When Tara Met Farah

by Tara Pammi

  “What?” Farah peeled her gaze away from the swell of Tara’s breasts. “No, I’m not.” She cleared her throat, hoping to remove the husky undertone. “I’m not studying.”

  Tara frowned. “Is the music or something else disturbing the delicate balance of your mathematical genius?”

  Farah laughed – a hard, loud sound that felt strange in her throat. Much as she was justified, the girl wasn’t good at sarcasm. “No. I finished my work for the week. Nothing is disturbing me,” she replied.

  There was something mesmerizing about Tara. And it wasn’t just the physical attraction.

  Was it because Farah knew so much about Tara without betraying her own interest that it had the flavor of a clandestine attraction? Or was it the sense of heady control because she didn't have to share anything of herself to have access to all kinds of intimate information about Tara?

  The last thought made her a little ashamed of herself. But the joke was on her. She’d gone in out of curiosity and come away burned.

  “Then would you mind not...” Tara’s chest rose and fell as she dragged in a breath and looked back at Farah. “Would you mind?” she pointed in Farah’s direction.

  Farah pushed up a leg against the wall, making herself comfortable. She had no idea what she was doing or why she was acting like a donkey’s behind. “Would I mind what?”

  “Going back into your room,” Tara said softly, a pained expression painted across her lovely face.

  Whether that was because of the exertion of the dance practice or because she didn’t usually ask rude houseguests to stop staring at her, Farah had no idea. Only that she didn’t want to go back into her room.

  It hit her hard – that small, simple fact.

  She was sick of hiding from this girl who’d been nothing but friendly. She was sick of hiding from her family and friends. Sick of hiding from life.

  Farah didn't want to go back to the black abyss her heart had been for more than a year. She wanted to glory in this...in whatever this was that had given the blasted organ a shake. “Are you uncomfortable dancing in front of me?”

  Farah asked the question knowing that Tara wasn’t. The girl had spoken to her viewers about her grandmother’s death and coming out and about her only uncle turning cold after she’d come out to her family.

  There was nothing in the world that could make this girl uncomfortable. Nothing in the world should ever dim Tara’s brightness – Farah believed this with an intensity she didn’t question.

  “Not really.”

  “Then why ask me to leave?”

  “I thought maybe something messed with your default setting,” Tara retorted. “If you go back into your cave with all your research papers and math textbooks, it might get reset.”

  Farah laughed. Her pulse raced at the almost insignificant personal interaction. “It’s maths. Not math,” Farah said, just for the pleasure of seeing Tara wound up.

  Tara’s hands went to her hips. “It’s math, you puffed up...” she blew out a breath that made a curly lock of hair fly and then fall back. “Since both words were coined by someone else for their own versions of the blasted language which you and I only know because of the glories of colonization, how about we call a truce?”

  Farah smiled, enjoying the common sense wrapped up in layers of snark. “Agree 100%. What were you going to call me – a puffed up what?”

  Tara sighed. “You only said that to wind me up.”

  “What do you think is my default setting?” Farah demanded, curiosity burning within her. “Please.”

  “You have three settings. The lowest is silent and lots of stare-offs. In the middle is curt politeness that lowers the temps by like five degrees at least. On the high side is rude and grumpy.”

  Clearly, she had given this some thought. Farah wanted to be at least annoyed by how well Tara described her. Instead all she felt was relief that Tara saw her that clearly. “You are right. I was rude that night. I didn’t mean to sound rude,” she finished softly, trying to find the right words.

  “But the intention beneath those words was very much meant?” Tara flung back perceptively.

  Farah wanted to lie and say no, she hadn’t meant the words. But she had never been a hypocrite. Lying in this moment just to look good in Tara’s eyes was not right when she did intend to maintain her distance.

  Neither could she say ‘I want to get to know you because you’re like a ray of sunshine but don’t expect anything from me’, because that just made her an awful person. “I did mean the intent, yes.”

