Counting Down with You

by Tashie Bhuiyan

  Nandini Kaur:

  AND HE SAID YOU WERE MORE BEAUTIFUL? BROOOO

  Me:

  not exactly but yes kind of IDK IM PANICKING WHAT DO I DO I THOUGHT THIS WAS ALL A PART OF HIS FAKE DATING THING BUT WHAT IF IT’S NOT

  Nandini Kaur:

  you’re definitely on a date. pls take pics and post them on IG

  Me:

  I’m NOT posting pictures of ace on instagram are you OUT OF IT????

  Nandini Kaur:

  your instagram is on priv it’s not a big deal!!

  Cora Zhang-Agreste:

  if u don’t post them I’ll post *this* conversation to my story... :)

  Me:

  you wouldn’t...

  Nandini Kaur:

  have you MET cora? yes tf she will

  Me:

  oh my god I hate this you’re both so chaotic

  Me:

  I have to go he’s gonna see me on my phone bye DON’T POST ANYTHING

  I tuck my phone away and lean my head against a bookshelf, wondering if I’ve truly lost the plot of my own life.

  Eventually, I decide I need to do something to occupy myself, otherwise I’m going to start screaming. There are children meandering around, so that’s probably not the best option.

  I wander through the aisles, scanning for specific titles. Once I have five, I sit down at one of the tables and crack open a retelling of Much Ado About Nothing.

  This should be distracting enough.

  I’m two chapters in when a shadow looms over me. I look up, trying to ignore the way my palms suddenly feel sweaty. Instead of meeting the reproachful gaze I expect, Ace is smiling down at me.

  “Did you get the books you wanted?” he asks.

  I nod, gesturing to my stack. Words feel hard right now. I still don’t know what to say to him, but I’m grateful he’s not making it weird between us.

  He takes heed of the one I’m reading and chuckles. “A Shakespeare retelling, huh? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  It’s too easy to say “Shut up,” and everything seems to fall back into place after that. “He’s a literary genius. It’s not my fault you can’t appreciate that.”

  “Hey, I respect old Willy here as much as anyone else,” Ace says, sitting on the edge of the table.

  I groan. “Don’t call William Shakespeare ‘old Willy.’ He’s not your friend.”

  “How would you know?” Ace asks, his teeth flashing in a grin. “Maybe I can talk to ghosts and me and Willy are best friends. Have you ever thought of that?”

  I close my book to level him with a flat look, even though my stomach is somersaulting. “You’re such a nuisance.”

  Ace doesn’t seem bothered by my reaction, reaching for my books and carrying them in one hand, fingers are splayed out against the spines. “Come on, let’s go buy these.”

  I exhale quietly, my shoulders slumping. “Okay.”

  When Genesis rings up our books, she slides me a coupon despite Ace saying, “Hey, I paid for it. Shouldn’t I get the coupon?”

  “No,” she says, winking at me. “I’m all about supporting women. Equity and all that. Your mom would approve, Ace.”

  I can’t help my laughter.

  Ace sighs, but his expression is warm as he glances between us. “I guess I’ll just have to bring Karina here all the time then.”

  When I reach for the bag of books, he grabs it first. “I’ve got it,” he says, nudging me lightly. “I’ll put it in the car, and we can head to the ice rink.”

  “Have fun, lovebirds!” Genesis says, grinning. Something twists uncomfortably in my chest, but I still manage to smile back at the bookstore manager.

  I’m overthinking it. I just have to remember that this is all part of Ace’s act. Nothing more, nothing less.

  23

  T-MINUS 19 DAYS

  “No, Ahmed, just hold on to my hand,” Ace says, only for me to fall again, hitting the cold ice with a painful thud.

  Mia and her girlfriend, Daniela, laugh at me from a few feet away, and I groan. “Just leave me here to die.”

  From above me, Ace looks like every parent’s nightmare. Tall, dark, and handsome with a giggling problem. Or maybe that’s just my nightmare.

