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He smirks ruefully. “We shouldn’t get married, Maya.”
His words hit me like a wave, but instead of despair filling my lungs, it’s relief. “Are you sure?”
Imtiaz steps over to me. He grabs my arms and gives them a light squeeze. “Maya, I don’t think I was ever ready to get married, either. I knew my work schedule wasn’t going to be fair to you, and after spending my entire life buried in textbooks, I wanted some time for myself. I truly didn’t think I wanted to settle down yet. But my mom kept insisting it was time for me to find someone, and if I waited too long, then there’d be nobody left for me to choose from.” He lifts a shoulder. “You know desi moms.”
I make a noise that’s a half hiccup, half laugh. “Yeah, I do.”
“I thought that because we already knew each other, things would fall into place, but I don’t think that’s going to happen anymore. So...” He drops his hands. “Let’s not get married. And so it’s not on your conscience, I’m the one dumping you.”
I laugh, the sound light and airy instead of tight like it was before. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” he starts. “I have a lot of respect for your izzat. Yes, people will talk about you because you were the one dumped, but at least they won’t be saying that you were a vixen or something because you broke up with me.”
I snort again. He laughs, as well, and for a full minute, the two of us crack up at the absurdity of the situation. After a moment, though, I sober up. I offer Imtiaz an apologetic look. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he insists. “This means that we won’t be wasting our time being with each other when we should be with people we love instead.”
“True,” I agree. I fix him with a hopeful look. “Can we still be friends?”
Imtiaz’s mouth relaxes. “I’d like that.”
“Good,” I say. “I’m going to need a friend to help me send back all the wedding gifts. I can’t do it on my own.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” he assures me. Suddenly, Imtiaz’s face morphs into panic. “Speaking of which, you need to get to the bus station.”
“What?”
“Bhaiyya,” he explains, gaining momentum. “He called to wish me luck this morning. He said that he couldn’t get a flight out of Karachi, so he’s going to take a bus to Islamabad. He’s probably on the way to the station right now. I may not be going anywhere, but he’s leaving.”
My chest twists as I stare at Imtiaz. How did he know? Were we that obvious? Or maybe he overheard me talking with Ammi and Hibba Baji; I don’t know how much he heard. Either way, my palms grow sweaty. “Imtiaz...”
“Maya, it’s okay,” he asserts. “I noticed there was some weird tension between you guys that first day, and I thought I was imagining things, until I passed by the door and heard you talking. I promise, it’s okay. My brother’s been through so much, and I love him, and I care about you, so if you two can figure out how to make each other happy, I’m fine with that. Even if you don’t love him, I know you like him.”
I do. I do like him.
“That, plus...” He grabs my wrist and pushes my chudiyan out of the way. stares back at me. “I noticed this at the maiyun. I suspected before this, but at this point, I definitely knew something was up.”
I grimace. I point to the mehendi. “This wasn’t my fault, though. It’s a funny story—”
“Which you don’t have time to tell.” He drops my wrist. “You need to stop him. If you don’t, he’s going to go back home and spend the rest of his life alone.”
“That’s assuming he even wants to be with me. I asked him once—” I cut myself off as Imtiaz’s eyes widen with surprise “—which I’m really sorry about, by the way—but he told me to get married.”
“That’s just my brother’s annoying, righteous self,” he dismisses. “Always putting himself last.” He grips my arms tighter. “Please, go after him. It may not have worked out between us, but you’re still my friend, Maya. I want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy. I want my brother to be happy. And if you two are going to be happy with each other, then you should go for it.”
I do deserve to be happy. Dr. Khan’s been right all along; I need to put myself first. “Right.” I glance at the clock in the corner of the room, and despair floods my gut. “Damn it, it’s already eleven! I won’t make it in time!”
“Yes, you will,” Imtiaz assures me.
“How? It’s Dhuhr right now. The traffic is going to be insane because people are headed to and from the masjids all over the city. No car is going to make it to the bus station.”
“Then we’ll take my uncle’s motorcycle.”
I blink. “You can ride a motorcycle?”
“Now’s not the time,” he reminds me. “We need to go.”
I stare at him uneasily. “Are we really running out on our wedding so you can take me to your brother?”
