you’d consider staying if Senator Delgado can pull this off somehow?” I ask hopefully.
“Did she say what her plan was?” Abbu says.
“Not exactly, but she did say she’d look into getting your work visa renewed and have our green card application expedited.”
“I’m not sure even she can do that,” Ammi says.
“We’ll see” is the only response I have to that.
* * *
The moment Senator Delgado takes the stage, the crowd erupts in a triumphant chant. I’m filled with hope as I look around and see so many young people from all backgrounds gathered here to fight for our rights. It’s a reminder that not everyone thinks like Tyler and his father, that many people believe immigrants make valuable contributions and are vital to enriching the fabric that this country is made of.
She smiles and waves, waiting for the crowd to quiet down before she begins to speak.
“Hello, everyone, and thank you for coming out today,” she says. “I am incredibly heartened to see so many of you here, and I’m hopeful that together we can fight for a better, more inclusive, and just future.” She talks about the history of immigration in the US and then about her personal story of how her parents came to this country with nothing to call their own and built a good life for their family. She tells us about her own struggles with poverty, racism, and sexism and how she came to be where she is today. It’s all very inspiring, and as I look to my parents, I can see they feel the same way.
Finally, Senator Delgado invites us to join her on the stage. My stomach is in knots, and my parents look quite nervous too. But she soon puts them at ease with her sincerity and kind words. The crowd hangs on every word as Senator Delgado shares our whole story, and judging from the gasps, I can tell that they are shocked by how events unfolded.
“I believe in all of you,” the senator says in closing, “and I know that if we work together we can accomplish great things and make this country a safe space for all of us.”
As I look out across the crowd, I’m moved to tears by the overwhelming feelings of warmth and love. I’m starting to see a future for me here once again, where just a few weeks ago I couldn’t imagine one anymore. A future where I’m a part of this community, in which I can make a real difference for others like me, like my parents.
* * *
The next day, I’m walking to the library when I see Nick and Priya at a table out front, their heads together. They’re both talking in hushed voices, and Priya throws back her head to laugh at something Nick says. They don’t notice me, and I’m glad because I’m not sure how I feel about this.
That evening, Nick and his parents are over for dinner, and I ask Nick to come out to the backyard with me.
“What’s up?” he says, sitting on the swing set Abbu put up when we were little. Nick and I must have played out here a thousand times, taking turns pushing each other and building castles in the sandbox.
“I saw you with Priya today,” I say. “By the library.” I watch him closely, to see how he reacts.
“So?” he says, nonchalant. “You see us there every day.”
“So, is it serious?” Nick is a huge flirt, and if he’s just messing around with Priya, she could get hurt. And that would ruin everything. So, I have to make sure he’s serious this time. And I have a feeling he is. I’ve never seen him look at a girl the way he was looking at Priya when she was laughing. It was sweet … but Nick’s an idiot and I have to make sure he doesn’t make a huge mess of things.
He stops swinging. “Would you be upset if I said yes?”
I put my hand on my hip. “Look, I don’t have time for games,” I say. “Are you going to tell me or not?”
“Okay, fine. Yes.”
“Yes, what?” I demand.
He narrows his eyes at me.
“Yes, it’s serious,” he says.
“Okay.”
“What do you mean, okay?” he says. “Is that all you’re going to say?”
“Well, what else do you want me to say?”
“Like … are you okay with me and Priya being together?”
Am I okay with my two closest friends being together? I mean, Priya and I are very close, but it’s different with Nick. I can only describe what he means to me in Urdu. He’s apna. My own. It’s hard to explain. We have history. We’ve shared scraped knees, afternoons in the backyard pool, long nights where we stayed up to look at the stars when we were little, sleeping in tents Abbu would put up for us. He knows I’m terrified of lizards, and I know he hates corn dogs with a weird passion because they made him sick one time when we were seven. He consoled me in kindergarten when Ashley B. said I couldn’t come to her birthday party because people with dirty skin weren’t allowed. He’s always the first person I want to tell stuff, even now.
But even though I’m scared of what this means for me, in my heart I’m so happy for both of them. But I don’t see why I can’t torture Nick a little longer. The worried look on his face right now makes it totally worth it.
“Of course I’m okay with it,” I say. “I mean, why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “I guess I thought you might be worried that things might change between us and it’ll be weird hanging out together.”
When I don’t say anything, he grabs hold of my hand.
