Hani and Ishu's Guide to Fake Dating

by Adiba Jaigirdar

  Aisling smiles, and even though it’s friendly, there’s some cruelty hidden behind it. “That’s okay. We’ll find someone else for our team … Hannah? Can you swap seats with Maira?”

  Changing seats with Hannah feels like something shameful. Like it’s supposed to be a punishment for not participating in the game. Everybody watches as we change seats, the silence in the room palpable. The whole time, I’m biting back tears.

  Hannah was at the very edge of the room, and as everybody gathers to play the game, it feels like I’m even more left out. Like they’ve all entered into a circle, and I’m the only one on the outside looking in.

  Everybody forgets about me the minute I change seats. Everybody … except Ishu.

  She offers me a smile. Not the forced, awkward kind she offers people when she’s trying her hardest to be pleasant.

  A real, genuine smile.

  It’s the only thing that gets me through the next hour.

  chapter eighteen

  ishu

  BY THE TIME THE GAME IS OVER, EVERYBODY BUT ME IS a little tipsy. More and more people filter in as we play Aisling’s ridiculous game. The music grows louder. The party grows bigger and wilder. All the while Hani sits on the edge of everything, looking absolutely miserable but trying her hardest to hide it.

  Everybody breaks up into different rooms almost as soon as we finish. Deirdre calls Domino’s to order pizza, and Aisling turns up the music in the sitting room so loud that you can barely hear yourself think, driving out half the people in the room.

  I weave through them, grab hold of Hani and slip out with the crowd until we find a secluded corner in the hallway. The music is still so loud we have to stand a little too close to hear each other.

  “Are you okay?”

  Hani shrugs. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” She gives me that smile, which is ridiculously fake.

  “You know Aisling and Deirdre planned that, right?” Hani flinches and backs away, like hearing the truth is physically hurting her.

  She shakes her head. “Why would they do that? They’re my friends.”

  “Because they’re assholes?” I try.

  Hani just shakes her head again. I don’t know who she’s trying to fool because we both know whatever happened earlier on is not how friends treat each other.

  “We should get back to the party,” she says. “You’re not going to be Head Girl by standing around here talking to me.”

  The last thing I want to do is go back inside and talk to people, or be in close proximity to Aisling. But Hani is right. I didn’t come here to try to get her to believe that she deserves better than her asshole friends. I came here to try and convince people that I should be Head Girl. To network. To make friends.

  This is Hani’s problem, not mine.

  I still feel a pang of guilt in my gut when I nod my head. “Yeah, you’re right … we should go and … talk to people.”

  “Come on.” We veer away from the sitting room, where Aisling has cleared away the tables and pushed the couches to the walls to create a makeshift dance floor. In the kitchen, people are drinking and eating snacks. They’re waiting on the pizza, I guess. My stomach rumbles at the thought. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. I’m starving.

  “Hey, guys!” Hani waves to a group of girls in one corner of the kitchen. I recognize them as people from our year: Gemma Young, Aoife Fallon, and Meg Hogan. They turn to us with static smiles.

  “Hey, Maira,” they mumble in uncomfortable unison. Hani either doesn’t notice or doesn’t want to notice their discomfort.

  “Enjoying the party?” Hani smiles.

  “Sure. That game of Kings was really fun.” Gemma’s tone is pointed. Hani tucks a strand of hair back, but doesn’t let Gemma faze her.

  “It looked like a lot of fun, yeah,” she says. “Still early days though.” She shakes her head, and turns to me. “You guys know Ishita, right?”

  “Yeah.” Aoife gives me a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Hey, Ishita.”

  “Hi!” My voice comes out unnaturally high. Hani even cracks a smile at how strange it sounds. “Ummm … I’m excited for the, uh, pizza.”

  The three of them fix us with another smile. They’re huddled so close together and haven’t opened themselves up to allow us into their circle. I don’t know if they will.

