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I sit back in my seat, trying to conceal a grumble. With twisted lips, I force myself to look at the man next to me. His position’s remained unchanged. This time, though, he has an iPad on his lap. I have no idea how he’s focusing so well on a plane filled with crying kids and chattering adults, especially after seeming so tense at takeoff. But he seems better now.
I can’t believe I’m this desperate, but I swallow my pride and open my mouth. “What’s your name?”
Sarfaraz doesn’t hear me at first, or he pretends not to. It’s not until I stare at him for a while that he finally gives in. “Are you talking to me?”
“No, I’m talking to the comatose guy at the window.” I lean forward. “I hope he’s actually just asleep.”
Sarfaraz checks on him. “His chest is moving. He must have taken some killer sleeping pills.”
Sleeping pills. Dr. Khan and I considered it once, but I was too afraid of becoming dependent on them. I focus on Sarfaraz again. “So. Your name?” I already know it, of course, but I couldn’t think of another good conversation starter.
He stares at me for a few moments before ducking his head back down to his papers. “Sarfaraz.”
I tap my fingers against my knees. After a couple of silent seconds, I say, “This would be the part where you ask my name.”
“Yes, it would be,” he agrees. He crosses a line through the word he’s written. “If I cared to know your name.”
Ouch. “I’m only trying to be friendly.”
“That’s funny.” He looks to me, smiling without humor. “I thought you told your mom you were worried about me making small talk with you.”
“I’m sorry. It’s a long flight, I’m traveling by myself, which I haven’t done in a while and...” I trail off when he looks back to his work. “You don’t care, do you?”
“Not really.”
I know I’m being annoying, but, with eight hours to go, I don’t know what else to do. I shift my weight so my arm takes up more of the rest. Sarfaraz jerks away. I ignore his irked face and look down at his iPad. “What are you doing? Work?”
He tries to intimidate me with an extended bothered stare, but he relents when he realizes I’m not going to let up. “You have excellent deduction skills, Miss...”
“Mirza,” I fill in. “Maya Mirza. See, you would have gotten that information earlier had you done the polite thing and asked me my name when I asked you yours.” I shrug. “Just a suggestion for the next time a stranger tries to make small talk.”
I twist my lips into a friendly smile. “So...what are you working on? I’m surprised you can focus enough to work on a plane.”
“If I answer, will you leave me alone?”
“Yes.”
He breathes heavily through his nose but responds in a neutral tone, “I’m a family lawyer. I’m finishing up some paperwork so I don’t have to worry about it on my trip.”
“That’s ironic,” I say, and when he fixes me with a questioning look, I add, “I’m on my way to my wedding.”
“I figured.”
I tilt my head to the side. “How?”
He gestures to my mehendi-coated palms. “The design is way too detailed for you not to be the bride. That, plus the engagement ring on your finger, but the lack of a wedding band.”
Huh. He’s been paying more attention than I thought.
Sarfaraz’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts. “Congratulations,” he says. “Was it love or arranged?”
I clear my throat. “Arranged.”
“You know, statistically, fifty percent of marriages end in divorce.”
My jaw drops. “Why would you say that to me?”
“Just making small talk,” he says with a shrug. Despite his nonchalant attitude, his next words carry a hint of sadness to them. “I know all too well that sometimes things don’t work out the way you hope they will.”
