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“While you were in the shower, I asked the housekeepers if they could wash your clothes,” he explains, keeping his eyes closed. “It cost me extra, but they’ll have them ready for you by tomorrow morning.”
My chest warms. “Thanks,” I say, before clearing my throat. “Just let me know much that costs tomorrow.”
“Sure.”
I plug my phone into the wall to charge, then dive for the bed and get in between the sheets. Once I’m situated and sure I’m totally covered, I say, “Okay, I’m good.”
Sarfaraz opens his eyes. “Lovely.” He turns back around, grabs his clothes, and heads for the bathroom. After a few seconds, I hear the shower running.
I slump into the mattress, fatigue overwhelming me now that I’m in a soft bed. German medicine must be made from the elixir of life or something because the nausea is already starting to flush out of my system. While I will my breathing to even, I stare up at the ceiling.
Okay. I’m in a hotel room with a strange man, who seems decent enough but will blurt something insulting right after being nice. It’s not that I’m worried; if I didn’t trust Sarfaraz, I wouldn’t be here. And sure, I might be trusting him too quickly, but while he’s annoying, there’s something so...familiar about him. It’s enough to make me lower my guard sooner than I usually would around a man. I groan and bring the sheets up over my head, though all that does is make the smell of Sarfaraz’s shirt more overwhelming. I was expecting it to smell like pine and coffee, but I’m pleasantly surprised that it smells faintly of lemons and fresh laundry.
It’s...it’s weird. I’ve never been in a hotel room with a man who isn’t related to me. I have memories of staying in hotels when my dad was still around, but it was so long ago that time has blurred the edges. After he left, we rarely went on vacation, and if we did, it was only Ammi, Hibba Baji, and me. No boys anywhere. I’ve never even shared a hotel room with Imtiaz before; even though we’re engaged, that would be way too scandalous in our community.
It may seem strange for an engaged couple, but trust me, I’ve seen weirder stuff when it comes to intimacy between a guy and girl in the desi community. Once, my cousin got in trouble for dancing too close to a guy at a party. The guy was her husband, and the party was their wedding. They literally got in trouble for being too close to each other during their first dance as a married couple.
It’s stuff like that, so instilled in us, that makes us uncomfortable when it comes time to get close to a member of the opposite sex. So, while I’m...attracted to Imtiaz, I’ve never been intimate with him in any sort of way. I’m not sure what it’s supposed to feel like. What does kissing the grown-up way feel like?
Ya Allah, the grown-up way? I’m going to be so screwed on my wedding night.
I pull the sheets back down when I hear the bathroom door open, but I tuck the blanket under my chin. Sarfaraz comes out in a well-worn green T-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms. He puts his suitcase down on the ground, then turns the room light off. It’s not completely dark, though, because of the two lamps beside the beds. He pauses when he notices me staring. “Do you need something?”
My face flushes. “Why are you doing this?” I ask, bewilderment pursing my lips. “Why are you bending over backward to be so nice? I don’t know you, and you don’t know me.”
He’s quiet, and for a second, I think he’s not going to answer me, but then he says, “Someone once told me helping a stranger is the best thing you can do.”
“And why is that?”
Even in the almost-darkness, I can see a hint of a smile. “Because more likely than not, that person will always remember the stranger who helped them when they needed it. And just maybe, that stranger will be able to return the favor somehow.”
I didn’t say that last part to him, but something soft touches my chest at his addition. “She sounds like a wise person.”
He pulls the sheets back. “How’d you know it was a woman?”
“Because women tend to be smart like that.”
Sarfaraz chuckles but doesn’t say anything else. He settles himself in bed, then reaches for his lamp.
“Wait,” I say, lifting my head. His fingers pause on the switch, and he looks over to me. I take it as a cue to continue. “Thank you,” I say, trying to throw all my gratitude and sincerity behind my words. “Seriously. All of this is... It’s very kind of you.”
Sarfaraz’s throat bobs, but he says, “You’re welcome,” before he flicks the lamp off. Then he places his back to me. Within seconds, his breathing settles, and he even starts snoring.
Really? I drop my head back against my pillow. Not even a good-night? Also, how does he fall asleep that fast? I know my sleeping habits aren’t exactly normal, but what human being falls asleep that quickly?
I huff but turn my own lamp off. I roll over to the other side, putting slightly more distance between us. My options now are, one, attempt to sleep, or two, be alone with my own thoughts. I honestly don’t know which is worse.
I groan and bury my face in the pillow.
I need a third option.
11
Maya’s Law #11:
If you’re “too nice,” it’ll come back to bite you.
I manage to fall asleep at some point, though it’s fitful. I throw my blanket off when it gets too hot, but then I paw the bed for it again when a cold flash hits my bare legs. How do people sleep without pants on? I feel too vulnerable. It’s the same kind of rushing panic that hits you when you stick one foot out of the blanket, only to realize it’s the perfect bait for whatever demon is definitely lingering under your bed.
