Counting Down with You

by Tashie Bhuiyan

  “Maybe you need to broaden your horizons,” I say weakly. I forgot how easy it is to talk to Ace. It’s the most natural thing in the world, somehow, to joke with him even when I feel five seconds away from a mental breakdown. Maybe six seconds away now. With every passing moment, it seems like a further-off possibility.

  “Why? You already light up my world unlike anybody else,” Ace says, pulling back to brush my hair out of my eyes.

  “Are you quoting One Direction?” I ask. Again, for the first time in weeks, I feel the urge to smile even though I can’t quite bring myself to actually do it.

  “Yes,” he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I absolutely am. It’s not my fault they wrote a song about you.”

  “Hm.” I close my eyes and rest my head against his chest again. In turn, he wraps his arms around me.

  Maybe for five minutes, I don’t have to think about my future.

  Maybe for five minutes, I can have this.

  A long moment passes in silence before Ace tenderly strokes my cheek with his thumb, making me open my eyes. “What happened back there?”

  Well. That was a nice five minutes while it lasted.

  “I’m just really overwhelmed right now.” I look down to avoid his earnest gaze. “Your poem was...a lot.”

  “I meant it,” Ace says, tilting my chin up. His rings are cold against my heated skin. “You’re so brave. Even if things didn’t work out the way you wanted, you tried. You conquered your fear and put your heart on the line, even though you knew it might get broken. That’s the bravest thing someone can do.”

  “I’m still so afraid,” I whisper. It’s the first time I’ve admitted it out loud. It feels like a fresh breath of air, even if it makes me slightly queasy. “I don’t want to disappoint them.”

  “Worry about them less.” His hands slide down my throat to cup my neck, his thumbs still tilting my face toward him. “Can I offer you some honest advice? You don’t have to take it, but I just can’t—I can’t watch you struggle like this.”

  “I don’t know if it’ll help,” I say but I nod, wiping at my own face to get rid of the tear tracks. “Okay. I’m listening.”

  “Stay as strong as you can,” Ace says fervently, his eyes dark. “I know that it’s rough and unfair right now, but you’re not always going to be living with your parents. There’s a future past all of this where you have your own life and your own rules. Their expectations won’t be there anymore, and you can decide who you want to be. We just have to get through the present. All you can do right now is take care of yourself. No matter what happens, you’re going to come out of this even stronger. The fact you’ve been doing this for so long shows how strong you already are. Just don’t give up on your happiness. That’s all I’m asking.”

  The words strike something inside me, a part of me I thought was sealed away for good. A light has switched on in the darkest recesses of my heart.

  I always thought if I had this conversation with Ace, he’d try to foolishly step in. Or worse, he’d tell me to fight against my parents or run away from them. Things I could never do. But he’s not doing any of those things.

  He’s telling me to stay strong. To not give up. To keep hope.

  He’s telling me exactly what I need to hear.

  I don’t understand, I remember him saying. But it seems like he does now, or at least he’s trying. That’s more than enough.

  “This is temporary,” Ace says, pulling me from my thoughts. He’s biting his lip, like he thinks I’m taking this conversation poorly. As if it’s not the opposite. “We’re only sixteen, Karina. There’s still so much future ahead of us. It’ll be better. You just have to hold on to the strength and bravery I know you already have.”

  I lean forward on my tiptoes and pull him into a hug, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Thank you.”

  He returns my hug, pulling me closer and squeezing me so tight I feel it down to my bones. “I missed you so much, baby,” he murmurs into my neck.

  My heart skips a beat. God, he’s still so much.

  I close my eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of cinnamon. “I missed you, too.”

  Ace brushes a light kiss against my neck before sighing against my skin. “Do you think Miss Cannon will take points off my project for running out?”

  “You’re unbelievable,” I say, and Ace pulls away almost immediately, only to greet me with a wide, dimpled smile.

  “There’s my girl,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His expression shifts minutely, and he looks almost bashful, his cheeks dusting pink. “What’d you think of the poem?”

  “I think you’re ridiculous,” I say lightly. “But it was gorgeous. I didn’t know you could write like that.”

  Ace’s teeth flash behind his beautiful smile. “I had a good tutor and an even better muse.”

  “Yeah, you did,” I say, reaching up to squeeze one of his hands. I shift my gaze for my next words. “But I still... I just need a little more time. I’m still struggling with... I’m sorry.”

