She Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

by Zeenat Mahal

  The newest couple left for their honeymoon and things quieted down a bit. Life rearranged itself into a new routine, where he hardly got to see Zoella at all. She’d become a self-anointed saint. From Little Miss Sunshine to Mother Teresa in the blink of an eye; she was everywhere help was needed. If Ami didn’t wish to go somewhere, visit some pesky relative, or run an errand, Zoella stepped in as naturally as water slipped into any odd shaped container. She was Abba’s companion when Ami couldn’t take his crabbiness anymore. She was Salaar’s shield when he needed protection from his parents, and she was an invisible presence in his life.

  Fardeen wasn’t the kind of man who wanted or needed to be looked after and she didn’t try to make him dependent on her. She didn’t use any of the guiles women used to make men into henpecked household deities of questionable merit. No, she gave him exactly what she’d said she would—space. She never complained, never asked for anything.

  At some subconscious level, he noticed how his parents never questioned that he didn’t take Zoella out anywhere; or that they hadn’t gone for a honeymoon; or that Swaba was always privileged over Zoella. They didn’t question. It was an unsaid rule and she seemed to be as aware of it as they were. She acquiesced to this privileging as naturally as the rest of them. If it didn’t bother her why should he care? He wasn’t anybody’s bloody Pygmalion.

  However, that night, when Ami announced that she needed Zoella to go to the tailor—again—he couldn’t help snapping at her, “Ami, get someone else to do your chores. Zoella and I have to go out tonight. Zoella be ready by eight.”

  There was shocked silence and then Ami laughed in sheer relief and started babbling. “Oh sure, yes, how wonderful, yes of course. I’m so glad. Try the new restaurant in Gulberg. It’s really good. Or take her to the Mexican one you really used to like?”

  Giving his mother a brief nod, he left. Later that night when he was changing in the dressing-room, he heard Zoella ask through the door, sounding nervous, “Um…are you sure you need me to come with you?”

  They always dressed in the bathroom in private and puritanical solitude. He was becoming more and more aware of her every day. Her flowery scent had invaded his erstwhile masculine room and his senses. She was probably too modest to try and seduce him.

  And wasn’t that just too damned bad.

  He opened the door and she nearly fell into his arms. But not quite. He shook himself mentally. Not going to happen. No more rejections. He noticed she scooted out of his way quickly enough. He sat down on the couch to wear his socks and shoes, watching her from under his lashes, which had thankfully grown back.

  “No, I don’t need you.”

  She looked relieved and a bit—just a bit—irritated. That pleased him for some strange reason. After waiting a beat he added evenly, “I just want you to. Is that okay?”

  She smiled, but just a little sadly.

  “Of course it’s okay. I just meant…you know…Ami doesn’t mean anything by it, you know.”

  So she’d noticed. And she was perceptive to know that it bothered him. What else was she perceptive enough to know? He frowned.

  “Why do you let them treat you like this?”

  Zoella smiled cheerfully and answered, “They love me more than my family ever did, believe me. You people—all of you—are my real family. It’s hard for you to understand, because you have such a close-knit family but whatever Ami wants or says, I know it’s never out of contempt or anything vile. I’m just handy and trustworthy and well, you know, I have common sense.”

  “Obviously not enough to avoid this disastrous…” He stopped. He shouldn’t, he told himself.

  She smiled jauntily and said, “Fardeen, I don’t need rescuing. Well, not any more, at least. You’ve done your bit already.”

  He looked back at her intrigued and just a bit sorry for her.

  She added, “Don’t you feel sorry for me either. I’m married to the most eligible bachelor of the city and into a loving family.”

  He asked with forced lightness, “An eligible bachelor? Maybe we should get your eyes examined.”

  He didn’t want or need her kindness. Hadn’t she given up her dreams and her life out of compassion? That should be enough. What was she trying to prove? But he didn’t voice any of his misgivings or reservations about their situation. It was his way of making up for the crap he’d been giving her.

