AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He smirks. “Of course you do.”
“I mean it.” I push myself into a sitting position, balancing on my palms. “Marriage can be so beautiful. The idea of someone wanting only you for the rest of their life and knowing that person will be there for you is very sweet.” I pause for a second, then add, softer this time, “And sure, sometimes it doesn’t work out, and people leave, but the thought that someone is ready to forsake everyone else for you forever, and to proclaim as much in front of Allah, is amazing.”
Sarfaraz stares at me for a long beat, searching my face. I almost cower under his attention, but I stand my ground. Eventually, he says, “But you can’t know that it’s forever. You can’t see the future, so you never know if it’s going to work out, or if something will tear you apart.”
“That’s what makes it even better.” At his puzzled stare, I elaborate. “You can’t promise what’s going to happen in the future, but you can promise you’ll be there for each other in the moment.”
We share a look for a little longer, and then I tear my focus away from him. “Maybe we should see if we can find any more constellations.” I lie back down.
To my surprise, Sarfaraz lies down next to me. When I raise a brow at the action, he just shrugs. “It’s easier this way.”
I grin. “Right.”
17
Maya’s Law #17:
Not everyone is kind.
Time passes. I debate whether I should call Ammi and give her another update, but it hasn’t quite been seventeen hours yet, which is the time the website said it would take the bus to get to Karachi, and I don’t want her nagging. All she’ll do is tell me she was right, that I couldn’t do this on my own. Plus, my phone battery is dangerously low, at like 18 percent. I turn it off and hope that it’ll conserve some of the juice.
Sarfaraz points out all the constellations and planets he can see, and when there’s nothing left, we settle into a comfortable silence. A few cars start showing up to take people to a nearby village, but Sarfaraz and I agree to let the families with children leave first; we can handle some more time in this weather, but small kids can’t.
I rest my cheek against my palm. I’ve started to drift off when Sarfaraz shakes me awake. I groan and lift my head. “What?”
He points to a car pulling up in front of us. “Let’s take that car.”
I blink a few times while pushing myself into a sitting position. “Are the families all gone?”
“Yeah.” He stands up, so I do, too. “We should take this chance to get out of here, too. I don’t know how much longer I can go without water.”
I adjust the strap of my backpack while Sarfaraz packs up his sweater, and then we make our way over to the car. The driver rolls the window down, and I offer my best teacher grin. “Salaam,” I greet.
“Salaam,” the driver says back. “My name is Muhammad Moiz.”
“I’m Maya. Thank you so much for your help,” I say. “I don’t know what we’d do if we had to wait here much longer. At least in the village we can get some food and water.”
He pauses for a beat, then replies, “Of course. It’ll be my pleasure to take you.” He peeks past me, then frowns. “Who’s the guy?”
Sarfaraz speaks before I have the chance to. “Her husband,” he responds curtly in Urdu.
I don’t know who’s more shocked: the driver at Sarfaraz’s flawless Urdu, or me because he referred to himself as my husband. Wordlessly, he opens the door, and when he catches my bewildered stare, he sends me a look that says, Don’t argue.
His lie is probably a good idea, but I can’t let go of the nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach that feels less like a nagging and more like a...softness. One that absolutely shouldn’t be there.
I peek through the door to see two other men in the car. There’s a man in the passenger’s seat, and another man with a bushy beard sitting on the far left. I didn’t realize there’d be other passengers in the car, but I dip my head awkwardly at them and climb in. I wince at how my skin sticks to the hot leather seats. I shift to the middle seat and my thigh brushes against the guy sitting next to me. I instinctively recoil.
Sarfaraz slides in after me, shutting the door. The driver clears his throat but starts the engine and begins driving.
We sit in silence for about twenty minutes until I ask, “So, what are your names?”
“As I said before, I am Muhammad Moiz,” the driver responds. He jerks his thumb to the passenger seat. “This is Riyad.” He moves his thumb in the direction of the man sitting next to me. “And that’s Asad.”
I swallow thickly. “Nice to meet you all,” I mumble, my voice cracking.
“Where are you headed?” Asad asks.
“Karachi,” Sarfaraz responds. “We’re attending a wedding there.”
