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As much as his words annoy me, I can see how he thinks that. He’s a family lawyer; if there’s anything he knows, it’s that there can be a lot of issues in personal relationships. Still, there’s something else there. Something that lingers in his tone, like melancholy. I want to ask more, but I promised I’d leave him alone, so I do. I hear nothing beside me for a moment, but after it becomes clear I’m not going to ask him anything else, Sarfaraz goes back to work.
Somehow, I feel even worse than I did before. There’s nothing wrong with arranged marriages. My parents had one, and while that didn’t exactly end well, Hibba Baji also had one, and she’s very happy with her husband and their daughter. Arranged marriages aren’t what Western people think they are. It’s not the girl being like, twenty-one, while the guy is a forty-year-old man. It’s not her being sold to the highest bidder or forced to marry a man against her will. I’m sure it’s like that in some places, and that’s devastating, but most of the time arranged marriages are...suggestions. Like the parents of one of the parties will send a proposal, referred to as a rishta, to the other person. If the two people happen to like each other, they can court for a few weeks, or months, before getting formally engaged. Then they get married and from there, it’s like any other relationship; you have to work hard for it. And, if you work hard enough, you can sometimes find love after the marriage—so I’ve heard.
I reach for my eye mask again, eager to escape the anxiety bubbling in my chest. But as I unzip my bag on the floor, the plane lurches to the side. I gasp, but I manage to steady myself.
I press myself into the back of my seat. I wait for a few seconds to see if the plane will teeter again, but when it doesn’t, my muscles relax. I pull my backpack onto my lap, but before I can pull my mask out, the plane jerks again, harder this time. The force is so abrupt I instinctively drop my bag.
Sarfaraz freezes in place, his face paling. He’s already white, but he somehow goes whiter than white. The plane bumps again, and he drops his pen to clutch the armrest between us. This pushes my arm off the rest, but I don’t complain because I don’t have the chance.
I push myself up, though it’s a bit of a struggle because of how hard the plane is shaking. I grit my teeth and try to take in slow and steady breaths. The cups and drinks on the flight attendant’s cart rattle, a few of them fall to the side despite her desperate attempts to keep them from toppling over.
“Passengers,” a voice crackles over the intercom. “This is your captain speaking. We’re experiencing some turbulence as we approach—” he pauses as if searching for a word that won’t induce more panic “—an unsteady storm. I have switched on the fasten–seat belt sign. Please, if you’re standing, return to your seat as quickly as possible. I ask that you please remain calm.”
No. No, no, no, no, no. I can’t believe my bad-luck curse has gotten so bad I’m now endangering other lives.
The seat belt sign flickers above us. I breathe a small sigh of relief when I remember I never took my belt off. My pulse skyrockets once more when the plane takes a hard dive to the left.
That throws the crowd into another panic. A few people hastily buckle themselves into their seats, while others grab onto the nearest thing to keep them balanced. The plane steadies itself again and the passengers—with the exception of a few crying kids who are clearly terrified—stay quiet while we wait to see if the situation stabilizes.
Just as I start to relax, the front of the plane dips into a nosedive. The drop feels similar to the adrenaline rush I get when I’m on a roller coaster, but the feeling coursing through me is completely different. Instead of electricity racing through my body and leaving me pleasantly buzzed, terror seizes my veins and fills my lungs, threatening to drown me. The sensation is so consuming I can’t even scream; all I can do is sit there and let fear tie me down to this seat.
The plane levels out, tossing everyone in their seats. The lights flicker, briefly launching the plane into darkness. This elicits a couple of low screams from the crowd, but they stop when the lights turn back on. The overhead bins burst open, and everyone instinctively reaches to cover their heads as displaced pieces of luggage barrel toward them. I shrink low in my seat, but I look up long enough to assess the damage around me.
The plane has erupted into chaos. The body dips again, this time much lower than before, causing more screams to burst from the crowd—this time louder and from more people. Panic hangs in the air and fills our throats like thick smoke. The front of the plane plummets, and the top half of my body falls forward. I barely manage to catch myself on the seat in front of me, my fingers clutching the hard material.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the captain’s voice echoes across the cabin. “Due to the severity of the storm, we will be making an emergency landing in Switzerland. Please continue to remain calm.”
I don’t think anyone else heard those last words, because at the mention of an emergency landing, the trills of the panicked passengers get louder.
“Oh, God,” Sarfaraz groans, and I flinch at the sound of his voice. For a second, I had completely forgotten he was even there. His face has shifted from white to green, and his palm covers his mouth. Tiny beads of sweat stain his temple, and his Adam’s apple visibly bobs. His dark eyes are wide open, and they shine so bright it looks like he’s trying really hard not to cry.
Without thinking, I reach over and take his hand. Sarfaraz jerks away instinctively, but I hold on tighter. “It’s okay,” I say.
I brace my feet on the floor, and Sarfaraz’s face becomes even more sweaty, if that’s possible. “It’s going to be okay,” I assure him.
He doesn’t get the chance to respond because the plane jerks hard to the right. He clutches me as he bends his head forward, desperately trying to keep his breaths even.
I awkwardly pat his shoulder. He doesn’t respond to my touch, so I face forward. I take in deep, calming breaths.
After a while, the plane starts to slow. I peek out the window to see the concrete of the landing area. It’s incredibly dark outside, but I can hear the slamming of intense rainfall against the plane.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the captain announces. “Welcome to Zurich, Switzerland.”
7
Maya’s Law #7:
Something that “almost never happens” will always happen to you.
I lean back, but I pause when I notice Comatose Guy is still knocked out. Did he sleep through the whole commotion?
I’m about to poke him when he suddenly jerks awake. He lifts his mask off his face and blearily looks around. “Have we made it?” he asks groggily in Urdu.
Before I can say anything, Sarfaraz lets out a guttural groan. He seems to be doing a lot better now that we’re no longer in the air, but his face still has a greenish tint to it. “Are you okay?” I ask.
He inhales and exhales deeply through his mouth a few times, but he nods. “Yeah. I’m okay.” A hint of gratitude peeks through his guarded mask. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