  Or a dream come true, whispers a traitorous voice in my head.

  “We’re all in this together,” Ace says firmly, reaching down to grab one of my hands, even though I resist.

  “You just quoted High School Musical at me. What kind of bad boy are you?”

  Ace gives up and crouches down beside me instead. “I’m not a bad boy just because I wear a leather jacket,” he says, shaking his head. “And maybe I cut classes a few times. But that’s it. You know, half the time that I’m not at school, it’s for a piano competition, so the school faculty knows about it. I’ve even won quite a few trophies for Midland High. I think that disqualifies me from being a ‘bad boy,’ Ahmed.”

  His hand is still holding mine. It’s nice and warm, comforting in a way it shouldn’t be.

  “Ace, there’s no point in denying it.” I finally sit up. “Everyone knows the truth.”

  Ace laughs, throwing his head back. A warmth blooms in my chest, almost as if my heart is swelling from how ridiculously content I feel in this moment.

  It’s weird. It’s really, really weird. I don’t want it to go away.

  I hold my other hand toward Ace. “Come on, show me how to ice skate. Otherwise I’ll have to ask Mia.”

  Ace laughs again but takes my other hand, pulling me to my feet. I knock into his chest once I’m standing, but he wraps his arms around me to keep me from slipping again.

  “You have to be more careful,” he says, tapping my nose. “But you know what? I think we can work through this. Or maybe work, work, work it out. Something like that.”

  I gape at him. “Was that another High School Musical reference?”

  “Don’t let him fool you, he knows all the words by heart,” Mia says as she skates closer to us. Daniela is holding her hand but neither of them are in danger of falling like I am. “Every time I have a marathon, he joins me. He even knows how to play some of the songs on piano.”

  I give Ace an incredulous look. “Who are you?”

  Ace shrugs, a smirk tugging at his lips as he runs his fingers through his hair. “The man of your dreams, obviously.”

  “Does that work for you?” Mia asks, raising an eyebrow before looking at me. “Karina, you’ve got to raise your standards. You can’t let my brother get away with saying shit like that.”

  “Oh, trust me, I don’t,” I say, shoving gently at Ace’s chest. All that accomplishes is me having to flail until I reach the metal bar at the edge of the rink.

  Mia and Daniela are laughing again, but there’s fondness infused in their expressions that stops me from feeling embarrassed. It helps that Ace is watching me with his own fond look.

  “You’re a safety hazard to yourself,” Ace says, skating over effortlessly. “Come on, take my hand.”

  Before I do, I remember the threatening texts Nandini and Cora sent me earlier and I sigh, taking out my phone. “Before we continue, can you guys take a picture of Ace and me? For Instagram?” I look hopefully at Mia and Daniela.

  “Of course,” Mia says, expression lighting up as she accepts my phone. “We can do a little photo shoot! Daniela loves photography. Here you go, babe.”

  Daniela grabs the phone from Mia, eyes bright with delight. “We’ll have to skate to the other side. There’s better lighting there.”

  She and Mia take off before I can protest that I don’t care about the lighting. “I’m not going to make it over there for another ten minutes,” I complain, judging the distance between us and them.

  “I’ve got you,” Ace says, squeezing my hand. A jolt goes down my spine, stran
ge and unfamiliar. “Just don’t let go of me.”

  I nod my agreement, and he pulls us toward the other side of the rink. Halfway there, Ace gives me a contemplative look. “I didn’t peg you as the type to post stuff like this on Instagram.”

  “I’m not,” I say, biting my bottom lip as I search for a lie that isn’t I panicked about whether this was a date and got manipulated by my best friends into treating it like one. “Cora and Nandini threatened to...murder me, if I didn’t post a picture of me ice skating on there.”

  Ace raises an eyebrow. “They care that much about ice skating?”

  “I guess so,” I say under my breath. Wait. Is Ace asking because he doesn’t want to be in a photo with me?