  Tara pulled in a rough breath. “For the record, I never did anything extra for you. Or rather, I’m always extra when it comes to food and Amma’s underfed grads passing through here. Second, I didn’t do or say anything with some kind of reward in mind.” Her curved lashes flicked down to hide her expression.

  Farah’s pulse raced. Tara was lying in that last sentence. She did want a reward. If only Farah was the kind of girl who could say, ‘And what form would the reward take?’

  “I might have come across a little too strong because you asked me about the channel and I’ve been depriving myself of some basic human needs,” Tara continued, almost muttering to herself. Her gaze pinned Farah. “There was no need for all that ‘I’m not here to make friends’ spiel you doled out.”

  Farah rubbed a hand over her face. She took a breath, trying to form the right response. Because she didn’t want to be the reason the younger girl’s smile dimmed. Not again. Not ever. “I heard how upset you were that evening. I thought it was not a bad idea to let you know that I would not cause you further problems. Or encroach on your time with your mother.”

  Something tightened in Tara’s face – a shutter coming down hard. It made Farah realize how much she was already used to the openness of Tara’s expressions. “That’s not an equation you can solve by either of us pretending that you’re not here.”

  Farah heard the same ache in her voice again. A strangely urgent energy filled her. She wanted to talk to Tara, solve this for her. To remind her that whatever it was, she still had a chance to fix the problem with her mother.

  After one last look in Farah’s direction, Tara pointed the remote at the TV. “I have to practice.”

  “May I just sit here?” Farah dug her fingers into the pockets of her pajamas. “I will not disturb you.”

  “As long as you keep quiet, I don’t care if your eyes are glued to my ass,” Tara answered with a slight twist to her full mouth. Her eyes danced with a devilish laughter before she chased it away. As if she’d realized Farah didn’t deserve her one-liners. “That’s what my cousin usually does. Critiques my moves. And praises my ass. While she whines about her skinny booty.”

  Farah didn’t answer because it was hard to answer when she was both excited at being flirted with and terrified at her inability to come back with anything.

  It’s a perfect ass.

  Please, flirt more with me.

  All these would have been appropriately funny slash flirty responses. But saying them would be letting Tara know how obsessed Farah actually was with her ass and breasts and the curve of her hip.

  Saying them would be releasing them into the universe. Saying them would be acknowledging that she was feeling something for this girl.

  A lot of somethings, to be honest.

  Saying them would mean the possibility of rejection or a hundred other scenarios where Farah’s heart could be frozen solid again. So she shuffled to the sofa and settled down. She was more than happy to simply watch.

  Tara practiced her dance routine with a lot of pausing and playing on her iPad.

  The song and its beats washed over Farah. A few minutes later, she found her foot tapping away in tune to the bop-bop of the beat. Found her arms and legs rebelling against the stillness she imposed on them.

  Tara had the rhythm down absolutely. She also had a really sexy way of ‘shaking her ass’ to the beats. But her moves weren’t as tight and straight as they could
be, and she didn’t quite finish a movement all the way through before she raced to catch up to the next one. Especially during the long vocals.

  Farah lost track of the time as Tara continued to practice again and again. Time after time, replaying the song, watching the steps, and starting all over again. She smiled, a spark of joy beginning in her chest and spreading wide. The fact that she missed the transitions a few times or couldn’t hold the deep poses didn’t deter the younger girl at all.

  There was something magical about how Tara lost herself in the song even when she was doing it badly. Her YouTube channel, her food, this dance routine...Tara was living. Messily maybe but so gloriously at the same time.

  As she sat there and watched Tara get better with each pass, Farah wondered if simply being near this wonderful girl could help her inch back towards living again too. And the fact excited her and terrified her in equal measure.

  Five

  Tara

  “Wait, stop! Go back!”

  I was more than grateful for Farah’s sudden shout across the room. Never having been the best dancer in our group, I mostly didn’t care how good my moves were. But it was hard to keep my focus on the fast-moving beat while the girl I crushed on very politely asked me if she could watch me shake my ass and tits.

