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I sniffle. “I guess I’ve never thought of it that way before. I saw it as a way to explain things because I grew up thinking God makes things happen for a reason.” I stare down at the dirt road. “Guess that was me finding my reasons.”
“I have to say, for someone who’s had a lot of misfortune in life, and your love life, I’m surprised you even still believe in love.” He keeps his eyes on the road ahead of us. “I would have thought someone like that would not believe in marriage at all.”
I blink a few times, then stare straight ahead, too. “I guess, despite everything I’ve been through, I had to keep believing in it. Love may have failed me and my family in some aspects of our lives, but it was also something that kept us together. Pain is the price we pay for love, but with how happy love makes us feel, I think it’s worth the risk.”
Sarfaraz quiets down again. My shoulders relax, thinking he’s satisfied with my answers, but he bursts, “You know, from everything you’ve been saying, it sounds like you don’t want to get married.” After another pause, he tentatively stops and peeks down at me. “Do you?”
We slowly draw to a stop, but neither of us says anything. I open my mouth, hesitantly, but before I can respond, a gush of laughter interrupts me. We both look straight ahead.
The sound came from what appears to be a village not too far ahead. The sun has made its appearance, creeping high enough that brightness stretches across the sky and casts a shadow against the short structures of the modest houses. Long, green fields cover the grounds, with tall stalks of crops, probably even taller than Sarfaraz, clustered together. Groups of cattle graze on the grass, and a man herds a couple of goats along the road.
“Oh, finally,” Sarfaraz breathes, and my chest loosens when I realize he’s forgotten about the question he asked me. I pull my arm out of his grasp, and we walk the rest of the way to the village side by side.
We stop the first person we can find, a woman around my mother’s age carrying a basket filled with greens. “Excuse me,” I start in Urdu.
She stops at the sound of my voice. Her hair, dyed red from mehendi, shines brilliantly under the early-morning sun. She gives us a smile. “Assalaam-o-alaikum.”
“Walaykum salam,” we say back. “My name is Maya.” I gesture to Sarfaraz. “And this is Sarfaraz. He’s my...” I peek at him, but before he can fill in his own answer, I say, “My husband.”
When Sarfaraz doesn’t stiffen or refute me, I continue. “We’re trying to get to Karachi. We had some bus troubles a long while back, and we’ve been walking for a very long time. Are there any buses here that can take us to Karachi?”
“Well, we do have a bus that comes here and can take you to a station in the next town over,” she explains. “There, you can get on a bus that will take you to Karachi.”
I brighten up. “Really? That’s perfect!”
“But it won’t be coming until the day after tomorrow,” she adds.
The day after tomorrow? Despair weighs heavily on my back, threatening to drag me down to the pits of the earth. That’ll mean by the time the bus shows up to this village and gets us to Karachi, there will only be three days until the actual wedding.
“Okay, is there a hotel where we can stay until then?”
“Unfortunately, no,” the woman responds. “But you and your husband can stay with my family if you wish.”
“Oh, no,” Sarfaraz interjects. “We wouldn’t want to impose.”
“Impose? Nonsense.” The woman waves off his concern. “You’re in Pakistan, sir. I don’t know what it’s like where you’re from, but in this country, we show out-of-town guests the best hospitality.”
I look over to Sarfaraz. “It’d be rude not to accept,” I say to him in English. “Plus, we don’t have a choice.”
“I don’t know...”
“Look, it’s either their house or the street. Now, I’m starving, and tired, and dirty, so if you want, you can stay here, but I’m going with the mother-looking lady.”
Sarfaraz scrunches his brows, and at the sight, I pout. “Come on. Trust me.”
His face relaxes at my words, and my heart skips a beat at how easy that was. Sarfaraz tips his head back with a defeated groan. With a grin, I loop my arm through the auntie’s, then let her pull us along in the direction of her house.
19
Maya’s Law #19:
Showing your emotions on your face never ends well.
Like most of the houses in the village, the home of the woman—whose name we learn is Salama Kassab—is small. It’s a little, one-story building; gray bricks, a slanted roof, and handcrafted windows with fingerprints smudging the glass. Salama leads Sarfaraz and me to a bedroom all the way at the end of the hall. It’s really only big enough for a bed and a brown dresser tucked on the opposite side. My throat dries when I realize there is in fact only one bed. It’s a good size, but still, there’s only one.
“This is my daughter’s old room,” Salama explains when she notices me staring at the solitary bed. “She got married recently.” She gestures haphazardly to the bed. “I know it will probably be a tight fit for you two, but I remember my own post-honeymoon time.” She wiggles her brows at us. “Being closer to each other is much better.”
The tips of my ears burn. Sarfaraz and I briefly look at each other, but I quickly look away when I feel my neck flush. “Well, congratulations to your daughter,” I say politely instead.