  “Do you need a special kind of pizza, Maira?” Gemma asks. Her voice is dripping a kind of pity that’s tinted with cruelty. I want to steer Hani away from them. Away from this party. This is why I don’t come to these things.

  Hani doesn’t budge from her position. She raises an eyebrow and says, “Don’t you need a special kind of pizza, Gemma? You’re a vegetarian. And Meg, you can’t even eat pizza, can you? Did you mention that to Dee?”

  Meg, who has been quiet all this time, looks a little frightened at having been dragged in. Her eyes widen and she shakes her head.

  “I ate before coming here,” her mousy voice declares.

  “Well, I can find something gluten free for you anyway. I can ask Dee. I don’t mind; she won’t either.” Hani gives them a smile and says, “I’ll be back,” before taking my hand and leading me away from them.

  “That was pretty skillful,” I whisper to her as we weave past more people. “But you know, you don’t—”

  I cut myself off when I suddenly find myself blasted with the cool outside air. It’s almost summer but the weather obviously hasn’t picked up on that, because it’s still cold enough for you to need a coat. I don’t have one, but Hani doesn’t care as she marches us both into the dark back garden, toward a bench pushed against the fence.

  She takes a seat, and I sit down beside her. The only thing illuminating this place is a sliver of light pouring in from the kitchen.

  Hani lets out a deep sigh, and I know immediately that this night hasn’t been easy for her. Maybe it’s been even more difficult for her than it has been for me.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “This isn’t working.”

  “Are you breaking up with me?” I joke. But Hani turns to give me a look that suggests that maybe she is breaking up with me.

  “You wanted me to pretend to date you because it would get everybody to like you, but … I obviously can’t do it. Aisling doesn’t like you and she’s made sure everybody knows.”

  “So that’s why everybody is acting the way they are? Because of me?” I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. This party is the way it is because I’m here. If I wasn’t, Hani would probably be out there laughing with her friends. Dancing with her friends. Eating with her friends. Having the time of her life. Because of me, she’s sitting here looking miserable.

  “Because of Aisling. I don’t think this is going to work,” Hani says. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”

  “You can,” I say. “I mean … more people already know who I am because of you. I’m sure some of them will vote for me.”

  Hani turns to me with a small smile. I feel a flutter in my chest at the sight of it. After looking so sad the whole night, it’s nice to see her smile again. I’d almost forgotten how her smile illuminates her whole face.

  “I never took you for an optimist,” she says.

  “I’m definitely not an optimist,” I scoff. “I’m … an opportunist. And without you, I’m definitely not going to be Head Girl. With you, I at least have a chance. Plus, don’t you need me too? Or are you going to start holding auditions for a fake girlfriend that your friends don’t hate?”

  Hani shakes her head again and for a moment I’m afraid she really is going to call the whole thing off. Then she says, “Yeah. Maybe … maybe this still has a shot. I don’t know.”

  It’s not exactly a vote of confidence, but I guess it’s the best I can hope for during this disastrous party.

  chapter nineteen

  hani

  WE DON’T LAST AT THE PARTY FOR A PARTICULARLY long time. Trying to ignore everyone’s snide remarks and side eye is pretty difficu
lt when it’s all you’re dealing with. And Dee and Aisling don’t even acknowledge me the rest of the night—like I haven’t been their best friend for years.

  The cake hasn’t even been brought out by the time Ishu and I take our leave, quietly sidling out of the front door, leaving the loud thumping of the music behind us.

  Nobody seems to notice us leaving. Nobody seems to care.

  Least of all Aisling and Dee.

  “I should call Amma.” I slip the phone out of my pocket. Before I can give my thumb print Ishu places her hand on mine, closing it over the phone.

  “It’s a nice night, you know,” she says. “Maybe we can walk … my house isn’t too far from here.”

  “But—”

  “You can stay over, if you want.” Ishu shrugs, like she doesn’t care either way—which is not exactly the best way to be invited to spend the night at someone’s. Still … I can tell Ishu really does want me to stay over from the way she slumps her shoulders and looks away, like she doesn’t want to look too eager about it.

