Can You See Me Now?

by Trisha Sakhlecha

  ‘Of the croissants? Aww, thanks,’ Noor replied.

  ‘Do you really think people don’t see you sneak out every night? You can get into some serious trouble if the school finds out.’

  ‘Oh yeah? And how are they going to find out?’

  ‘Look, I’m just trying to—’

  ‘Ruin our summer with your obsession with the rules? You aren’t Head Girl yet, Sabah,’ I said, finding my voice. ‘Nor will you ever be,’ I added, bumping my shoulder against Noor’s.

  She looked at me, eyebrows raised. ‘It speaks.’

  ‘Leave her be,’ Noor said. ‘Did your minion forget to save you a seat, Sabah? Sit,’ she added, her voice chirpy. ‘I’m sure we can make some room for a tiny little thing like you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Sabah smiled down at Noor, ‘but I’d rather eat in the toilet than sit next to traitors and social climbers. Don’t tell me I didn’t warn you,’ she said to me before flipping around and walking away.

  We were supposed to be sleeping but we weren’t. We were reliving the day, dissecting it minute by minute, obsessing over the tiniest details and glossing over the bigger picture.

  That’s how it went every night. We spent our evenings wandering the city or watching movies in the common room and our nights staying up long after lights out, telling each other things we would never dare to utter out loud in the day. There was something bewitching about it, being so far away from the world any of us knew, so disconnected, so free, from her life of privilege and mine of wanting. The feeling lifted me up and carried me; it made me feel like we were the only people in the world.

  We spent hours talking, every hatched plan and whispered secret bringing us closer, cementing our friendship. That’s when I told her that I had lied about Chris and she told me that she had lied about her string of boyfriends. That’s when I learned that Saloni had once kissed a bus driver and that Yash sometimes came to school with vodka in his water bottle.

  We spoke about things that mattered and things that didn’t and with every secret that Noor shared, I felt closer to her. They had trusted Noor with their secrets and Noor trusted me. That knowledge made me feel special, warm in the glow of her attention.

  ‘I still can’t believe Dhruv’s gone back to that conniving little bitch. You’re so much prettier than her,’ Noor said, flipping onto her stomach.

  I didn’t want to admit it but I was slightly relieved. After a few weeks of dating, the charm of being Dhruv’s girlfriend had faded; the idea of doing all the things he expected of me started feeling nauseating rather than exciting. I’d barely seen him over the summer and after school started, I ignored him often enough that the whole thing just sort of fizzled out. I was secretly quite happy when I heard that he’d gone back to Niv. This wasn’t something I could say out loud, though, not when he was considered the prize senior, not when I had so willingly played at being his girlfriend for weeks. I decided instead to act magnanimous.

  ‘Who cares? I hope they’re happy together.’

  I smiled what I thought was a sad but generous smile.

  ‘I could never let it go that easily.’

  I looked up at the ceiling. Her words, spoken carelessly, left me feeling ridiculed. I would turn sixteen in a few months and you weren’t supposed to be sensible at sixteen, were you? You were supposed to be jealous and heartbroken and head over heels in love.

  ‘At least I’m not looking the other way while my so-called boyfriend gets it on with someone else,’ I said. ‘Vineet and Sabah,’ I said, elaborating when Noor gave me a confused look. As perceptive as she was about everything else, when it came to Sabah, it was as though Noor couldn’t see what was right in front of her.

  ‘You heard about that?’

  ‘Who didn’t? Not like she’ll ever do anything about it,’ I said. ‘She’s all but married to Vineet.’

  Noor scoffed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Noor said, but I knew all she needed was a little coaxing.

  I turned on my side to face her. ‘Tell me,’ I begged, grabbing her hand and tugging at it playfully.

  ‘Don’t you trust me?’ I asked, when Noor didn’t respond.

  ‘Of course I do,’ Noor said, sighing slightly. She flipped onto her side so we were face to face, our foreheads kissing, our breath mingling. Her fingers grazed mine. ‘You know we went on that camping trip last year?’