  After he let me follow his Instagram, I looked through his profile. It’s all but barren, except for one picture of the night sky. The location is Istanbul, Turkey, and the only person tagged is someone named Ben Wang. Probably the same Ben that Ace mentioned the other day.

  Mine at least has pictures of Nandini, Cora, and me doing stupid things and the occasional selfie when they coerce me into posting one. “Do you not want to be in the photo?” I ask. “You don’t have to be.”

  “No, I don’t mind,” Ace says, his gaze still thoughtful. “Will you send me the pictures when you’re done?”

  I squint. “For what?”

  He takes one of my hands and raises it above my head. I don’t understand what he’s trying to do until he spins me around in a slow circle. Not far from us, I hear the sound of a camera shutter go off.

  “To remember,” he says as he turns me back toward him. “There’s something magical about this moment I don’t ever want to forget.”

  I think Ace is trying to kill me. That’s the only explanation for why he keeps saying things like that and expecting me to have an appropriate response aside from slipping and breaking a bone.

  I swallow roughly, my heart stuttering in my throat. “Okay. I’ll send them.”

  Another clicking sound draws my attention to Daniela, who’s on one knee, my phone tilted up toward us. She smiles when she catches my eye. “Ready for a mini photo shoot?”

  Ace looks at me expectantly. I bite the inside of my cheek and nod. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  * * *

  Later, I lie on my couch, staring at my phone with wide eyes. My homework sits in front of me untouched. I’m too busy looking at my last Instagram post, which has nearly two hundred likes. That’s basically all of the people who follow me.

  “This is unbelievable,” I say under my breath.

  I let only people I know and trust follow my account, and I’ve never been more grateful for that than right now.

  If this picture somehow got back to my parents, I would be done for. I don’t even let Samir follow me for that reason alone.

  I scroll through my feed, trying to discern why all of these people are suddenly showing an interest in my life and why they’re commenting on my picture saying:

  ugh cuties :((( absolutely outsold

  #RelationshipGoals

  INVENTED LOVE AND PHOTOGRAPHY??? (That one is Mia. Of course it is. She requested to follow me immediately after the ice skating date.)

  so happy for you both

  WE HAVE TO STAN!!!

  #karstair DID invent love, you’re so right. (And that one is Cora. I shouldn’t have expected anything else.)

  waiting for my wedding invitation! (Just for that, Nandini isn’t getting an invitation to my actual wedding, whoever it’s with.)

  you look beautiful (A comment from @AlistairClyde. The comment itself has thirty likes. I don’t know what to make of it, but it’s causing strange feelings to blossom inside me and flutter in my stomach.)

  As I’m liking comments, my phone lights up with a call from my mother. All the butterflies in my stomach plummet as I debate whether to pick up.

  Eventually, I give in, sliding my thumb across the screen. My mother looks back at me, her eyes squinted. “Myra!”

  “As-salaam alaikum, Ma,” I say, clearing my throat. “How are you?”

  “Wa-alaikum salaam. I’d be better if you picked up the phone more often,” she says pointedly and I wince, lowering my gaze. “What has you so busy?”

  “Just school,” I say, wondering how to shift the topic when I notice her henna. “Oh, your mehndi looks so good! Who did it?”

  “Your cousin Zahra,” Ma says, holding her hand out so I can see the design better. I’m always so impressed by the talent Bangladeshi artists have. Every year, I await Eid eagerly, for many reasons, but especially for the clothes, jewelry, and henna designs. “She’s trying to teach me, but...” She holds out her other hand where the design looks as if it was drawn by a three-year-old.

  I try not to laugh.

  Ma sighs. “It’s awful, isn’t it?”

  “No, it’s great,” I say through muffled giggles. She levels me with a flat look, and I grin. “Practice makes perfect?”

  “I suppose,” she says, considering her hands before looking up, scrutinizing me. “There’s something different about you.”

  All my amusement dies. “Is there?”

  She tilts her head, her eyebrows knitting together. “Did you change your skin routine?”