  “Sure,” I say. “That would be okay, I guess.” It’s nice to actually be invited somewhere after tonight’s disaster.

  Ishu smiles, and my breath hitches at the sight of it. She smiles so rarely that each one—the genuine ones that light up her entire being—feels like a gift. Like something private she has only reserved for me.

  “Come on then, follow me.” She turns and begins to lead the way. We’re both in heels, wearing flimsy dresses. Even though the night is surprisingly nice now—clear and cool—we’re not exactly dressed for a walk.

  When we’re far enough away that we can’t hear the party anymore, and instead we’re surrounded by the sounds of the nighttime—silence broken by the soft whooshing of the wind and the sound of leaves rustling—Ishu finally speaks.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “I … guess.” I’m a little afraid to hear her question, especially since she’s looking ahead instead of meeting my gaze.

  “Why … do you never curse?” I don’t know what kind of question I expected, but it definitely wasn’t this. I can’t help the giggle that escapes my lips. Ishu looks at me with a raised eyebrow and an amused glint in her eyes.

  “It’s a serious question,” she insists. “I’ve been curious.”

  “Well … because … I’m Muslim,” I explain once my giggles have died down.

  “What?” Ishu actually looks a little taken aback. Considering everything that happened at the party just a few hours ago, I don’t think she should be.

  “Yeah …” I say slowly. “It’s just something that’s important for me. Like going to the mosque for jummah during school holidays and reading the Qur’an every weekend.”

  “I’m assuming your friends don’t know this stuff about you.” Ishu says it less like a question, more like a fact.

  A feeling of shame blooms somewhere deep inside my chest but I try to push it down.

  “No … they don’t need to know.” I shrug.

  “Why?” She sounds genuinely curious. She even steps closer so our fingers are almost brushing against each other as we talk. Like she doesn’t want to miss a word that I say.

  “Well … I don’t … want to be too much, you know?”

  Ishu blinks at me slowly. “I can’t ever imagine you being … too much.”

  I chuckle. “I mean, like … I don’t want to be too … Muslim. I don’t know where the line is that you cross over to be too much. Once you cross it people start acting like you’re different and weird, and then you’re the outsider.”

  “Like what happened today?” Ishu asks. There’s a tinge of sympathy in her voice that fills me with discomfort. I rub my elbows with my hands, even though it’s not really that cold anymore.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “You know, you should be able to be yourself with your friends. If being Muslim is important to you … you should be able to share that with them,” Ishu says.

  “It’s not that easy.” I shake my head. Ishu doesn’t get it. Ishu is the type of person who doesn’t care what other people think of her. That’s why we’re here, pretending to date each other. Because Ishu needs to pretend she cares what other people think of her. But she’s never had to stretch herself, change herself, bend herself, to fit in where she doesn’t belong.

  “Do you believe in God?” I ask instead. An easier thing to discuss than this somehow.

  “God, no.” Ishu scoffs.

  I have to laugh. “You see the irony in that, right?”

  Ishu looks at me with that smile again. “You do?”

  “Obviously.”

  “I don’t really get it,” she says. “The whole believing-in-God thing … my parents have never been big believers. I think my nana, nani, dada, dadi … they all used to be big believers. We would always celebrate the big holidays with pooja when I was younger. Since we came here, though …” Ishu shrugs.

  “It’s not for everyone,” I say.

  “You can talk to me about it if you want …” Ishu trails off, like she’s not really sure about making me this offer. “I mean …” She glances at me quickly. “Since you can’t talk to your friends about it … yet.”

  The idea of talking to anyone who isn’t Muslim about religion feels strange, but Ishu’s offer still sends a bloom of warmth through me.

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  I have never been to Ishu’s house before. It’s a narrow terrace house that feels sparse. The walls are a dull beige color, and there are very few things inside, other than the absolutely necessary furniture.