“Look, Zara,” he says. “We’ll always be tight no matter what happens. We have so much history, and I’m always going to want to tell you stuff. And it’ll be perfect now because you know Priya so well, you can tell me how to fix things when I screw up.” He grins in that way I can’t resist.
“Or you could maybe, you know, not screw up that much.”
“Dude,” he says, his face all serious. “Have you met me?”
“You’re an idiot. I think we should go back inside now so I can tell everyone about you and Priya,” I say just before I run back inside.
By the time he foll
ows me, I’ve already blurted it out, and we basically spend the rest of the evening giving Nick a hard time.
But beneath the jovial banter, my heart hurts because I know this might be one of the last times that I get to be like this with all the people I love. I’m afraid that time is running out.
I’m trying to stay focused on school and on my friends. Chloe and I try to see each other when we can. Priya was relieved when I told her I knew about her and Nick—though when she started to give me the details I had to put on the brakes with a very definitive “Ew, STOP!”
My teachers have no idea that I might be leaving, and I intend to keep it that way. Every now and then, I pass Tyler in the hall or have to pass him something in history class, and he looks like a drowning man. After his suspension, he never caught up on his work and failed enough classes to get kicked off the football team. His friends make it clear they blame me for this, making me dodge dirty looks and racist comments when they know no teachers are around. But Tyler doesn’t rise to this. He doesn’t rise to anything.
I hope his dad ends up in jail soon. I suspect it’ll be better for both of us that way.
* * *
“Ammi,” I say at dinner after a particularly awful day at school, “I’ve been thinking, and I’m wondering if I should come back to Karachi with you and Abbu.”
Ammi’s face lights up in a way I haven’t seen for some time now.
“Beta, I know it’ll be a huge adjustment for you, but that would make me so happy.”
“I just don’t know if it’s the best decision for me. For my future.”
“You know, before all this happened, I had no plans of ever going back other than just to visit. Abbu and I thought we’d grow old here and watch you have a family, and it was all going to be perfect.”
“But now everything’s changed,” I say. “I know. I’ve been feeling like that too. I thought things were going to be okay once Abbu got better.”
“Sometimes I feel like Allah is trying to tell me something,” she says. “That it’s time to go back home, reconnect with our friends, our family, our roots. This country doesn’t want us.”
“I’m just worried about college there. I looked up a few in Karachi, and they don’t have the kind of programs I’m interested in.”
“But, beta, young people there are going to college every day, and they have successful careers after. There may not be as many options, but you can still get a good education. After all, your father and I got our degrees there, and so many of your cousins are too.”
“I know,” I say. “I have a lot to think about before I can decide.”
* * *
The next night is Friday, and Chloe and I have a date. It’s a beautiful, starlit evening by the time we exit the movie theater and make our way to Ocean Drive to walk by the water for a bit. There are only a few people out on the pier, mostly couples like us, holding hands.
As the cool breeze comes in gently from the water, I feel an intense sense of regret for everything that I’ll be missing if I end up going back to Karachi. Even though Chloe and I have only been going out for a few months, there’s a connection between us that’s special. Maybe it’s because everything that’s happened has heightened the intensity of our feelings toward each other, but I can’t imagine never seeing her again. It’s unlikely that I’ll be able to come back, and even more unlikely that Chloe could visit me in Pakistan. And I can’t just forget about her and the way she makes me feel.
I have no way of knowing what the future has in store for the two of us, but I don’t think I’m willing to risk never finding out what could have been. Because in this moment right here, right now, I feel incredibly close to her. The kind of closeness that doesn’t require many words. It’s when you feel so comfortable with someone that you just want to be there with them.
I turn to her, lifting a hand to caress her face. Then I kiss her gently.
Here, in the moonlight under the stars, I realize that I’m exactly where I need to be.
“What was that for?” Chloe asks when we come up for air. She’s smiling, and her brown eyes reflect the moonlight rippling over the water.
“For being here,” I say. “And for being you.”
We hold each other, fitting perfectly with each other, my head just under her chin. My eyes well up, inexplicably, because I feel content and happy after a long time.
“What is it, Zara?” Chloe leans back and looks at me with concern. “Why’re you crying?”
I shake my head, and a laugh escapes me. “I don’t even know. I’m such a mess.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” she says, wiping away the tears.
“I guess I’m just overwhelmed, with everything at school and those jerks. It’s just never-ending.”
