Until the day Zareena’s lies came crashing down.
He’d lost his only sister because of her lies, and because of his cover-up.
He wasn’t going to fall for another person’s lies, not again. Ayesha couldn’t be trusted. Ayesha could go to hell.
Khalid smelled something burning.
AYESHA needed to leave. Now.
Farzana had known Ayesha was pretending to be Hafsa. She’d known her son thought he was getting engaged to the wrong girl. Ayesha saw through her denials. What kind of mother did that to her own son?
There was no way to fix this. Not here, not now.
She walked straight out of the house without bothering to put her shoes on. She got as far as the sidewalk when Hira caught up with her.
“Where are you going?” her little cousin asked.
Ayesha didn’t answer, only walking faster.
“You’re not wearing any shoes.”
Ayesha started to sprint, but Hira kept up easily.
“Go . . . back . . . home,” Ayesha panted.
“I’m bored,” Hira said. The little brat hadn’t even worked up a sweat. “Is this what happens when you get old, Ashi Apa?”
“What?” Ayesha gasped.
“You forget things like shoes, you stop breathing so good when you run and then you die?”
Ayesha stopped running and took deep, cleansing breaths, hands on her knees.
“Your toe is bleeding. Probably from the glass back there,” Hira said.
Ayesha straightened up and kept walking toward her house, Hira beside her. At the door, Hira took out a blue leather-bound notebook.
“You forgot this at our house,” she said. “I saw Khalid bhai give it to you.” She looked at her cousin curiously. “He seemed really happy to see you at first, and then he got mad. What did you say to him?”
Ayesha took the notebook from her cousin. “Nothing,” she said. “I didn’t say a thing.”
Hira shrugged and turned to go. “I’ll tell everyone you were feeling sad,” she said. “On account of your bleeding feet.”
Ayesha walked into the empty house in a daze, her feet stinging. She collapsed on the kitchen table, opened the notebook and started to write.
Things I should have said to you but only know how to write:
I’m not who I never said I was.
Not that I ever wanted to be.
And yet that night, the stars twinkling, Twinkies in your beard,
You smiled and leaned close.
Sometimes these things happen.
I hope you will be happy with her.
The way you never could be with me.
I’m not wifely material because
I’m who I said I never was.
And I’m not sure, yet, who that “was” could possibly turn out to be.
NANA stood by the side door entrance to the garage, holding a half finished cigarette. “Please do not tell my granddaughter,” he said when he spotted Khalid. “She does not approve of my habit. Of course, her disapproval makes me want to smoke more.”
“I don’t know your granddaughter,” Khalid said.
“Well then, let’s speak no more of this. Let us speak instead of a more interesting topic. Why is the fiancé hiding in the garage during his engagement?”
“I’m not hiding.”
“You remind me of my granddaughter. Lovely girl,” Nana said, lighting another cigarette. “Except when she’s nagging me about smoking.”
Khalid waved his hand in front of his face to dissipate the smoke. “I should get back,” he said.
Nana said nothing, and Khalid didn’t move. Then Nana said softly, “‘We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.’”
The words were familiar. “I’ve seen you before,” Khalid said. “You’re always at the mosque.”
“I am old and have nothing else to do,” Nana said. “What is your excuse?”
Khalid smiled. Nana continued. “I think you are avoiding my initial question, which makes me even more eager to hear your answer. Tell me: Are you happy?”
“Happiness comes after the wedding,” Khalid said, looking away.
“You speak of love,” Nana said. “Love blossoms after the wedding, in the arrangements typical to our people. Happiness is a seed that takes root in your soul. Tell me, on this day of all days, are you capable of happiness?”
Khalid reached over and snagged a cigarette from Nana’s pack. He lit it expertly and took a deep drag. “I thought I was. Now I don’t know.”
Nana nodded slowly. “The question remains: Is it you or the person to whom you have pledged your life who presents the problem?”
Khalid threw the cigarette down and ground it under his foot. “I don’t know that either.”
