I sit up suddenly. Asher’s got a point.
Faisal won’t spill—well, his secret, at least; if the dinner was any indication, he’s skittish and paranoid and clearly doesn’t want to fuck anything up with Amira. It’d be cute, almost, if it weren’t so wrong.
But his brother?
I was hoping to avoid Deen entirely, as unrealistic of a wish as that is, especially after he had the nerve to act so . . . familiar. But he’s the only lead I’ve got. He’s clearly in on Faisal’s lie, too, with that whole studying abroad in Spain shtick he whipped out at dinner. If there really is something Faisal is hiding, something that happened right around when Deen left . . . maybe it’s all connected.
I swallow.
“I think you’re right, Ash,” I say slowly. “As much as I hate to admit it, I think it’s time I talk to my ex.”
Chapter 8
Deen
Sunday, June 20
I DIDN’T PAY MUCH ATTENTION in Theoretical Physics last semester. It’s not that I don’t find physics interesting—I do, even though I only took it to fulfill lab requirements—but the line between “Hey, that’s an interesting way to look at things” and “Okay, this is just absurd” gets crossed a little too often in Professor Calloway’s lectures for my liking. Also, class was right before lunch, and it’s hard to focus when you’re jonesing for some chicken tenders.
I did pay attention when we started to cover Laplace, mostly because his ideas were absolutely batshit even by physicist standards. He’s famous for a lot of things, but the one that jumped out at me was the idea that you can unerringly predict everything that’s ever going to happen in the universe simply by knowing the state of the universe right now.
“Think of it this way,” Professor Calloway explained. “The universe is like a giant supercomputer. To determine the future, all you need to do is enter the input—the state of the universe right now: the position and velocity of every particle within it. The computer performs a calculation based on the laws of physics and gives you the output, i.e., the state of the universe a moment later. The universe, in other words, is calculable. Laplace posited that scientists could accurately predict the future of the entire universe, based on observable patterns in the present and past.” She paused a moment, for dramatic effect.
“We now know, however, that Laplace may have been a little optimistic. There are cases we’ve found where it seems you can get a completely unpredictable, random outcome from a perfectly normal series of events. That’s chaos theory: the idea that the most infinitesimally small shift in the input of our universal supercomputer can throw everything to hell. So as nice as it would be to predict the future of our lives, Laplace’s postulate is currently nothing more than a thought experiment. The reality is, there’s just so much we don’t know. When you really get down to the base level of the universe, we don’t even truly understand things like cause and effect. All we have are vague ideas about patterns. And that means we live in a world of infinite possibilities. Anything can happen.”
I don’t know. Our lives are full of infinite possibilities? It sounded like a bunch of new age bullshit to me. At the time, I thought: If anything can happen, why am I stuck with this crappy version of this crappy universe?
But today, as I walk into a tiny Joe Coffee on the Upper West Side, I’m almost starting to believe in the endless possibility of the universe. And, if I’m being honest, fearing it.
I still haven’t wrapped my head around Kiran being back in my life, even though she’s sitting right there. I order a latte and watch her fidget in her seat as the sad-looking barista gets to work. Thankfully, her sister isn’t here yet. After Faisal’s last phone call, I texted Amira, too. Figured I should get to know her better, this woman who has my brother’s heart in a headlock.
More important, this gives me the chance I need to talk to Kiran. Alone.
She hasn’t noticed me yet. I almost don’t recognize her, either, at first; it’ll take me time to get used to how her hair is way shorter than before. It actually suits her. She’s also gotten a tiny gold nose stud, and I couldn’t help but notice how it kept catching the light at the Italian restaurant the other day, like a little sparkle playing across her face.
Her sense of style—or total lack thereof—is definitely still there. Today she’s opted for a red sweatpants and gray T-shirt ensemble. This girl does not dress to impress; somehow, that’s impressive in itself.
I was surprised when she agreed to come out for coffee. She even said she had something to talk to me about, too, which I’ll take as a promising sign.
I could feel Amira’s little sister looking at me. Like she thought I was a fraud.
Faisal’s dejected voice echoes in my mind. It’s not even his fault; if it weren’t for me, Kiran could look at him objectively instead of bringing in all this heavy-ass baggage.
If I want to help Faisal, it’s imperative to patch things up with Kiran, by any means—without her finding out anything more about Faisal.
I’ll be genuine. Up the charm magic. Kiran can be reasonable, right?
I fix my hair using my reflection in the nearby window, grab my latte, and approach her. Here goes.
“Look who it is,” I say amicably, pulling the chair in front of her. “Been a while, huh? Just the two of us, out on a coffee date.”
Her look of surprise quickly slips into annoyance; her mouth presses into a thin line.
“Do you think you’re funny?”
My smile falters. Not off to a great start. “I like to think so. But that’s the thing about comedy, I guess. It’s subjective.”
“The situation’s already awkward enough without you running your mouth. Oh, and thanks a lot for forgetting about our pact at dinner, by the way. You were supposed to keep us a secret.”
“And I did,” I reply defensively. “All I divulged was that we knew each other.”
“How I wish we didn’t.” Kiran sighs and rubs her forehead.
