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Mr. Porter still doesn’t look happy, but he mumbles, “Fine,” before pushing himself away from the table and leaving the room. Mrs. Porter shakes her head and follows him.
Imtiaz rubs his face. “What’s a wedding without family drama, huh?”
“Exactly,” Hibba Baji teases. “We were missing our dose of it.”
Imtiaz gets to his feet. “I think I’m going to go track my brother down and have a talk with him.”
That sounds like a good plan. I open my mouth to say that I’ll come with him, but Ammi grabs my wrist and pulls me up with her. “Come, Maya, we need you to try on your mehendi dress to see if it needs any last-minute alterations.”
“Oh, Ammi, I need to—” I start.
“We were supposed to have had this done last week,” she cuts me off. “But your travel chaos put everything off course. The maiyun is tomorrow, so we won’t have any other time to get this done. Now, come.”
Stomach sinking, I allow her to pull me along.
25
Maya’s Law #25:
Coincidences are never just coincidences.
Once everyone’s gone to bed, I casually ask one of the servants if they know which room Sarfaraz is staying in. I guess she’s been instructed not to talk about him by Mr. Porter, because she pretends like she doesn’t understand me, even though I’m speaking Urdu, and quickly shuffles off.
I plan on talking to him in the morning, but as I try to sleep that night, I have an extremely difficult time. The longer I toss, the more anger bubbles in my stomach. I had a perfectly fine time sleeping last night; what’s the problem now?
I throw the blankets off and get out of bed. I stick my feet in a pair of slippers and leave my bedroom, heading for the roof. One of my favorite things about Pakistani houses is how the roofs are set up; they don’t get snow or a lot of rain here, so the houses are built with flat roofs. That allows people to use them as a second storage space, or to hang wet clothes up to dry on a clothesline. Or, like many families, they use it as a place to sit and enjoy the evening breeze.
I climb the stairs but stagger to a stop when I recognize the figure standing near the edge of the roof. Even in the dark, I can make out the outline of his back.
Sarfaraz must feel my eyes on him, because he looks over his shoulder. He doesn’t look surprised or startled, though; his expression is completely neutral, though it’s clearly forced based on the way the lines in his face twitch. We stare at each other for way too long, until he breaks the silence. “Let me guess—can’t sleep?”
A tiny growl rumbles my throat as I stomp over to him. “Don’t joke,” I seethe. “Do you know how ridiculous this all is?”
“What?” He looks away from me to stare at the moon. “That the random woman I sat next to on a plane is the woman marrying my brother?”
Hurt unexpectedly hits my chest, and I swallow thickly. “That’s all I am?” I ask, trying not to let the pain show in my voice. I hate that it’s even there. “A random woman you sat next to on a plane?”
“Fine,” he relents. He looks over at me, and in the pale light, I see a muscle in his jaw working. “Does sister-in-law work for you?”
I cringe. That word is forever going to be ruined for me. “This is such a mess,” I grumble. I scrunch my face when I remember a crucial detail. “You didn’t seem surprised to see me. Did you know?”
His face drops, but I press on. “Did you know this whole time who I was?”
Sarfaraz hesitates but looks at me. For the first time since we saw each other standing at the threshold of his family house, I can see how he’s feeling. Pain momentarily flashes in his eyes, but it’s gone just as quick. At my unrelenting stare, he breaks. “I didn’t know when we first met on the plane,” he reveals.
I gape at him. “Unbelievable!”
He quickly backtracks. “I thought it was weird that I was going to Pakistan to attend my brother’s wedding and you were going to Pakistan to have your wedding, but I thought it was a coincidence. Lots of people get married, and people travel to weddings every day. You’re not the first or last person to have a destination wedding.”
“When did you figure it out?”
“Well, I suspected when you spoke to your fiancé on the phone when we were on the way to Sigriswil.” He bites his bottom lip. I pretend like the action doesn’t drive me crazy as he continues. “I thought it sounded like my brother, but I convinced myself that there was no way.” His fingers still, his throat bobbing. “And then there was that long stretch of time where we walked after we got robbed, right before we got to Salama and Kenan’s village...” When I nod, he says, “You mentioned that your fiancé’s name was Imtiaz. I think I knew then, but I was really, really hoping that it was all a random coincidence.”
It never is when it comes to me. “And you didn’t think to say anything?”
“What difference would it have made?”
“A huge one!” I exclaim. “I would never have acted the way I did if I’d known.”