Nana clapped him on the shoulder. “Then you know your quest. May Allah guide your journey.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Over breakfast Monday morning, Farzana asked Khalid about the conference.
“Perhaps it will be best if you tell the imam you can no longer help,” she said, putting another greasy, overcooked aloo paratha—potato-stuffed flatbread—onto his plate. “We have a wedding to plan.”
Khalid swallowed the paratha with difficulty. He doubted his mother had bothered to put an air pocket inside. It tasted like plywood and sat unhappily in his stomach.
“Ammi, about the wedding,” Khalid started.
“It will be the event of the year, don’t worry about that,” Farzana said. “We’ll have to limit the nikah guest list to six hundred people. Maybe we should hold it in an outdoor tent. Or at the Hollywood Princess convention centre. You can walk down their crystal staircase and pose beside the marble fountain.”
“Ammi, I was thinking,” Khalid began again.
“As for the walima reception, I don’t see how we can get away with less than one thousand guests. Your father knew so many people, and Sulaiman will have to invite his business contacts. We must finalize the date.”
“I don’t want to marry Hafsa,” Khalid blurted.
Farzana waved at him dismissively. “Of course you do. I think a simple floral arrangement is so classy for centrepieces, no? With a colourful spotlight on each table in green, red and yellow.”
“I don’t even know her,” he said, and his voice was mutinous.
“Khalid, what is going on? You told me you would be happy with whomever I chose. Did something happen to change your mind?” Farzana looked sharply at her son. “Hafsa Shamsi will be the perfect daughter-in-law. She is a pious, well-behaved girl from a prominent family. What more do you want?”
Khalid pictured Ayesha’s face yesterday. She looked tired. Maybe she’d been wondering how to tell him the truth. Or maybe she’d been laughing at how easy he was to fool. His jaw clenched.
“There is no such thing as love before marriage,” Farzana continued.
“Khadijah was attracted to Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, before she married him,” Khalid said.
“I’m sure her father arranged it all beforehand,” Farzana said.
“She was a widow fifteen years his senior, and she proposed to him.”
Farzana stared at her son. “Do you want to humiliate our family after we gave our word to Hafsa? How can you do this to me, after everything I’ve been through, after everything your sister put me through? She never listened either.” Her voice cracked.
Khalid couldn’t stand to see his mother cry, and he was still so angry with Ayesha. Either way, he didn’t see how he could win. “Ammi, I’m sorry. Of course, you’re right. I will marry Hafsa.”
Farzana’s face cleared. “She will make me so happy, Khalid. You’ll see. Your children will take care of me in my old age. If your sister had only listened as you do, she would still be with us.”
“I want her to come to the wedding.”
Farzana started tidying up the kitchen, her back to Khalid. “Invite who to the wedding?”
“Zareena. I wan
t to send her an invitation and a plane ticket.”
Farzana picked up a cloth and started scrubbing the stovetop. “Don’t be ridiculous, Khalid. What would people say? She doesn’t belong here anymore.”
“She’s not dead, Ammi,” Khalid said. “You sent her to India.”
Farzana rinsed the cloth and wrung it in the sink. “As far as I’m concerned, I have no daughter.”
Khalid finished his breakfast in silence, but he was unable to silence the doubts sprouting like mushrooms on an old tree stump. It would be so easy to go along with what his mother declared. It would be so easy to get out of her way and let her plan the wedding of the year, filled with Sulaiman’s business acquaintances and his parents’ friends.
But did that mean he had to sacrifice himself in the process? Wasn’t he entitled to his own opinions about who he invited to his own wedding, or even who he married at his own wedding? Khalid felt an uneasy melancholy settle over his stomach, full now with the unhappy parathas. He remembered the flatbread he had made with Ayesha and Nani—light, crispy, soft. He remembered her tentative hand on his face, the soft expression in her eyes so different from the one that Hafsa—the real Hafsa—had worn during their engagement.
What should he do? Ammi had promised his hand in marriage; he was getting exactly what he said he wanted. Except now he didn’t want it anymore.