  That evening the discomfort at having people stare at him or avoid looking at him altogether was mitigated by Zoella’s company. The somber mood they had both entered had long evaporated thanks to her hilarious and candid observations and the traps she talked herself into.

  “Ami and I were talking the other day about how sometimes we don’t understand what we’re doing.”

  Fardeen raised an eyebrow at this incomprehensible sentence.

  Quickly Zoella went on, “You know, how we may think we’re doing something because maybe we think we want to do that, but in reality, we might be being reactionary and not at all…er…sensible.”

  Fardeen sighed and pushing himself back in his seat, gave her a long silent look.

  Smiling nervously, Zoella abandoned her obvious overture, dug into her dessert and began talking about all sorts of ridiculously funny things from stereotypes to malapropisms, of which she insisted she was a great fan.

  He didn’t feel awkward with her anymore. She wasn’t quite what he’d thought she was, and he felt a twinge of regret that she hadn’t pursued their conversation of a few weeks ago. He had almost been hoping she would. He couldn’t bear to look at himself let alone expose himself to rejection, which was sure to come once push came to shove. Still, he might have let her convince him. It would’ve been nice to hear again. That made him chuckle. He realized he’d never be able to use the word ‘nice’ without laughing now.

  Later, getting ready for bed, he smiled to himself and decided that he should take his wife out more often. She wasn’t such bad company after all.

  ***

  “If you don’t mind my asking, Fardeen…”

  “Hmm?”

  “Why don’t you wish to have plastic surgery? Why’re you so set against the idea?”

  The girl was like a burr. Once she’d decided on a course of action, she couldn’t let go. It had barely been three days since their solitary dinner date and her hesitant overtures. He didn’t want to discuss this with her, or anyone else for that matter. This was far too personal, couldn’t she see that? This topic was not open for discussion. Not now, nor ever.

  Giving Zoella a grim look, Fardeen said shortly, “Don’t bother your pretty little head about it.”

  She wasn’t easily deterred though. “Fardeen, I told you, you rescued me, and since you’ve done your bit, I hope you’ll let me return the favor.”

  This was too much. Who did she think he was? Cinderella?

  “Whatever makes you think I need rescuing? I’m not some fairytale damsel in distress, in case you haven’t noticed.” Then a funny thought struck him, making him pause, and he added, “Or was that a not so subtle hint that I’m the Beast?”

  She didn’t smile. She looked distressed. Softly she said, “He was actually a Prince cursed by a witch. Belle saw what others couldn’t see, his hurt and pain and his good heart.”

  Gazing into her big brown eyes, he realized she meant it. She really was a kindhearted person. He’d been right about her. She, however, was wrong about him. He was not a victim. If she wanted to be one, that was entirely her choice.

  “Belle was a fool if she thought that and we’re not having this stupid conversation.”

  Apparently, his ire wasn’t enough to deter her either. After a short pause she continued as if they’d been discussing the weather, “I never wanted to be Cinderella, even as a child. She just bartered one kind of servitude for another. She wasn’t free. Maybe she knew that. Not all of us are created equal, you know.”

  She looked pensive for a bit but then she blinked rapidly as if recollecting her wits,
and continued with her over-bright sunny smile, “I prefer Mulan. I’d rather be a warrior, than a princess who has nothing better to do than look pretty.”

  He should set the record straight about his lack of curiosity regarding her fairytale alter-ego, he thought to himself. Instead, he found himself asking, “What’s Mulan?”

  “Not what, who. Another Disney character. She was after your time, I think.”

  After your time? How old did she think he was?

  “I’m only five years older than you, certainly not ancient by any standards. And anyway, do I look like a Disney fan? Not even as a child, I assure you.”

  She laughed because he had seemed so much older at one time, when she’d waited to catch a glimpse of him, from the stairs or from Swaba’s room. She shook the thought away and changed the subject.