“Honestly, I don’t know how you handle it,” she says. “It’s a lot to deal with.”
“Lately, I’ve been thinking that maybe my parents are right. Maybe we should all go back to Pakistan.”
She goes really still, and I know exactly why.
“I’m not going to do it,” I say quickly. “But I came pretty close. I’m just so tired of feeling that I don’t belong here, and it doesn’t help that I’m reminded every day.”
“You do belong here, Zara,” she says. “Don’t let morons like Tyler drive you away, because then they get to win. And we can’t let them.”
“I know. But it’s getting really hard.”
“You know we’re all here for you. We want you to stay because we love you. I love you.” She looks away, as if suddenly realizing what she said.
“I love you too,” I say softly. “Any time I thought about just leaving and going back, I realized that being here with you, like this, is what I want more than anything else. I want to see you and hold your hand and go out with you whenever we want. And I’d be giving all that up if I leave.”
She lowers her head to mine, and for the next few minutes, we’re lost in the gentleness of the waves, my worries swept away by the tide. And everything feels right again.
When I get home from school on Monday, I see a message from Vanessa Anderson asking me to call back urgently. My heart is in my mouth when I make the call.
“Ms. Anderson, this is Zara Hossain calling back. You left a message?”
“Yes, Zara, I’m glad you caught me. I was just about to leave for the day.”
“Have you heard something?”
“I’m sorry I don’t have better news. Senator Delgado was able to pull some favors and have your family’s green card application expedited. Unfortunately, it still won’t be done in time before your father’s H-1B status expires.”
My heart sinks. I’d really gotten my hopes up, and now I know I shouldn’t have.
“So how long after that will it be done?” I ask.
“It’s complicated,” Ms. Anderson says. “It’ll only be a short period of time, during which you’ll have no legal status, which changes things.”
“So, we’d be staying in the country illegally?” I don’t like where this is going.
“Well, you will have to leave the country before your visa expires, otherwise it’s a whole other situation.”
“Okay, so we’ll leave. But then how soon before I can come back?”
“You’d have to wait until your green card is approved. Unfortunately, because you’ll now have left the country, it will take longer because it has to go through a few additional stages.”
What she’s telling me is that I still have to leave, and I still have to wait for an unknown period of time before I can come back. It makes no sense to me whatsoever.
“Thank you for letting me know,” I say. “And please thank Ms. Delgado for me.”
I’m trying to feel grateful that they even tried, but the disappointment is too much. All the frustration and anger erupt in me, and I throw myself on the bed, violent sobs racking my shoulders. I don’t know what I’m going to do.
* * *
When my parents come home, my t
earstained face and puffy eyes tell them what they need to know. They try to make me feel better, but I’m inconsolable.
“At least in Pakistan you’ll be with family, your own blood.” Ammi puts her hands on my shoulders. “You’ll be wanted.”
“Until they find out the truth, Ammi. Then what? What will they say when they find out I’m bisexual, that I’m in love with a girl?”
“Zara, why do they have to know about that? That’s your personal life. It’s none of their business.”
“So, you want me to hide it? Pretend to be someone I’m not just to fit in?” I shake my head. She doesn’t get it.
“Zara, beta, I don’t know what to tell you. All I know is that you’ll never be safe here, where everyone can see that you don’t belong. At least in Pakistan you’ll blend in.”
So, these are my choices. Stay here and know that every moment someone could be targeting me with their hate and racism or go to Pakistan with my parents and blend in. Become invisible. No thank you. I’m not going to let anyone make me feel like I have to run and hide.
“Ammi, you don’t understand. It’s easy for you and Abbu to decide to go back to Pakistan because for you that is home. You both had entire lives there before you moved to Texas. My entire life, all my memories, are here. How can I just leave it all behind?”
“Beta, Ammi is just worried for your safety,” Abbu said. “It’s better to make new friends and new memories than to live like this, always scared of who will shoot you or attack you. What kind of a life is that?”
“But, Abbu, your life here was not always like that. You’ve had so many good years, haven’t you?”
“That’s true, Zara,” he says. “We’ve had many happy years here. But times have changed, and it seems to only be getting more dangerous with each passing day.”
“All the more reason to fight back, Abbu. Otherwise where does it end?”
“Uff Allah, Zara, why do you have to be the one fighting against all this? Let other people fight, na. I only have one daughter, and I’d like her not to get hurt.”