On the bus, Khalid checked his inbox, but there were no messages, and Zareena had said she was going on a trip. He wrote a quick email to her anyway.
Salams. My engagement was yesterday. Hafsa turned out to be someone else entirely. I had her confused with her cousin, Ayesha Shamsi. But Ammi is very happy and I know I will be too, eventually. Keep July free for the wedding. You’re invited and you’re coming. No arguments.
Write me back soon. I really need to hear from you.
—K
He pressed Send and looked out the window at the traffic speeding by, everyone in a hurry to get somewhere. His mother was right; the engagement was done. He had given his word that he would marry Hafsa, and it would be wrong to go back on a promise. Besides, Hafsa was the perfect wife for him. Young, attractive, religious, from a good family. What more could he want?
Khalid settled down in his seat and willed the bus to drive more slowly. It was only taking him to work, and from work back home, on and on, with no end in sight.
WHEN Khalid arrived at Livetech, Amir had just come out of the bathroom with a towel and toothbrush. When he smiled at Khalid, there was a little bit of toothpaste foam on the side of his mouth.
“K-Man!” he said, raising his hand for a high-five. “You look worse than me, and I was drinking and clubbing all night. I hope I’ve been a bad influence on you.” He eyed Khalid’s rumpled white robe and bloodshot eyes. “Let me guess—late-night study circle? Predawn prayer jam?”
Khalid ignored Amir and sat down at his desk. He rubbed his eyes and waited for his laptop to start. “I’m fine,” he said. “Just some issues at home.”
“What are you talking about? You live with your mom and she does everything for you.”
Khalid looked down at his hands. Was this how Amir saw him, as a weak-willed man tied to his mother’s every whim? He glanced at his phone. Zareena hadn’t emailed or texted. His stomach churned ominously. “Do you have anything to eat?” he asked Amir.
Amir reached into his desk drawer and held out a granola bar to Khalid. When Khalid reached for it, Amir pulled it back slightly. “Not until you tell me what’s going on. Have you decided to break bad and join the dark side? Why do you keep looking at your phone? Are you expecting a special lady to call? Or maybe ladies? You dawg!”
Khalid snatched the granola bar from Amir and unwrapped it.
“You didn’t come to my engagement,” he said, his mouth full of chewy oats and chocolate chips.
Amir settled down in his chair. “I was a little tied up, bro. There was this girl and she was into handcuffs.”
Khalid put out his hand to stop Amir. “Something happened at the engagement. Hafsa Shamsi isn’t who I thought she was. The girl from Bella’s is someone else. Her name is Ayesha.”
“Wait, so who are you engaged to?”
“I told you, Ayesha’s younger cousin Hafsa.”
“Is she hot?” Amir turned to his laptop and opened his Facebook account, fingers flying. After a moment, he gave a low whistle. “She’s smoking. Maybe I should give this arranged marriage thing a chance. So what’s the problem?”
Khalid shook his head. “No problem. Ammi’s happy, and this is what I said I wanted.”
Amir started typing again. “Ayesha doesn’t even have a profile. Only serial killers aren’t on social media. You dodged a bullet, bro.”
Khalid slumped in his seat. “I didn’t even talk to Hafsa at our engagement. How can I marry someone I don’t know?”
“Who cares. She’s hot!”
“Whenever I talk to Ayesha, she makes me laugh, and she gives me a hard time, and . . .” Khalid trailed off. “And now I’m engaged to her cousin.”
Amir started laughing. “K-Man! You gots girl troubles! I never thought I’d see the day. Maybe you should take a look at that matrimonial service I showed you the other day. Or better yet, come out with us tonight.”
“How is that going to help me? All you do is drink and pick up women, and I’m already engaged.”
“We need a designated driver. Also, you have no experience with women. But me and my boys, we could counsel the UN on the ladies, you know what I’m saying?”
Khalid looked at his phone again. Zareena still hadn’t responded, and he didn’t have anyone else he could ask for advice. “Okay,” he said. “I guess.”