  Did I ever. I couldn’t get them to shut up about it.

  I nodded along encouragingly as Noor proceeded to tell me what had really happened on that trip. By the time she finished, my head was spinning. I could hardly believe my luck.

  Sabah wore her virtuousness like a bulletproof vest.

  But there was a chink in every armour, and I had just found hers.

  ALIA

  Fifteen years ago

  ‘Let’s go,’ Noor said.

  ‘Where?’ I asked. It was our last night in Oxford and I was curled up in bed, still exhausted from the send-off lunch the college had organized for us.

  I dragged myself out of bed. Noor was standing by the door, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt that she had knotted up to reveal a taut triangle of skin. She had left her hair loose – with no parents to please and Agarwal Sir unlikely to report back, she had no reason to bother with the hijab.

  ‘Anywhere that is not the common room. Sabah’s taken over movie night,’ she said, rolling her eyes, the room her theatre and me her admiring, if captive audience. She liked to put on a show, behaving at all times as if a spotlight were shining on her.

  ‘Can I borrow this?’ she asked, picking up my raspberry lip balm and dabbing it on before I had the chance to answer.

  We wandered out of the college and through the cobbled lanes until we were standing on Magdalen Bridge.

  Dappled sunlight danced on the water, casting patterns that seemed to shimmer and slide every time I moved my head. I held up my camera and took a picture. The riverbank that had been lined with sunbathers earlier lay bare now and except for the odd punt that sailed past, the river was still.

  If only for the night, Oxford was ours.

  For the first time in what seemed like forever, I felt a sense of deep calm, a conviction that things were going to work out. There was something else too, a flutter of something that I couldn’t quite put my finger on, but it left me feeling warm and fuzzy.

  We climbed down the short flight of steps and walked along the river until we found a grassy stretch.

  ‘I wish we could stay here forever,’ Noor said as we sat down side by side, matching denim jackets spread out beneath us. ‘No parents, no rules, no Faraz. You’re so lucky you don’t have siblings.’

  ‘Why do you hate him so much?’

  ‘I don’t hate him. He’s annoying, that’s all. You know he went to Sameer’s house and threatened to smash his car if he called me again. I mean, seriously? I went out with him once. We barely even held hands.’

  ‘He’s just looking out for you. It’s sweet.’

  I leaned back on the grass and looked up at the sky through the cobweb of branches. Sameer was the captain of the football team and one of the more notorious seniors at Wescott, the kind of boy who spent every weekend with a different girl and somehow still came across as charming. Even though he was only seventeen and still under legal driving age, he drove to school every day. Rumour had it that the back seat of his car had seen more action in a year than all the motel rooms in Surajkund put together.

  ‘It’s embarrassing.’

  ‘Will you see him again?’

  I looked at her. She had that look she got from time to time, like she was slipping away. I knew Noor had been seeing someone off and on for a while, but not once had she given me the details. I wondered if it was Sameer.

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Does Faraz have a girlfriend?’ I felt emboldened enough to ask.

  ‘Interested in my brother, are you?’

  ‘No,’ I burst out, heat rising up my neck. ‘I’m just
curious.’

  ‘Relax, I’m joking.’

  ‘He was dating this girl from his college,’ she added, ‘but her father found out and, like, completely lost it. He rang Abbu and told him that if Faraz even looked at her again, he’d kill him.’

  ‘That’s insane. Have you met her?’

  ‘Nope. But I’ve seen her picture. Faraz had a photo tucked away in his history book. She’s not even that pretty.’

  I couldn’t begin to imagine a love like that, a feeling so intense that everything else paled in comparison, but I’d had enough ambiguity and detachment in my life to know that that’s what I wanted – the kind of love that you’d risk anything for. The kind of love that was so whole that you could crawl inside it and live there.

  ‘Maybe he doesn’t—’ I sat up when I heard a rustle behind us. ‘Did you hear that?’ I whispered.

