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You’ll never be as cool as you think you are.
The hotel room is kind of crappy, with the space only big enough for a single bed and a congested bathroom, but it’s better than sleeping on the floor. I don’t have any clothes because my luggage isn’t here, so I just get into bed with my plane clothes on. I crawl between the sheets and wait for sleep to come.
I manage to squeeze in a couple of hours, and in the morning, I take a shower and change back into the same clothes. One of my stops today definitely has to be a clothing store.
One peek out the window confirms the storm is still on. It doesn’t look as bad as it did yesterday, though; instead of the loud and rough slamming of raindrops against the window, it’s more of a soft but steady flow of water from the sky. The clouds shifted at some point in the night from the darker indigo tones of a thunderstorm to lighter hues of blue, but I guess the airline still didn’t want to risk a potential lawsuit. From how Sarfaraz spoke yesterday, it seems like they’ve had more than their fair share of legal troubles and aren’t looking for any more, even if their caution causes inconvenience.
I drop the blinds and grab my backpack off the floor. After I check out, I stop at the gift shop. I buy an umbrella and at the last second, I grab another one. Knowing my luck, something bad will happen and I’ll end up needing a backup.
A quick online search before bed last night led me to a Zurich City Bus Tour package. It wasn’t too expensive, either, so I figured it would be good enough for one day. After I’m done at the gift shop, I take a cab over to the bus station terminal.
I get there just as the bus is pulling into the terminal. It’s big enough to seat sixty people on each level. Sleek black windows shape the top half while red paints the bottom. The words Classic Trolly cover the middle of the bus against a black banner, and beside that are the flags of countries whose languages the company offers a recorded version of the tour in.
I claim a seat in the middle of the bus, which is generally a safe spot. As a teacher, I always have to sit at the front when I go on field trips with the kids, and for some reason it’s still ingrained in my mind that the back of the bus is reserved for the “cool kids”—a group that I, a brown Muslim daughter of immigrants, never belonged to—so the middle is my sweet spot.
I settle in my seat while the rest of the bus slowly fills up. I wish I’d had more than a coffee and a croissant from the hotel for breakfast this morning, but I had to hurry out the door so I wouldn’t miss this bus. I tap my fingers against my lap, then lean my head against the window. I end up taking my phone out so I can shoot someone a text, but my fingers pause on the screen. My mother wasn’t happy when I informed her of my new plans to stay in Switzerland for a while, but there wasn’t exactly anything she could do. I scroll through some unanswered text messages to her and my sister. Everyone is probably too busy preparing for the wedding, including Hibba Baji. I contemplate messaging Imtiaz, but sometimes awkward conversations with him can weigh on me for the rest of the day, and I don’t want to dampen my tour before it’s even started. I lock my phone and lower it in my lap. Without Ammi or Hibba Baji, there isn’t anyone to text.
“Hi!”
I fumble with my phone to keep it from slipping out of my fingers. I catch it right before it can hit the ground, and I look up to see a blonde woman smiling kindly at me. She looks around Hibba Baji’s age, but if the wrinkles in her face are any indication, she’s older. Two small blond children stand behind her in the aisle; the taller one is a boy, who seems to be twelve or so, and judging by his bored expression, he already wishes he were anywhere else. The shorter child is a girl around six years old. She traces some kind of nonsensical pattern on the fabric of the seat in front of her.
The woman, who I assume to be their mother, gestures to the seat next to me. “Do you mind if I sit here?” she asks, a soft German accent lacing her words.
I gesture to the empty seat. “No, go ahead.”
She places her bag in the chair. She goes back to her children and situates them in the seats next to ours. The girl begs her mother for the window seat, but her mother makes her sit in the aisle seat so she’s within her reach. The boy sits down at the window and pulls a video game console out of the backpack he carries.
Once both children are settled, the woman collapses into her seat. Her elbow bumps mine, and when I pull away, she offers me an apologetic look. “Sorry about that,” she says, and I can hear the exhaustion in her voice.
“It’s fine, really,” I assure her. I peer over at her kids. “I can’t imagine it’s easy traveling with children.”
“Oh, it’s a real challenge,” she groans. “One has to go to the bathroom all the time, while the other is hungry all the time. But at least I’m not doing it completely alone. My husband is here for a conference, so we thought we’d make it a family vacation. He’s in his meetings right now, so I offered to take the kids on a tour so they’re not stuck inside the hotel room all day while we’re waiting for him to be done.” The woman pauses. “I’m sorry, I’m telling you all of this, but I didn’t even introduce myself.” She holds out a hand. “I’m Kelly.”
I accept her shake. “Maya. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too. My son’s name is Felix, and my daughter’s name is Emma.”
“Those are lovely names. They seem like good kids.”
“Yeah, that’s because you don’t know them. Just wait until they’re hungry—they become completely different people.” Kelly chuckles. I smile politely back, but I guess she interprets it as something else because her face twists with worry. “Oh my God. I’m bothering you, aren’t I?”
My mouth forms an O shape. “Oh, no! You’re not, I promise.”
“I’m sorry,” she says anyway. She gestures to her kids, who are now both occupied with devices. “It’s lonely traveling by myself with only young kids to talk to. Don’t get me wrong—they’re my kids and I love them, and I love being around them, but sometimes it’s nice to talk to someone about something other than video games.” She lifts a shoulder. “I guess I got so carried away I forgot I was talking to a stranger.”
“I get it,” I say. It’s exactly what I did with Sarfaraz on the plane, after all. “Sometimes it’s easier talking to strangers.” I peer over her back, but thankfully her kids are still engrossed in their games. “I really hope they didn’t overhear that.”
We both have a laugh, then the tour guide appears and lets us know we’re about to get started. He passes out earbuds for us to plug into the headphone jack above us so we can listen to the commentary.
“So,” Kelly begins, “what brings you to Switzerland?”
“I’m exploring the country before I leave for my wedding,” I answer. It’s a much easier response than explaining everything that led me here.
“You’re getting married? Congratulations! You must be so excited.”
“I...am,” I respond, my words hesitant, but I quickly mask the uneasiness with a reassured look.
Kelly clears her throat before saying, “You’re smart. I wish I thought about taking a vacation by myself before getting married. I mean, my bachelorette party was in Mexico with my friends, but that wasn’t the same as taking a trip alone.” She secures the headphone jack into the port. “Where did you go with your friends for your bachelorette?”