  “I talked with Swaba today. She’s having a good time. She sounded happy.”

  What was that strange undertone in her voice? Envy? Jealousy? She had every right to it, Fardeen thought and with a rueful smile, he said, “Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, what a pair!”

  She laughed, “Aw, that’s so cute. I’ll tell her, she’ll get such a kick out of it.”

  Fardeen smiled too, her effervescence was infectious. She could still laugh, after having to marry him, and being in a mockery of a marriage. He could too, he realized, when he was with her.

  “And you, Zoella?”

  “I got a kick out of it too.”

  “I meant, are you even half as happy as you pretend to be?” he asked with a small smile.

  She nodded, smiling. She was lying, he knew, or she would have said something bright and chirpy. He felt a rush of sympathy for her. What a waste of life.

  “Don’t wait for happiness to fall in your lap, Zoella, claim it, seek it, take it. No one is going to fight your battles for you, or save you. If you want to be a warrior then you’ll have to stop behaving like Cinderella.”

  That earned him a long, steady look from her. Giving him a slow measured smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, she said, “Some of us are born to live the lives that others want us to live. Cinderella made the decision to live her life the only way she could. What choice did she have but to barter her talents for a semblance of freedom? It was what she chose to do because she had to—and you’ve no idea what I’m talking about.”

  “Well, no not entirely, give me metaphors from Die Hard or The Godfather.”

  She rolled her eyes and he gave her a smile, or what was left of it.

  “But you’re already a warrior. Haven’t you ever faced adversity? Fought a battle of will?” he reiterated.

  She shrugged. “I may have but there’s one I haven’t fought yet. And it’s one I’d like to win.”

  Intrigued, he asked, “And what’s that?”

  She started to say something but stopped. Fardeen waited, knowing she wouldn’t be quiet for long and sure enough the rushed confessional outburst came.

  “I…I don’t want you to think that I’m managing you or anything, but Ami told me how opposed you’ve been to the idea of plastic surgery, especially after…”

  She stopped, looking startled at what she’d almost said.

  “My broken engagement has nothing to do with it. And I thought I said we’re not having this conversation?”

  “Well, I guess you were mistaken.”

  He couldn’t help smiling at her rejoinder, and seeing her militant determination, he tried to explain.

  “Alright. Just this once, so that you don’t feel obliged to plead my parents’ case again, I’ll explain.”

  He stopped, sighed and began again.

  “I guess the accident just made me realize that appearances are very important to people and sometimes being the Beast can make me invisible. It’s like having a secret identity. I feel cloaked, masked. No one bothers to see beyond the scars. This is who I am now. Frankly, I don’t care what I look like, or what anyone thinks.”

  He’d never shared this much with anyone before. She was still looking at him without pity or sympathy. In fact there was a strange expression on her face, almost as if she understood.

  “You said once that you’d do right by me. Did you mean that?”

  Fardeen blinked. He felt a sudden, unexpected jolt at her words, and recognized with shock, the heating of his blood and his increased heart rate. Was she going to pursue what she’d almost said a few weeks ago? Did she, after all, care enough for him to look past the scars? She was so beautiful. How had he not noticed that before? And God, that body was to die for. He’d been having sleepless nights over it.

  He waited, too aware of his ugliness, too aware of her nearness and his physical reaction to her. Knowing that nothing good could possibly come out of putting himself into such a position again, he nodded anyway and waited. His heart jumping in his chest, almost, almost with a new hope.

  “Good,” she said brightly, looking at him like she was his fairy godmother or something. “I want you to stop punishing yourself and the people who love you, because even if you don’t know it, it is about your broken engagement. I think you feel that you’ll be endorsing Neha’s point of view if you try to regain your physical appearance. You’re throwing away a lot for some sort of macho defiance.”