  We both got up without a word, our hands laced together. For a moment, I felt like I was the heroine in an adventure novel and it sent a delicious tingle of excitement through me, the element of danger only adding to the thrill.

  We crept along the bank, whispering and giggling as it became clear what the sounds were. We stood listening for a minute, then Noor pushed the leaves apart and we peered through the gap.

  I moved closer to get a better look, ashamed by that want yet unable to turn away.

  The couple was facing away from us. The boy, or perhaps the man – I couldn’t really see his face, was lying on the grass, jeans pulled down to his ankles in a pool of inky blue denim. The woman was on top of him, glossy blonde hair thrown back, hips thrusting in sync with her moans, one strap of her creamy white sundress pushed down to reveal a naked breast. My knowledge of sex until then had been limited to what little I’d seen in romantic comedies and the raw, animal-like sounds they were making startled me. It was horrific, yet I felt compelled to watch, my feet refusing to do what my brain commanded.

  After a few seconds, the wrongness of what I was doing hit home, and I backed away, dragging a madly giggling Noor with me.

  ‘Now that’s a picnic that went very well,’ Noor smirked. She pointed to their picnic basket and, beyond that, to the empty punt.

  Before I knew what was happening, Noor picked up the open bottle of Prosecco and ran over to the river.

  ‘You know how to swim, right?’ Noor asked when I had caught up with her. She grinned and took a long swig from the bottle.

  For a second, I thought she was going to insist we strip down to our underwear and leap into the murky water but Noor could never be that predictable.

  She unhooked the chain that was holding the punt and jumped in.

  ‘Are you crazy?’ I mouthed, twisting to see if the couple had realized we’d stolen their Prosecco yet.

  ‘Get in,’ she replied in an excited whisper.

  This was insane even for her. We’d been punting earlier that week. Noor, Sabah and me forced into one punt while the boys chose to attend a tech seminar instead. We’d all had a go at it, but that was in the daytime with an instructor and mandatory life jackets, in a boat that we hadn’t stolen.

  She stepped onto the slatted decking at the bow and grabbed the pole, her hands positioned exactly how the instructor had shown us.

  ‘Don’t tell me Alia Sharma is scared of a little adventure,’ she said, looking at me like I had disappointed her. The punt was already drifting away. ‘Come on.’

  ‘You’re crazy,’ I repeated and then jumped in, making the narrow boat rock from side to side.

  Noor let out a ripple of laughter as cold water splashed into the boat, soaking us both to the ankles.

  I picked up the paddle and settled onto a damp cushion as Noor dropped the pole into the riverbed and pushed back until the boat moved, gently, imperceptibly forward.

  She stood up straight and repeated the whole thing again and again, letting the pole slip down into the water and then leaning on it until we were gliding along almost seamlessly.

  ‘Wow,’ she said, a little out of breath. The delight in her voice was infectious and I cheered her on as we sliced through the river.

  ‘Smile,’ I said. I lifted up my camera and looked at her through the lens, the golden evening light on her face, the watery landscape behind her, tall trees and dense undergrowth hemming her in from both sides, casting dark green shadows over the glassy water.

  The breeze picked up as we approached a curve in the river and I watched her struggle for a moment, her forehead scrunched up in intense concentration as she tried to hold the punt steady.

  Just as she got the boat back under her control, the wind pushed us forward, her curls whipping up a storm around her face.

  ‘This is amazing,’ I shrieked, my words broken and breathless, my hair tangled, my eyes wet.

  Later, as we stumbled back through the meadows, she turned me to and said, ‘We don’t need parents, or school, or boyfriends. This is everything.’

  I pressed my forehead to hers and closed my eyes. We were so close I could hear her heart beating. Our lips grazed as I spoke, an irrational warmth sweeping through me.

  ‘This is everything,’ I whispered back.

  I didn’t realize until much later, until I had ruined it all, that the warmth I had felt that night was what belonging felt like.

