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“Thank you.” Salama pauses, then gives us a once-over. “Do you two have anything to wear?” she asks, noticing our lack of suitcases.
“No,” we both say.
She looks us both up and down again, then points to me. “You should fit into some of my daughter’s clothes.” She moves the finger toward Sarfaraz. “I think some of my husband’s old clothes might fit you, but they’ll be loose.”
“That’s fine,” Sarfaraz says. He gives her a grateful smile. “We appreciate you helping us. You didn’t have to, and may Allah reward your kindness.”
Salama pinches his cheek, twisting his face from side to side. “So cute!” she gushes. “Such a polite boy.” She looks over to me. “You’re quite lucky, Maya.”
“Oh, yeah,” I tease with an affirming nod. “He’s a real catch.”
He begins to narrow his eyes before he remembers he’s supposed to be in love with me. He dips his head at Salama. “Thank you again, Auntie.”
“I’ll be right back with some clothes for you two,” she says. “I’ll show you to the bathroom, and you can wash. In the meantime, I’ll prepare some breakfast. You must be hungry.”
At the mention of food, my stomach clenches. “Very.”
Salama steps out of the room, leaving Sarfaraz and I alone. He immediately turns to me, pointing a finger at the door. “That is the raciest I have ever heard an auntie speak. And I certainly didn’t expect it from one who lives in a pind.”
I sit down on the bed. “Sorry I said we were married,” I start. “I didn’t know what else to say.”
“It’s okay. I told Muhammad Moiz that we were married, too.” He sits down on the bed next to me. “Plus, I don’t think she would have bought it if you told her I was your brother.”
I snort. “Yeah, probably not.”
Thankfully, before the silence can drag on, Salama comes back with shalwar kameez for us. Sarfaraz, graciously, allows me to bathe first. Salama heats up some water for me, then pours it into a bucket in the room they designated as their bathroom. It’s not like a bathroom in the city, where there’s a separate stall for the shower. Instead, the whole room is open. There’s a drain in the floor, where water from the bath goes.
I feel way better after washing the dirt and grime and sweat off my body. I dip a ladle-like tool into the bucket and pour the water over my face. I scrub at my skin, washing away the events of the last couple of days. I pause when my fingers graze the spot on my arm where it was linked with Sarfaraz’s. My skin flushes, even while a shiver racks my body. I brush it off and douse the spot with another ladleful of hot water.
Once I’m done, I wrap the towel around my body. I’m about to step out into the hallway when I remember I have to go back into a room with Sarfaraz while technically completely naked. I was so eager to be clean that I didn’t think to bring my clothes into the bathroom, and because we’re supposed to be married, Salama assumed we’d be fine staying in the same room. My hand freezes on the doorknob, and I jerk it back, instead using it to secure the towel better.
Okay. Okay. This is no big deal. I just have to put on my big-girl pants and go out there. Besides, he’s going to leave for the bathroom as soon as I get in there so he can shower, and I can dress then. This is fine.
Checking one more time to make sure the towel completely covers my body, I open the door and dash down the hall to the bedroom. I slip into the room, and as I do, Sarfaraz looks up from his spot on the bed. The clothes Salama gave him are draped over his lap, like he’s planning on taking them into the bathroom with him, and for a second, I forget about my embarrassment and curse the fact that he thought of doing that when I didn’t.
The embarrassment returns full force when Sarfaraz’s eyes widen at my semi-naked form. I know the towel covers all the important bits, but to me, my bare shoulders and collarbone are just as private as the rest of me, so my face flushes. I’m trying to cover my collarbone with my hair when I notice his eyes are raking over my bare legs. The words tumble out before I can stop them, “What happened to not wanting to stare at my legs?”
Sarfaraz blinks, like my words have brought him out of a trance. He gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his face light pink. He clears his throat and stands up, lowering his gaze as he does so. He sidesteps me without a word, slipping out of the bedroom door. For a second, all I can do is stand there and stare at the door in half-disbelief and half-amazement. Have I done it? Have I stunned Sarfaraz into silence?
I quickly change into the clothes Salama provided, relishing in the softness of the outfit on my body. It’s a lawn fabric, the typical material summer clothes are made of because of its light and airy feeling. The kameez is short and white, patterned at the hem with strips of gold. Diamond shapes line the chest vertically, going from my throat to my abdomen. It has long sleeves, which I’m not surprised about; Salama isn’t a hijabi, but modesty is still practiced. The shalwar is plain white and cuffs at the bottom, though the cuff at my ankles is also encircled with gold.
I adjust the dupatta around my throat. The door suddenly opens and Sarfaraz steps back into the room. I don’t know how I expected him to look dressed in shalwar kameez, but a breath is stolen from my lungs when my eyes land on him.
The outfit Salama gave him is a hickory brown, like the shade of the trees in the forest behind the school I work at. I always take the kids there when I teach them about nature in their science class. A thrill rushes through my stomach when I realize that the color of his clothes nearly matches his irises. His sleeves cuff at the bottom, though he hasn’t buttoned them yet. He also hasn’t buttoned the lining at his throat—the slit itself dips nearly to his mid-sternum, offering a plain view of his chiseled chest. The clothes are loose on him, but they still manage to suit him very well.
Sarfaraz catches me ogling, and all of a sudden, the shyness he displayed earlier when I was semi-naked is gone. He smirks. “Like what you see?”
I swallow thickly. “I’ve seen better,” I retort, though my voice is squeaky.
“On who?”
I clam up and say the first name that comes to mind. “Colin Firth.”
Sarfaraz regards me for a long moment. “Colin... Firth,” he says slowly.
It was stupid to say the first name I thought of, but I can’t back down now. “Yeah, Colin Firth.” I don’t give him the chance to say anything else. I point to the door. “I need to get something to eat before I faint. We should go down.”
I don’t even wait for his answer; I circle around him, open the door, and step out. The only way I know he’s following me is because I can hear his footsteps. I take a few subtle but deep breaths to calm down, and when we reach the end of the hall, my face feels cooler.
