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5
Maya’s Law #5:
The person you like the least will be the person you meet the most.
I hate that my first thought is, Wow, he’s cute.
I may hate it, but I’m also not wrong. He’s tall—so tall his head brushes the top of the airplane—and for a second, I wonder how the hell he’s going to fold himself up enough to sleep on this flight. His dark hair is shorter on the sides and at the back, but longer on the top. His skin, shades lighter than even the fairest Kashmiri, throws me off, too.
My next thought is, What’s a white guy doing on a plane to Pakistan? It’s not like we’re going to Paris or something, where it would make sense to have a blend of people on the flight. Most of the time, the only people going to and from Pakistan are actual Pakistanis.
“Oh,” I say, the word coming out before I can stop myself. “You’re the—”
“The Jerk,” he finishes, an unimpressed look on his face.
So he did hear me. At least the dirty looks were worth it now. I lift my chin. “Well, you did bump into me.”
“And?” He shrugs. “I was in a hurry to catch my flight.”
And, of course, it had to be my flight he was trying to catch. “I was in a hurry, too. You made me drop all my things, and you didn’t even bother to help me pick them up.” I stare up at him. “Are you going to apologize?”
“No,” he replies, his tone almost bored.
I open my mouth to retort, but I pause when I notice people are craning their heads to see what the fuss is about. I grit my teeth and stand up so he can get to his seat.
The Jerk sidesteps past me, and his broad back briefly slides against my chest. I catch a whiff of his scent—strong coffee and fresh pine. I unconsciously inhale deeper, trying to catch more of his smell, but when he sits down the spell breaks. My face flushes, but I sit down, as well. I sigh deeply, flopping my head back against the rest.
He grabs the stuff off his seat and settles in next to me. Once he’s seated, he peels his red sweater off. I move out of the way, shaking my head, before he can accidentally hit me. He could at least try to avoid me. He reaches into the case at his feet and pulls his laptop out.
I look away from him, swallowing back my annoyance. I don’t want to put my headphones in until takeoff in case the flight attendants say something important, so I look around the plane and people-watch. An elderly man helps an equally elderly woman into her seat in the cluster beside us. A man passes by, guiding a young boy who looks like he’s going to pee his pants to the bathroom. Down the aisle, a teenager helps her mother wrangle two young kids into their seats and gives them their iPads so they’ll settle down before the flight starts.
The plane is mostly filled with families; flights from Canada to Pakistan generally are. Because it’s so expensive to travel to Pakistan (even on an airline like Jinnah, which is the cheapest of the cheap), people take their whole families when they go. And they tend to go for at least a couple of months. But we take the time, and we pay the price, because no matter how much it costs or whether you were born there or not, Pakistan is still our homeland.
But strangely, this guy seems to be traveling by himself. Judging by the earlier comments from the man sitting in the window seat, I assume they’re not together. I mean, I’m also traveling alone, I guess, but I had no choice.
The longer I stare at him, the more he seems...restless. His foot taps lightly against the floor, like his legs are poised for takeoff. Every few seconds he looks out the window, though I’m not sure what he’s staring at; it’s just the tarmac out there. When he’s not looking outside, he checks the watch on his wrist, tugging at the leather strap. It’s like he’s trying his best to focus on the work in front of him, but he can’t. His fingers twitch as he types on his computer. I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it, either. It’s like something he’s doing on a subconscious level.
I stare at him for a beat too long, because when he looks over at me I barely have the time to look away and fumble with my phone in my lap. I pretend to answer a very important text, but I don’t know if he’s buying it. After a second, I feel his stare leave my cheek.
I lower my phone back into my lap. I don’t need to know why he’s traveling alone, or why he seems so fidgety. It’s not my business. I cross my arms over my chest.
My phone buzzes in my lap. We technically haven’t taken off yet, so I haven’t switched my phone to airplane mode. I hit Talk when I see it’s Ammi calling. “Assalaam-o-alaikum,” I greet.
“Walaykum salam. Are you on the plane yet?”
“Yes,” I respond in English. I sneak a peek at The Jerk, then switch to Urdu as I add, “Some rude white guy bumped into me on my way to the plane. I almost missed it because of him. Now he’s sitting next to me. I don’t know how I’m going to survive a fourteen-hour plane ride with him. I hope he doesn’t try to talk to me or anything. Strangers talking to you on a plane is the worst.”
“I know,” Ammi agrees. “On my flight here, there was a woman who was traveling alone sitting next to me. She talked my ear off. Eventually I had to pretend to sleep so she would stop.”
As much as I feel bad that my mother was annoyed on her flight, I can’t help but sympathize with the woman who was next to her. Sometimes, traveling alone sucks. You have to remember everything yourself, take responsibility if you’re late, and sit by yourself while people around you happily engage with family or friends.
I risk a glance at The Jerk. He’s still not paying attention to me. Even if he were paying attention, he doesn’t know what I’m saying. “I sincerely hope he doesn’t ask for alcohol on this flight. I don’t want to have to be the one to calm down the offended flight attendant.”
“Some people have no class,” Ammi says, clicking her tongue. She gets right back to business, though. “Be sure to read the dua’a before traveling, okay? And call me when you land.”
“Yes, Ammi,” I say. I’m reciting a script I’ve said to her so many times. If my life had a song, its chorus would be “Yes, Ammi.” We chat for another minute or two, but when a flight attendant shows up near the front, I say, “Oh, it looks like we might be taking off soon.”
“Okay, beta. I love you and I’ll see you soon!”