  After spending the last week hiding from me.

  I should have simply told Farah that I did mind her watching me. But being cold wasn’t easy for me.

  Plus, there had been something in her eyes when she’d asked me. Something achingly raw. She looked as if she’d suddenly been jolted awake from deep sleep and wanted to rejoin the living.

  So, pushover that I was, I agreed.

  For the most part, I’d focused on the beats of the song because damn...the song was fast and grace and economy of movement didn’t come naturally to me. Even if my dance team was too nice to say it.

  All through it, I was aware of Farah’s gaze tracing my body up and down. Of it landing on all my shaking parts. Of her foot tapping on the floor, in the periphery of my vision. It was ridiculous how hung up I was on whether she was attracted to me when she didn't even want to be my friend.

  "Tara, please, can I talk to you?" came her question, confirming that I hadn't misunderstood the urgency in her tone.

  I paused the music, reached for my bottle and took a long sip before I turned to her. Damned if I was going to throw open the welcome mat for her again. "What?" I said, trying to sound as if I'd been immersed in the movements. "I can't stop and pick up the momentum again. You know that law about bodies in inertia wanting to be in inertia?"

  She frowned.

  "Yeah, that was written after they studied me. If I stop for too long, I won't want to start up the practice again."

  Her eyes glowed with humor though she made a very careful attempt to keep her mouth pursed. "Why do it if it's so painful then?"

  I jumped on her question. "Who said it was painful?"

  "Oh, that’s not what I meant to say. What you said, it resonated with me.” She sighed. “I am very curious. About why you dance. If you don’t mind sharing, that is.”

  "I love dancing. I love being part of our drama and dance society. And more than anything, I’ve always wanted to be a dancer.” I lifted my shirt and wiped my forehead. “It doesn't mean, however, that there aren't moments where I hate moving my body one more step. Or that I like being a dancer better than actually dancing in that moment. Not everyone does everything perfectly all the time. Nor should we have to."

  Her eyes wide, she stared at me with that unwavering focus. “So for you the challenge is not in mastering it?”

  “No. Why should it be a challenge at all? Like I said, I simply love dancing. And of course, I try to get better but that’s not the point. Does that make sense?”

  Farah blinked. “Yes.”

  "Are you all right?" I asked, hit hard by that smile. And not just in a physical sense.

  That stunned look slowly dissipated from her eyes. "What? Yes, I am okay."

  "Was that too deep for you?” I waited for her to disappear on me again. “Are you like a genius only in math but kind of dense when it comes to everything else in life?"

  This time, her smile spread from her eyes to her mouth, curving it into a wide grin. "I have average intelligence in most areas of life if we are to go by such an arbitrary quantifier of human intellect."

  I rolled my eyes. "Then why did you look like I was Lord Krishna giving you the Gita Talk in front of a battlefield?"

  "What?"

  "Sorry. My bad. It's very easy to talk to someone from the Mother Land, you see. So I keep jumping into all these Hindu slash Cultural references I have stored up. I forget that you're not -"

  "I know of Lord Krishna's talk about Karma. I'm not a Hindu or a Muslim. Or I should say, I'm both but neither."

  How was it that this girl made even complexity so attractive? The more I learned of her, the more my attraction became less about how she looked and more about who she was. "What do you mean?" I asked, desperately hoping she’d continue to talk.

  "My mother was from a Hindu family although she herself was an atheist. My father's a Muslim but I've only met him a few times as he lives here in the US. Mama raised me, and she was against organized religion. Growing up, I spent a lot of time with both sets of grandparents who tried to subvert her rule about no organized religion and taught me a lot about their own faiths.”

  There it was again, another piece of what Farah made so self-sufficient and self-assured. Was that the draw she had for me? That she seemed so worldly and sure of herself on things that I struggled to grasp.