  ALIA

  The problem with having it all? You worry, you fret, you panic. You live in a state of near constant anguish, just waiting for someone to pull the rug out from under your feet. Every achievement, every smile, every victory reminds you of how in one moment, everything can change. The fear of losing it all never leaves you, yet you have no choice but to switch off, push yourself, carry on.

  Fear makes multi-taskers of us all.

  As expected, my stance on the DU rape case has ruffled more than a few feathers and I spend the next few mornings locked in closed-door parliamentary meetings and afternoons visiting senior party members and campaign donors, alternating between seeking assurances and doling them out, trying to pre-empt the havoc Saeed threatened me with. I don’t make it into the office until late in the week. The change of pace jostles me.

  ‘Everything all right?’ I ask Omar as he follows me into my cabin. I motion to him to close the door. The office is noisier than usual, phones ringing, staff talking across the room.

  He switches on the TV in response.

  Faraz is on air, live from a women’s refuge in my constituency – one of the first ones I’d set up after being sworn in as the Women and Child Development Minister. He’s walking through the compound, the building a little dilapidated after five years and multiple budget cuts, talking to the reporter about living conditions, upkeep and funding, all areas that are directly under my remit, both as the WCD minister and as the elected MP.

  It’s little more than a pre-election awareness segment but it leaves me feeling uneasy. Women’s rights have always been the linchpin of my campaign strategy.

  ‘Has he made any comments about the alliance?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Omar says. Faraz never organized the intimate reception he had promised for the INP and judging by his speeches and appearances over the last week, he has no intention of doing so. It hits me once again how naive I’ve been. I let myself get swept up by my emotions. In my rush to support Faraz I hadn’t stopped to consider that his policies might not align with his father’s. There was a reason why Javed Uncle hadn’t handed over the reins of the party to Faraz, why he’d always kept him behind the scenes.

  ‘I’ve put feelers out about the nominations this morning,’ Omar adds, reading my mind. We both know that it’s only a matter of time before Faraz dissolves the alliance and announces his own plans to run. ‘I also ran the numbers. If he dissolves the alliance, he will split the voters three ways, between the Muslim Congress, the INP and the opposition.’ He lifts his shoulders, as if to say that much is obvious. ‘Traditionally, we’d expect the split to be religion led in favour of the Muslim Congress.’

  I nod, waiting for him to finis
h.

  ‘But we’re seeing a shift in the female vote – across the board – possibly because of your position on women’s issues: triple talaq, rape, harassment.’

  ‘You mean my position on the DU rape?’ I say. It’s juvenile, but I can’t help it.

  Omar gives a brief nod before continuing. ‘My guess is that Saeed and Faraz are working together. Saeed’s tackling the Muslim votes—’

  ‘And Faraz is going after the women,’ I finish.

  Omar nods, handing me a copy of the projections. ‘Assuming the caste arithmetic stays the same, this election is going to be swayed by the female vote.’

  I can’t help but smile as I take this in. An election that’s decided by the female vote. Even if I lose, that’s got to count for something. I hand the sheet back to Omar. ‘Tap a source in Faraz’s team. I want to know when he’s planning to announce.’

  ‘Already done. We should have some intel within the next few days.’

  I sit down and flick through the folder of briefing notes on my desk, thicker than usual. I stop when I get to the weekly report from the sexual harassment helpline.

  Less than a week after I stood up in Divya’s defence, there’s been a spike in the calls received by the helpline. It’s no surprise that the men accused are mostly ones in power. I grimace as I read through the accounts – everything from workplace harassment to rape. Yet there is comfort in the fact that I’ve created a safe space, a sense of confidence in a system that has let victims down for decades. I feel my spine straighten as pride flutters through me. I close my eyes.

  I did this.

  Almost instantly Noor’s face flashes behind my eyes and the flutter morphs into something darker. I feel myself shrink as my brain reminds me of the other thing I did.

  The thing that might destroy me if I let it.

  I snap my eyes open and force myself to focus on what Omar is saying.

  ‘I’ve organized some interviews and panel discussions for you over the next few weeks. It will help us build visibility in the lead-up to the nomination.’