I swallow, at a total loss. Kiran pulls out her phone and begins scrolling.
Up close, I realize just how little she’s actually changed, minus the chilliness. She still holds her phone weird, with both her thumbs hovering just above the screen. She’s chewing the inside of her mouth like she always does when she’s thinking. There’s a gym bag by her feet, which means she probably still dances; she used to be obsessed, back then, and I didn’t understand why until I saw her dance at some wedding. I’ve never seen anything more . . . eyeball-gripping. And the weirdest thing was that I felt proud. Proud of her, but also proud of our culture, our shared heritage, I guess. Like I was part of something bigger than myself, and she was showing me that without saying a word.
I kind of miss that feeling.
“Well? What is it that you wanted to talk about before Amira gets here?” Kiran asks, not looking up from her screen.
I clear my throat. Right. I’m here for a reason, and that reason does not include ogling, much. Except my head’s coming up empty. I’ve never had to actively get someone to like me before. Not to brag, but I’ve been told I’m just naturally likable.
But she liked me once before. Surely she can learn to like me again—until the wedding, at least.
I flash my trademark dimpled smile. “I like your nose piercing.”
“Okay.”
“You start college soon, right?”
“Yep.”
“Have a boyfriend?”
“Shut up.”
“Thought about your major yet?”
“Yep. Pre-med.”
Pre-med? Since when? I always thought she’d focus on dance. She had a gift for it, after all.
My eyes trail to the gym bag by her feet. “But you’re still dancing, huh? That’s cool. Your mom must be happy.”
Her thumbs stop moving. “Maybe. But she died. A year ago.”
Oh. My breath leaves my lungs so fast, a punch to the ribs would have been easier. We live in a world of infinite possibilities, and surprise, surprise,
I’m an infinite asshole.
I bite my lip, trying to find the words. But I can’t.
She goes back to scrolling, casually, like it’s nothing. Somehow that makes it worse. I knew, when we first met, that her mom was starting to get sick. They hadn’t even told Amira about it yet because her parents thought it would interfere with her studies. I didn’t know a thing about ALS at the time, but sometimes I’d research it, and we’d talk about it late at night. It hits me now: the average life span for a person diagnosed is five years, at best. I knew that. We talked about that.
I try to imagine what it must have been like, watching her mom in the hospital bed. The late nights, the slow and steady march to death. The crying, alone. The crying, with her dad—the weight of keeping it a secret from her sister. I try to relive it all, to imagine it as vividly as I can, and I don’t even know why. Maybe because I feel like shit that I didn’t realize. Maybe because I feel like shit that I wasn’t there. But then again, what could I have said? What could I ever say?
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” I swallow. The words sound stale.
“Yeah, well,” says Kiran, putting her phone on the table a little too hard. “It is what it is.”
My hand reaches for hers before I realize what’s happening. But I quickly yank it back.
Idiot.
“How’s Faisal, by the way?” Kiran asks, filling the silence. “He looked a little . . . antsy. At dinner.”
“Oh, he’s always like that.” I chuckle uneasily. “I think he was just nervous. You know. About his potential bride’s family.”
Kiran’s eyes narrow. “Bride, huh?”
“Yeah. Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Here goes. I take a deep breath and lean forward, my hands folded on the table, businesslike. “The thing is, my brother’s head over heels for your sister, obviously. And—between you and me—he’s been wanting to take the next step soon. So I just wanted to make sure, you know—we’re okay. You know. You and me.”
“Wait, wait. What do you mean, take the next step soon?”
“Propose, obviously. Hopefully in the next week or so. I told him to just go do the whole public proposal thing, get a bunch of flash mob dancers and all that. But I’ll be honest, I don’t think he has enough friends to pull that off. And he insists we do it right. Islamically. With family.” I wanted to ask Amira’s schedule once she gets here—keeping the proposal part a secret, of course. “So what I’m thinking is: We do a formal family dinner thing. Get our parents to meet, blah blah blah. And then he can take your sister outside for a quiet, informal proposal thing. I’d need your help, though, just to make sure no one interrupts them. We have this really pretty garden area in our backyard, so I can get some string lights or something set up, make it real, uh, romantic. What do you say? Want to help me make that happen? For them? Might be nice for you to feel more involved in all this, work together, for old times’ sake.”
“I—” Kiran grips the sides of the table, like she’s about to flip it. “I don’t understand. I know they’re thinking about getting engaged, and I know moving to California is on the table, but—my dad doesn’t even know Faisal exists yet.”
“Right, and that’s why we’re going to have a family dinner.”
“They’ve only known each other for three months—are you seriously talking getting engaged in a week?”
“What’s wrong with that?” My stomach clenches like a fist. I don’t know what kind of reaction I expected, but Kiran does not look happy. “They love each other. Why wait? They have the rest of their lives—”
“Stop,” Kiran snaps. “This is moving way too fast.”
“Come on. Isn’t that how it usually goes with, you know, love?” Not that I know anything about it.
“This isn’t some fairy tale. I can’t let my sister get married to some stranger and get whisked away to California.”
I blink. There’s something ugly about the way she says the word stranger, and I don’t like it. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you and your brother need to slow the hell down. I’m sorry, but this is my only sister. I don’t want to see her getting hurt. She’s a good person.”