“Wise Men’s Council, baby!” Amir said. “We’ll sort you out pronto.” He paused. “So, does Hafsa have a younger sister?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
As a show of support, Ayesha agreed to accompany Hafsa to the next mosque planning meeting. Maybe she would have a chance to explain herself to Khalid, or at least to apologize.
Khalid was the only person in the seminar room when they arrived, and he stood up when they walked in. “Assalamu Alaikum,” he said, looking at Ayesha in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
Hafsa stepped forward, commanding his attention. “Hi, sweetie. Remember me?”
“Of course, meri dil,” he said, using the Urdu word for heart. “I’m happy to see you. There is a lot of work that needs to be done for the conference and we can use the extra help.”
“I’m sure Ayesha tried her best, but she has zero event planning experience. I’m the interesting one in the family,” Hafsa said, giggling. “But at least she’s reliable. You know what they say: Those who can’t, teach.”
Ayesha flinched and contemplated the door. She had accompanied her cousin as a goodwill gesture. Now she wondered why she had even bothered. This was not going to end well, she knew it. She wanted to leave right now, except Hafsa had driven them both here.
Hafsa took a seat beside Khalid and leaned forward. “I thought we could use this time to get to know each other. What do you do for fun?”
Ayesha selected a seat on the other side of the conference room, far away from the happy couple. She couldn’t bear to watch Hafsa fawn. All thoughts of apologizing to Khalid vanished. She wanted to disappear.
Khalid frowned at Hafsa. “I’m not sure what you mean. I enjoy reading the Quran and attending daily prayers at the mosque. I also spend a lot of time helping the imam.”
Hafsa wrinkled her nose. “No, I mean for fun,” she insisted. “Like, do you watch movies? TV shows?”
Ayesha glanced over. Khalid was leaning away from Hafsa. The look on his face was so funny that Ayesha smiled. Khalid looked over and frowned at her. “What are you doing here?” he asked again.
“Hafsa wanted me to come. We’re family now, so I thought . . .” she trailed off. Khalid was staring at her. He had called her beautiful yesterday, and he’d given her a present—an engagement gif
t, she supposed. She thought about the poem she had written on the first page. “Thank you for the notebook,” she said.
Khalid’s eyes were still on her, as if searching for an answer to a question. “Why didn’t you—” he said, but Ayesha cut him off.
“I’m sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am.”
Hafsa glanced from Ayesha to Khalid and back. She tried to recapture Khalid’s attention. “I bet you’re more of a sports guy. I can tell you work out.”
“I play basketball,” he offered, looking at his fiancée. Hafsa brightened, until he added, “. . . At the mosque on Friday nights.”
Ayesha laughed. “Hafsa loves coming to the mosque,” she teased.
Hafsa shifted uncomfortably. “I mean, sure, the mosque is really great and all . . . but don’t you think it’s a little dank?”
“There’s a chandelier,” Khalid offered. “Besides, you come to the mosque to pray.”
“I can pray at home, where it doesn’t smell like dirty feet,” Hafsa replied.
Ayesha’s phone buzzed with an incoming text from Masood:
Salam. I haven’t heard from you. I hope you weren’t offended when I wrote that I’m not into you. At all. Not even a little bit. I still think you’re a great person, despite all your negative energy. Have you ever considered wrestling? With your repressed frustration, you’d be a natural. I could be your coach. We just need to find a signature move.
Hafsa said brightly, “But with all the wedding stuff, the shopping and parties, there won’t be time for all this.” She waved her hand around the room.
Khalid looked pained, and Ayesha felt sorry for him. “The shopping is for you, Hafsa,” she said. “Khalid just has to show up on the wedding day.” Wedding day. She blinked rapidly.
“Are you also employed, like your cousin?” Khalid asked Hafsa, making an attempt at conversation.
“Dad promised he would give me some money to launch my company, Happily Ever After Event Planning, just as soon we get married.” Hafsa nodded dismissively toward Ayesha. “She has to work. When her dad died, he left them with nothing. It’s a big mystery in our family. My mom said he was involved in something illegal. Maybe he was a gangster!” Hafsa giggled.
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