  Fardeen stared, unable to disentangle his thoughts from the turmoil of his emotions. He’d been right. Of course she found him undesirable like any other normal woman. Regret and anger, embarrassment at having forgotten the reality of his disfigurement even for a moment, even after what Neha had said to him, intensified. It became an ugly, poisonous thing. He couldn’t speak. So the sparkling, happy act didn’t quite extend to their bedroom, did it?

  She continued in her soothing tones, blissfully unaware of the havoc she’d caused in his already devastated heart. Was she really so unaware that she didn’t know what he was feeling? Of course not. She was intelligent and perceptive. This was some sort of power play for her, surely?

  “Ami and Abba are so distressed. The doctors said that after a certain period of time, the surgeries get more complicated and are less likely to succeed. The more you wait, and the more time passes, the lesser the chances of a full recovery. You’re not living your life to the maximum as you should be. This isn’t who you are. You had an accident, and you’re lucky to be alive and to be able to do something about it. Not everyone is, you know.”

  What did she mean by that? That he was ungrateful? He didn’t ask though. The irritating determination with which she tried to appear chirpy and carefree, when he knew she wasn’t, added to his frustration. How could anyone be happy with someone like him? He had asked himself that repeatedly. She had just confirmed that she couldn’t. He’d been right all along.

  He listened to her, simultaneously trying not to listen to that other voice that mocked him endlessly. This sacrificing act of syrupy happiness she had going made him feel uglier; as if he was caged in his own scarred skin. Wasn’t it enough that she, a beautiful young girl, was now stuck with a man who had nothing to offer her? Why did she have to be this generous and sweet? Sometimes kindness itself was the worst kind of cruelty. He felt like he was being chained with all her joyous flourishes. As if he was being buried under her decision to be his savior, whether he liked it or not. He was being left with no choices.

  She sighed and added, “Claim your life, your happiness, Fardeen. Don’t wait for it to fall into your lap.”

  His mouth twisted in a smile at the way she threw his words back at him. Still he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He wasn’t sure how to respond. He had almost come to a sort of grudging acceptance of his new self, his new life. This is who I am now, he told himself every day. He thought it was the only way he could fight back. This is who I am now.

  Did he truly believe it though?

  Zoella continued with her pep-talk, “Why’re you so hell bent on allowing someone else to define you? Why let an accident mark your path for the rest of your life? If you tell me it’s your own decision,
a logical, objective decision, then fine, but if it’s an emotional reactionary decision, all I can say is that nobody’s worth that kind of self-flagellation and self-destruction, Fardeen. No one.”

  With dawning horror, he realized that he’d been doing exactly that. It was a kind of bravado aimed at Neha. Look, I can live like this too. I’m still here, living without you, ugly and happy. Hadn’t he secretly been glad that he was marrying such a beautiful girl, who was marrying him as he was? Look Neha, this beautiful girl still wants me. Me.

  He didn’t blame Neha for not being the woman he had thought she was, and the way she’d cut herself off had been plain cruel. He wouldn’t have tried to keep her tied to him. Even he couldn’t bear to look at himself. Except, he’d thought she would leave him some dignity. How could he expect any woman to be with him, looking like he did? He wasn’t about to have any one else ask him that question. Not ever. Yet he’d allowed himself to believe, to hope, because it would feel so good to know that someone wanted him after all, no matter what he looked like.

  Then another thought raised its head like a viper. Sugar coating the pill didn’t change the truth. She’d asked the same thing in the end, hadn’t she? She too wanted him to be a good-looking package, didn’t she? The only difference was that she’d married him first to ensure she could stake her claim. She would offer to go through it with him, which didn’t count for much anyway, because as his wife, what choice did she have?

  There was just one thing she seemed to keep forgetting.

  She’d married the Beast, not a Prince.

  SEVEN

  “Zoella, did you speak to Fardeen about the surgery? I’m convinced only you can prevail upon him to change his mind. He was so angry earlier he just didn’t listen to reason.”