“Hurt? What are you saying—that my brother isn’t a good person?”
Kiran stares back at me, quiet. But her voice is thick when she finally speaks: “Honestly? I’m not sure he is.”
That gets me. “You don’t even know him.”
“That’s exactly the problem. I don’t.”
“Then maybe if you actually took the time—” I breathe. The heat’s rising from my gut straight to my head and my voice is getting louder. But it’s hard to stay calm. Why is she so stubborn?
“Please. Kiran. I don’t want to fight you. That’s not why I’m here. But you’re making it really hard—”
“I’m making it hard?”
Shit. This whole thing is spiraling. “That’s not what I—” I throw my hands up, frustrated. “This isn’t about you. Or me, for that matter! It’s about Amira and Faisal. We’re here for them and that’s it, that’s what you said.”
Kiran’s chin rises. “What about Leah? What do you think she would say about this?”
“Wait. What?” My heart sprints frantically in my chest. How the hell does Kiran know about Leah? Faisal probably hasn’t talked to her in years. Not since the accident—he told me so himself. Too many bad memories between them.
Just what else does Kiran know?
Or worse, what else does she think she knows?
“Leah has nothing to do with anything anymore,” I growl. “I don’t know why you—” I lock eyes with her, searching for . . . something. “What are you trying to do, blackmail him? Why would you ruin this for him?”
“He ruined it by lying.” Her eyes glitter with barely reserved anger. “Makes you wonder what else Faisal’s hiding.”
The night of the accident comes rushing back to me: flames reaching for the night sky like the hungry grip of hell itself, Faisal’s disappointed face, pale and sickly, hollowed out by shadows, the earsplitting cry of police sirens getting closer and closer—
Faisal squeezing my hand. I’ll take the fall for you.
I swallow hard. “What do you want? What will it take for you to let this go?” My voice sounds more desperate than I’d like.
“I want you to be honest with me. For once. You’re going to tell me everything about your brother,” she answers, steepling her fingers like a villain with all the cards, “and I’m going to decide whether or not he deserves my sister.”
“I . . .”
Oh. I suddenly get it now. Kiran doesn’t just hate me. She wants revenge.
Of course she does.
But no matter how much she thinks she knows, no matter how much she tries to blackmail Faisal for answers, no matter how much I owe it to her—this is the one thing I can’t give her. Faisal was there for me when I needed him most. The least I can do is help him now.
“I’m sorry,” I reply, staring her directly in the eyes, “but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m here, I’m here!” Amira strides toward us, her long hair bouncing around her. The awkwardness is palpable, but Amira’s just waltzed right into the center of a storm, entirely oblivious. “Oh, Kiran! I didn’t know you were coming!”
Kiran is dumbfounded; she stares at her sister like she’s never seen another human before.
I throw on my most charming smile. “Hey, big sis,” I say as I wrap my arms around her in a hug. “How nice to see you again.”
“Aw.” Amira giggles. “I think I could get used to this.”
Situation defused. For now.
Before I let her go, I lock eyes with Kiran. Her mouth remains tight, but her eyes are wild with fury. There’s an electric current running between us, sharp and deadly. As much as I can understand her feelings, I refuse to let her do this. I can’t.
Nothing—no one—is going to ruin my brother’s lif
e again.
Not even Kiran.
Three Years Ago
DEEN: Hey
DEEN: :)
KIRAN: Ugh.
DEEN: ???
KIRAN: Sorry
KIRAN: I can’t
KIRAN: process
KIRAN: anything right now
DEEN: Wait what??
DEEN: Did I miss something?
DEEN: . . . did I do something wrong?
KIRAN: No
KIRAN: Definitely not
KIRAN: Definitelyyyyyyy not . . .
DEEN: Ohhhhh
DEEN: I get it
DEEN: You keep thinking about . . . you know . . .
KIRAN: Shut up
DEEN: You’re feeling all shy now, huh
KIRAN: Shut up!!!!
DEEN: Blushing cuz we kissed, huh
KIRAN: jfsdlkjfksdjfj
KIRAN: STOP
KIRAN: Do you realize how messed up that is???
KIRAN: it’s, like, sacrilegious to kiss behind a masjid
DEEN: okay, first of all, we weren’t behind a masjid
DEEN: we were behind a tree in a field behind a masjid
KIRAN: omfg
DEEN: SECOND OF ALL, I would argue it’s very Sufi
DEEN: I am honoring God by honoring your lips
KIRAN: . . . Allah forgive me
KIRAN: that was my first kiss
KIRAN: and I was fooled by this snake like a chaste and ignorant Eve
DEEN: hey
DEEN: it was mine, too.
KIRAN: Oh.
KIRAN: really . . . ?
DEEN: Yeah. Actually.
DEEN: But I’m sorry
DEEN: the next time you lean in to kiss me
DEEN: I’ll be sure to check if it’s really what you want
KIRAN: oh my GOD
KIRAN: Weren’t you supposed to be helping me feel better??
DEEN: Do you not? :(
KIRAN: . . .
KIRAN: No comment.
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