  I laughed. "That sounds...both comical and horrible."

  Memories touched her eyes with a glow as Farah laughed. "It was exactly that. All of them educated, sensible people independently, trying to out-teach the other camp. Most years, I’d celebrate Ramzan and Diwali and a bunch of other festivals."

  "Your mom didn't mind?"

  "Once she realized that both camps loved me and that I was getting a good insight into our culture, she didn't care. But she always," Farah blinked and swallowed, "made me repeat every story or tenet I was told and made me filter it through her feminist gaze. She said, in the end, if I did choose a faith, I had to do it for myself. Not because they or she pressured me into it."

  "She sounds like an ammaaaazing person," I said, awed by the strength and character of the woman Farah described.

  Under the guise of reaching for my water bottle, I cut my gaze away from her. I possessed enough self-awareness to recognize that awful knot in my belly. It was pure envy for the bond Farah had shared with her mother.

  Such a woman would’ve expected the same strength from her daughter. And Farah was strong and clever and self-assured. She had lived up to her mother’s expectations, I was sure.

  Unlike me.

  I’d always wanted that close bond with my mother too. I was pretty sure I’d even had it at one time. Lately though, it felt like Amma and I lived on two different planets. And I wasn’t sure who was spinning away from whom.

  “Is that why you said you weren’t like the other immigrant students that first morning?” I asked Farah, even more curious about her now.

  “Can we talk about that some other time?”

  When I let out a frustrated sound, she rushed in. “I’m not cutting you off. Some things are too painful to talk about right now."

  I saw the truth in her eyes. Full of an ache and helplessness. So, I nodded. Not that I'd have said no to anything she asked of me just then. Even simply talking to her satisfied some need inside me. "Why did you ask me to stop my practice?"

  "The choreographer in the video...that was Nalini Menon, wasn’t it?" She pointed to my laptop on the coffee table. "The brilliant actress?"

  Anyone who was remotely interested in Bollywood didn't have to be reminded who Nalini Menon was. "Not really," I said and could have kicked myself for the wishy-washy lie. I shouldn’t have played the clip in front of an
audience that wasn’t part of the club in the first place.

  Farah moved across the room as if in a trance. "It is her. I've been wondering where I heard that voice before - the husky one that was calling out the beats. And then she was in the frame in the last minute. I would recognize her voice, those expressions, anywhere. She lives here?"

  There was such a light of hope in her expression that I found myself folding. "Yeah, that's Nalini Akka."

  Her eyes widened. "You call her Akka?"

  This was the second time that something I'd said or done had achieved that wonderous look in Farah’s eyes. Her expression dug into my heart, giving me a high I had no business feeling. "Well, I've known her for years and she's much older than me. But not old enough to be one of the aunties. So ‘big sister’ it was. Also, because she's a natural at being that whole big sister who looks out for you."

  Eyes wide, Farah vibrated with an energy I hadn’t seen in her before. “She disappeared almost seven years ago after that blockbuster hit. No one knew where to. Such a phenomenal actress with such a following and then overnight she simply left the industry.”

  "Don't ask me why because I honestly don’t know. She's super-particular about her privacy. When we first met her, most of us didn't even realize how big of a star she was in India. I mean she's old. And I think that suited her perfectly."

  Farah grinned and shook her head. "She was maybe thirty-six, thirty-seven when she left the movie industry. She is not that old, Tara."

  I shrugged, not liking the near-manic gleam of adoration in her eyes. The last thing I needed to know right now was that Farah had a thing for beautiful, sophisticated older women. I was nowhere in the league of Nalini Akka, who was accomplished and beautiful and a powerhouse of acting and other creative talents. Not to mention plain hot.

  Was there any research that geniuses were attracted only to other geniuses? I hoped it was more like with the magnets that I remembered from science class.

  Like repels like, or something like that. Of course, that’s where ‘opposites attract’ came from. Huh. That made so much more sense now.