  I roll with it immediately. “Yes,” I say, nodding. Ever since my mom started working in a dermatology office as a receptionist, she’s been hyperaware of skin products. “Cora’s mom brought some face wash from her last business trip. My skin feels so rejuvenated.”

  “Which brand is it?” Ma asks curiously.

  “Uh. Good question.” I scratch my head. “I can’t remember. I’ll text you a picture later tonight, when I’m applying it.” Translation: I will text Cora begging for help.

  Ma nods, as if satisfied. “How is everything else? Baba told me you wanted to invite Cora and Nandini over?”

  I nod slowly, trying not to look too overeager. “Can I? It’s been so long since they last came over.”

  She hums. “Only if you clean the entire house. Promise?”

  “Promise,” I say, flashing her a shaky thumbs-up. “I’ll start after I finish my precalc homework.”

  “Mashallah,” my mother says, a smile spreading across her face. “I’m glad to see you’re working hard.”

  Another nagging stab of guilt. “I try my best.”

  Our conversation ends soon after that, and I exhale deeply, trying to get rid of the lingering unease.

  A text from Ace flashes across my screen.

  Alistair Clyde:

  i showed my mom ur insta post and she says we make a cute couple. i’m inclined to agree...

  I grin despite myself. I’m obvs bringing the cute to the table... what’s your contribution???

  “Myra?”

  I look up. Dadu stands over me holding a small bowl of rosogolla, spongy white sweets in sugary syrup. It’s one of my favorite desserts, and it lightens the load on my shoulders.

  I sit up and reach for it. She offers me a spoon before sitting beside me on the couch. “Thank you,” I say.

  “You look happy today,” Dadu says as I take a bite.

  I smile faintly, gesturing toward the bowl. “Well, you made rosogolla.”

  She shakes her head, eyes trailing over my expression. “No, not because of that. When you came in today, there was something different about you. Your steps seem lighter.”

  I shake my head, laughing. “What are you talking about?”

  Dadu reaches for the bowl instead of answering. I let her take it without complaint and smile when she tries to feed me. I part my lips, and she gives me a large serving, causing my cheeks to puff out.

  “I don’t know why, but you’re happy, Myra. I’m glad to see it. You deserve it.”

  I try to speak through my food but don’t quite manage it.

 
Dadu smiles and wipes the side of my mouth with her saree. “I’m happy for you.”

  She leaves the bowl on the table and stands before I can finish chewing, making her way back to the kitchen. I stare after her retreating figure in bemusement.

  After I finish my dessert, I open up Snapchat and look at myself in the front camera, trying to discern whether there’s something noticeably different about my face.

  I don’t see anything, so I put it off to familial love. I’m the same girl I’ve always been.

  As I’m closing the app, I get another text from Ace.

  Alistair Clyde:

  pls send me the pics?

  Me:

  hold onnnn

  Me:

  [14 attachments]

  There’s no response, which is unexpected, given that Ace usually replies within minutes.

  Except then I get the strangest notification of my life.

  @AlistairClyde tagged you in a photo.

  Oh no.

  I open Instagram incredulously. Staring back at me is one of the pictures Daniella took earlier today. It’s the one where Ace is spinning me and I’m staring up at him, entirely overwhelmed.

  There’s a reddish tint to my face, as close to a blush as I can get with my brown skin. Ace is staring down at me, his expression cool, but there’s an intensity in his gaze that causes my breath to stutter even now.

  The caption of the photo is: magic...

  I remember his words from earlier; There’s something magical about this moment I don’t ever want to forget.

  The longer I look at the photo, the more I focus on myself rather than Ace. I think I might know what Dadu was talking about. I think I might know what my mother was talking about.

  There’s something different about me here, visible in the lines of my expression. I don’t know how to put it into words, but maybe my grandma already did. I look happier.

  Am I happier?

  Is this what happiness feels like?

  I don’t have the answer, but that doesn’t mean I can’t find it. T-19 days until my parents come home and all of this ends. That’s not nearly enough time, but it has to be.

  24