  “This is … nice.” I walk around the place, peeking around the corners. I expect to see Aunty and Uncle pop out at any moment, but they’re nowhere to be seen. Inside the house is even quieter than the outside.

  “Ammu and Abbu aren’t home,” Ishu says, watching me with amusement flickering in her eyes. I feel a flush working up my body at the way she’s watching me. “They’re at their own party.”

  “Oh … there’s a dawat?”

  “Yeah … it’s an Indian party, actually. Not a Bengali one. They don’t go to those as often but …” Ishu shrugs. “Come on, my room’s this way.”

  Ishu leads me upstairs to her bedroom, and I’m not surprised to see that it is the image of perfection. There isn’t a single thing out of place. No clothes on the bed or the floor. No books that aren’t on the shelves. Her bed is perfectly made.

  “Wow,” is all I can say as I take it in. “I knew you were a perfectionist but this is …”

  “I’m not a perfectionist,” Ishu says defensively. She looks around the room like she’s seeing it for the first time. “I just … like things … organized.”

  “Right.” I smile, stepping forward and flopping down on her bed with a thud. I actually see Ishu wince at that, and it makes me smile even wider. It’s actually kind of adorable how much of a sucker for perfection Ishu is. How meticulous she is. I mean, adorable when I’m not actually dating her, or her actual friend, I guess. I can imagine it gets tiring fast.

  She sits down gently on the bed beside me. So gently that the bed barely shifts or makes any noise.

  “So … can I ask you a question?” I say, staring up at her.

  She glances back—having to crane her neck slightly. It’s funny, because the way she’s sitting, in the corner of her bed, makes her look out of place. In her own room and her own bed. It’s the place where she should fit in the most.

  “You already asked me about the God thing,” Ishu points out.

  “Okay … can I ask you another question?”

  “I guess.” She shrugs.

  “Why do you want to be Head Girl so bad?” It’s the question that’s been bothering me ever since this whole thing started. It’s not like Head Girl is a coveted position, really. Sure, it’s impressive to be chosen as the top among the entire year. It also comes with a lot of responsibilities—like having to sort out the debs, the class photos, the graduation ceremony, the class ho
odies. All of that can’t be considered fun, especially for Ishu.

  Ishu sighs. This time the bed does move. I guess that’s how deep her sigh is. She lies down right beside me, her black hair fanning out around her head.

  “My sister wasn’t Head Girl,” she says after a moment.

  “And … I want my parents to see that I’m not my sister. That I’m … focused on the goal.”

  “What’s the goal?”

  Ishu turns so that we’re face-to-face. “To go to the best university I can get into. To become a doctor. To make everything … worth it.”

  “Everything?”

  Ishu closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “My parents immigrated here with nothing … they have this tiny shop now. When we first came here, my dad used to drive a taxi and we used to live in a tiny one-room apartment. They missed my nana, nani, dada, and dadi’s funerals. They did all of it so that we could be … you know, the best versions of ourselves. So we could have the best life. The lives that they had to sacrifice … we can have that. I don’t want my parents to think that they did it all for nothing.”

  “They wouldn’t think that,” I say. I can’t imagine Amma and Abba ever thinking that I’m not worth all of their sacrifices just because my life hasn’t turned out exactly as they pictured it. Especially since Amma already told me that they had to shift their perspective ever since I came out as bisexual.

  “I just … don’t want to disappoint them,” Ishu says. She gives one firm nod of her head like that settles that, before yawning so loud that it shatters her veneer of perfection. “Oops.” She covers her mouth and glances over in my direction. I can only grin. I wonder who the people are that Ishu lets herself just be around. Her sister? Her parents? Does she have any friends outside of school? I feel like I can’t ask her any of that though.

  “I guess we should get to sleep, huh?”

  “I can get you pajamas.” Ishu leaps off the bed and toward her wardrobe, digging around until she withdraws two pairs of PJs. Both of them look to be in such pristine condition that I’m a little afraid of putting them on and getting them all messed up.