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Maha moves fluidly, ever the confident one, taking the box from Nur’s hands and introducing herself. ‘Hi, I’m Maha, the resident communication and media student.’
A look of intrigue plays on Nur’s expression. ‘That was my second option, but I ultimately decided to go into fashion.’
‘Fashion?’ Maha asks, an eager gleam in her eyes. ‘I’m always looking for ways to upgrade my wardrobe. Tell me more.’
Nur walks over to the couch to join Maha in a conversation. After that interaction, the tension melts away – and soon David is sitting beside Owais, trading high-school-debate stories, and more of our guests have started to arrive. Music fills the flat, and someone puts on a playlist of TikTok remixes of popular desi songs.
When the last guest shows up, I close the door behind them and stand at the edge of the living room, just taking in the feeling. Everyone’s laughing, enjoying themselves, and there’s a sense of nostalgia seeping into the space – in the floorboards, in the walls, in the air.
I smile to myself, watching as Ben gets cornered by an old schoolmate of mine, Nida, and is made to try the gol gappay. His face breaks into a grin, and he catches me staring. He throws me a thumbs up, and I shake my head in amusement.
This feeling is like being on stage, but different. On stage, I’m trying so hard to be anyone but myself. But right now, I don’t want to leave.
Still, I decide to escape while everyone is busy to help Amal bring out the dessert. But when I walk into the kitchen, I find Anushka is already there helping her.
‘It’s just so hard,’ Anushka complains, scooping a spoonful of the mango dessert Amal has made. ‘The other day, I had someone comment on how I should use this new skin-bleaching cream to survive next summer – like, what? And they said it so casually, as if it wasn’t racially motivated in any way.’
My heart drops to my stomach, and I close the doorway of the kitchen so that I’m hidden, but it’s open just enough for me to continue listening.
‘I get what you mean,’ Amal replies, and I’m momentarily confused. Amal has never mentioned anything to me about this. ‘I have a similar sort of family dynamic back home. I don’t really talk about it much. I’m not sure everyone is going to get it.’
In terms of the skin shades of our group, I’m the lightest, and Owais is the darkest. Amal falls somewhere in the middle, lighter than Maha but darker than me. I’ve never imagined that the colour of my skin may have made it hard for her to share her troubles. I wonder how many times back home I made Amal feel that she couldn’t come to me – that I wouldn’t understand.
Would I understand?
I know what racism is. I’ve studied it. I’ve seen it in videos, and – well, back home I only ever had aunties cooing over the shade of my skin, always clucking at my cousins for going out in the sun, and it never crossed my mind how wrong that was. How messed up it was that I stood by and allowed myself to be fawned over because of my skin tone.
But I really don’t need another light-skinned Pakistani friend complaining about their struggles with being too pale.
Gibitah. Oh. I close my eyes, a sick sort of nausea climbing up my throat, and rest my head against the wall as Gibitah’s words, and her ice-cold demeanour, start to make more sense.
I don’t face what The Tragedies endure, I don’t battle what Amal has to experience, and it’s all because I don’t look like them. We share the same country, the same culture, but we clearly don’t share the same experience of prejudice.
I can’t believe I missed it. I think of the conversation I’ve been avoiding with Gibitah, and I wonder if some unconscious part of me is holding back.
Well, whatever it is, I refuse to avoid it. I’ll talk to Gibitah. She won’t be here for tomorrow’s rehearsal – she isn’t scheduled in – but on Monday I’ll listen to her, I’ll learn and I’ll change.
Whatever it is I have to do, I’ll do it.
As the determination starts to solidify in my veins, I only realize that Amal and Anushka are bringing out the desserts just before the kitchen door swings open.
‘Oh!’ Anushka exclaims. ‘Sorry, Farah, I didn’t see you there!’
‘No, no problem. I was just wondering if Amal needed help with bringing the desserts.’
Anushka’s expression shifts, a sudden worry sparking in her brown eyes. She’s balancing a tray in her hands, and she moves from foot to foot. ‘I – I wanted to thank you for inviting me. Your friends are so nice, and it’s been really fun getting to know everyone.’
My eyebrows draw together at her tentative tone, and then I realize why she’s saying that. Oh gosh. Does she think I’m upset she’s hanging out with Amal?
I squeeze her arm, hoping to convey that I have no possessive claim over Amal. Or anyone. ‘Believe me, Anushka, it’s a real pleasure to have you here. I’ve learned you can never have enough friends.’
Anushka must get it, because her shoulders relax. We walk together, Amal following behind us, into the living room.
‘Yes! Desserts!’ Owais exclaims excitedly. He stands to take the tray from Amal’s hands and places it on the table in the centre of the living room. He whispers something to her that makes her blush and shove his chest lightly. I look away, not wanting to intrude on another private moment.
We all settle in to watch the show after that, Owais and Amal occupying the couch, Nur and Maha sitting together on the floor; Ben, David and Anushka sit around me, their large cushions resting against the front of the sofa.
With David’s laughter booming in my ears, the fragrance of Anushka’s perfume filling my senses and the sound of Ben’s disbelief as the main character slaps her love interest with dramatic music playing in the background, my worries settle into the back of my mind.
