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A laugh unexpectedly bursts from my chest. “What do you have against hostels?”
“Nothing,” he admits. “I just like having my own space.”
“Yeah, well, I’d prefer that, too,” I grumble. “But the hostel’s the only place I can afford.” I give him a once-over. “Not all of us are rich lawyers, you know.”
His teasing face quickly morphs back into the sullen one I’ve become so accustomed to. “Yeah, of course.”
I’m treading on uneven ground right now, so I change the subject. “I’ve been sightseeing since we got here, so I just need a place to sleep. I didn’t need a whole hotel room for only one night. I’m going to Interlaken tomorrow.”
“Interlaken?” he repeats. “Why?”
Pink blooms in my face. “There’s a show I love called Crash Landing on You, and they filmed some of the scenes here. I wanted to check out the locations after exploring Zurich. Interlaken is close to the two cities where they filmed most of the scenes, so I was going to stay there and take the train.”
Sarfaraz looks like he’s trying hard not to judge me. “I mean... I guess that’s an effective way to spend your time,” he says, his voice even. He avoids my gaze as he says, “If you want, I managed to get a hotel room. You could sleep there. It’s a two-bed room.”
My jaw slackens. “I thought you didn’t want to hang out with me.”
He exhales deeply through his nose. “It’s not that I didn’t want to hang out with you,” he begins. “I’m used to being on my own. But after what happened, it wouldn’t feel right leaving you by yourself.” He gestures to my purse. “Plus, didn’t you say your cards are frozen? You can’t pay for a place, anyway.”
“I can call my bank right now and explain the situation.” I check my phone. “They should be open.”
“It might still take them a while to complete the process.” He looks at me, but I swear he keeps his focus on my forehead. “Look, you’re sick, you’re stranded, and you need help. Let me help.”
I pause for a moment, looking him up and down. I don’t know him well, but he seems sincere. “Really?”
His face flushes. “I know you didn’t have the best first impression of me, but I’m not that much of a jerk. And I’m just offering you a bed. We don’t have to interact with each other.”
I hum. On the one hand, if anyone in Pakistan finds out I stayed in a hotel room with some random man, my izzat—and by extension, my family’s—would be stained so fast it would win a world record. But on the other, it’s late, I’m exhausted, I smell like vomit, and I’m scared about what to do next, and this random stranger is offering to help when he could have left me and gone on his way.
Eventually, I nod slowly. “Yeah. That’d be good.”
10
Maya’s Law #10:
Your wardrobe is always going to be lacking.
Sarfaraz calls a cab to take us to the hotel. We sit in silence for the whole ride with the windows down to combat the smell of puke. I discreetly look over at Sarfaraz. Exhaustion lines his forehead, but he seems alert as he stares out the window. Every now and then, the light from the streetlamps flickers over his face, and I catch a glimpse of something like apprehension in his expression; but the flash is always so brief I can never tell.
The cab screeches to a stop in front of the hotel. Sarfaraz gets out first, and just as I unbuckle my belt, the door opens on its own. I look up, blinking against the darkness.
Sarfaraz stands there, holding the door open. He jerks his head to the side. “Come on.”
I smile my thanks and climb out of the car. Exhaustion weighs me down as I step out. The events of the day have caught up with me, and all I want to do is sleep.
It’s still raining, and tiny droplets pelt my face. I press the sides of my fingers to my brow bone so I can see without the rain blinding me. He closes the car door behind me, and we head to the entrance.
The place is quaint. More like an inn than anything. The lobby is small, with a receptionist’s desk set up against the wall. There’s a sitting area on the left, with one red couch and two tan chairs surrounding a coffee table. Tall potted plants are set up near the front doors, and they bristle from the wind blowing in when we open the door.
The lobby is empty, with only a bored-looking receptionist sitting behind the desk. Sarfaraz leads me down the hall to where I assume his room is. We walk there in silence, the only sound being the echoes of our footsteps.
I can’t believe I’m staying in a room with a stranger. Yeah, okay, I’ve stayed with strangers before; technically when I taught in Seoul, I didn’t know my roommates, but I had time to become friends with them, and we all had background checks before we were permitted to room with other people. I know absolutely nothing about this guy, other than his name. I don’t even know how old he is.
Maybe that’s one thing I can cross off. We stop in front of the door. “How old are you?” I ask.
He gives me a strange look. “That’s a weird question.”
“Are you going to answer it?”
