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Sarfaraz’s grin struggles to stay in place, but he holds his hand out to me. “Good luck on your wedding. I hope you manage to find happiness with that guy.”
When my skin touches his, I feel a wave of longing so strong it threatens to pull me out to sea. I remember how only a few hours earlier, his body was pressed up against mine, and my core aches. I shake his hand once, and then let go. “I hope you have fun with your relatives here.”
“Ooh, that may be hard,” Sarfaraz teases, and I chuckle before we lull back into a silence.
We’re prolonging the goodbye. Neither of us wants to say it, but Sarfaraz sucks in a deep breath and starts walking backward, away from me. “Alright. Khuda hafiz, then.”
I blink my tears away. “Khuda hafiz,” I choke out, not even caring if he can hear the emotion in my throat.
At the same time, we turn our backs on each other. It takes everything in me to put one foot forward, followed by another, and another. I can’t look back. If I do, I’m afraid I’ll see him looking back at me, and I don’t know what I’d do if I met his gaze.
But honestly? I think I’m more afraid that if I do stop, if I do peek over my shoulder for one more look, I’ll realize he didn’t look back, that he just continued on his way, without giving me a second glance.
So, I keep walking, and I don’t look back.
After traveling with someone in the seat beside me for ten days, the back of the auto rickshaw I ride to Imtiaz’s house feels especially spacious. Rickshaws aren’t even big vehicles, either. The cab, which is attached to the motorcycle that the man uses to power the rickshaw, rests on three wheels, two in the back—one on each side—and one in the front. A small window separates my seat and the seat of the rickshaw-wallah in front of me. Thankfully, he doesn’t try to make conversation with me, so I stare out the windshield and try to ignore the fact that my stomach feels like it’s shrinking. The traffic is insane; either that or the rickshaw driver is intentionally taking the least convenient route possible. Of course I ended up with a driver who is trying to make my life harder.
You know what? He’s not trying to talk to me, and he’s going fast enough that there’s a breeze coming in through the front of the rickshaw. He gets a five-star rating from me for that alone.
The rickshaw pulls up in front of a large house. I pay the driver and then climb out. The house’s outer walls are a muted yellow with screen-covered windows, presumably to keep the bugs out. It’s only two stories, but the fact that the house stretches outward, covering lots of land, makes up for it. A tree, tall and green and leafy, sits in front of the house, its height nearly blocking one of the windows. The gates are a dark brown, and for a second, all I can do is imagine Sarfaraz’s eyes, staring at me in the dark, face so close to my own...
“Maya Khala!” A voice breaks me out of my thoughts. I blink, and that’s when it registers that the gates are opening. Iqra, my niece, clambers through the doors and launches herself at my waist.
I make an oomph sound and stagger back, but when I recover, I grin and hug her tightly. “I’m so happy to see you!” I gush.
“Maya!” I hear again. A few more people step out of the house, including Ammi, Hibba Baji, and Imtiaz.
Ammi throws her arms around me, holding on so tight I see dark spots for a moment. Iqra squeezes out from between us, and that gives Ammi the opportunity to hug me harder. “My baby!” she cries dramatically. Ammi pulls back from the hug, her eyes wide and wild. For a second, I can’t help but marvel at how much we look alike: the same long face, the same small nose, and the same panicked expression whenever something goes wrong. “What took you so long to get here?” she demands.
“I’m sorry, my phone died,” I apologize. “Everything went so wrong after I left home. But I did update you every chance I got, and I promised I’d be here by today when we spoke on the phone last, didn’t I?”
She sniffs. “I suppose. But what happened?”
“It’s a long story, and I’ll tell you all of it, I promise,” I assure her. “The important thing is I’m okay.”
“I knew I should have waited to travel with you,” Ammi groans. “I knew you couldn’t handle it on your own.”
I grit my teeth. “Everything’s fine, Mom. I made it here.”
She huffs. “Well, yes, I suppose so.” She pats my cheeks. “You’re going to put me in an early grave.”
“Mom! Don’t talk like that,” Hibba Baji chastises. She wraps her arms around me. “I’m just glad you made it here in one piece.”
I gratefully accept the wave of calm rolling off my sister. I break the hug and look to Imtiaz, who has stepped over to us in the meantime. A flash of guilt runs down my spine when I remember I made out with a different man this morning. I push that guilt away, reminding myself that it was a one-off, and that I’ll never see Sarfaraz again. I smile at Imtiaz instead, even though it’s weak.
He tentatively returns it, and with a quick look over at my mom to see if she’ll object, he leans over and hugs me.
I’ve shared hugs with Imtiaz before, of course, but the moment he puts his arms around me, my mind flashes to Sarfaraz touching me a few hours ago. The memory stiffens me for a moment, delaying my reaction. At the confused wrinkles on Ammi’s and Hibba Baji’s foreheads, it quickly registers. I bring my arms up around his back, ignoring the fact that his arms feel foreign around me.
We break the hug, and he takes a respectable step back, earning a look of approval from Ammi. I resist the urge to groan; we’re engaged, and we’ll literally be married in two days. It’s not scandalous if he hugs me.
Imtiaz’s voice breaks my thoughts. “I was so worried about you, Maya. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.”
“I’m happy you’re safe.” He gives me a once-over, and apparently satisfied by the fact that I have no obvious injuries, he nods firmly. “Well, you’re here now. That’s all that—” He pauses as his eyes land on my left hand. “Wait—where’s your ring?”
I look down and remember my finger is bare. Honestly, so much has happened over the past few days that I somehow managed to forget I had to exchange my ring for my own protection. I clench my fingers. “That’s also a long story,” I admit, biting the inside of my cheek.