  “No,” Ace says, his thumb stroking the back of my neck. “There are no apologies between you and me. If you need me to wait, I’ll wait. However long you need. If it’s until next week, okay. If it’s until next month, okay. If it’s until next year, okay. If it’s until college, okay. There’s no deadline on this. On us. I promise.”

  I can’t believe Ace is real. I can’t believe I somehow got this lucky.

  Right now, none of my other worries exist.

  This is one thing I will never let my parents touch.

  “I don’t deserve you,” I say.

  “You’re right,” Ace says, his face softening. “You deserve better. You deserve the world. My foolish, beautiful, fireproof lionheart.”

  I shake my head, warmth rising through me. “Only one part of that is right. The part where I’m yours.”

  “And I’m yours,” he says solemnly. “I’ll wait for you.”

  There’s hope in my future. It’s small, but it’s there, and it’s growing with each passing moment. Stay as strong as you can echoes in my head.

  I’m going to try. That’s all I can do.

  52

  T-PLUS 13 DAYS

  I’m eating breakfast Saturday morning when my mom tosses a salwar kameez on the table. “Get ready.”

  I look between the beautiful red garment and my mom. “Where are we going?”

  “To visit your Dadu,” Ma says, before taking away my half-eaten roti. “I’ll wrap this. Get dressed.”

  I want to protest and say I was in the middle of eating when her words register. We’re going to visit Dadu.

  I still haven’t told my grandma what happened, but now I don’t think I’ll have much of a choice. I almost contemplate faking an illness to avoid this situation, but then I get a hold of myself. It’s Dadu. She’s not going to try to make my life any more miserable than it already is.

  And I miss her. Maybe more than anything else.

  This visit was going to come inevitably. The whole family goes to see Dadu every few weeks, to make sure she doesn’t get too lonely out there. The anniversary of her daughter’s death is approaching, and we tend to visit more frequently around then. It completely slipped my mind, and I feel horrible about it. I’m not the only person going through things.

  For Dadu, I’ll brave my relatives.

  I silently get dressed and pile into the car with the rest of my family. Samir gives me a concerned look, but I ignore it. Still, he sits a little closer than usual, and his warmth is a comforting weight.

  My dad keeps up a steady stream of conversation the entire ride there, mostly with Samir, but I keep my earphones in. My skin is already crawling and my knee is jiggling up and down.

  Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.

  It’ll be fine. It’ll
be okay.

  I run Ace’s playlist on a loop through my earphones.

  Halfway through the drive, Samir starts texting me ridiculous memes. I snort at one despite myself, and he flashes me a thumbs-up. I smile at him briefly for attempting to cheer me up, but the texts are only a momentary distraction from my anxiety.

  By the time we get to my grandma’s house, I’m concerned my heart might beat out of my chest. There’s a bead of sweat sliding down my temple. My palms are so sticky that wiping my forehead will barely help.

  I greet my grandma with salaam, and there’s enough of us at first that she doesn’t seem to notice how down I am. My cousins are already there, which at least means I can go unnoticed.

  Fatima catches my eye and waves me over, but I shake my head. I don’t have the energy. She frowns but lets me go with an understanding nod.

  I’m slinking away to find an abandoned room when Dadu grabs my wrist, turning me toward her. “Make sure to come by my room after I’m done praying, okay, Myra? I want to know what’s new in your life.”

  My smile is strained. “Okay.”

  I manage to escape for an hour, sitting in a corner on my phone, but eventually one of my little cousins comes up to me, tugging on my pigtail. “Dadu wants to see you.”

  With a sigh, I get to my feet and make my way to her room. Dadu prefers the comfort of her room to the large living spaces, and I can hardly blame her. My uncles are so loud, arguing over some cricket match, and my youngest cousins are running around in a frenzy. I pass my parents, who barely notice me, engrossed in conversation with one of my aunts about the upcoming election.

  When I get to Dadu’s room, she’s sitting at the small table tucked beside her wardrobe, sipping a cup of chai. I sit down across from her, where there’s another cup prepared just the way I like it.

  “So what’s wrong?” she asks.

  We’re getting straight to the point then. I didn’t even realize she noticed I was off.

  I slump in my seat. “I talked to my parents about college.”

  Dadu’s face falls. “What? When? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “The night after you left.” I sip my chai to avoid answering the rest.

  “And then...?”

  I grimace, knowing I’ve backed myself into this corner. “I told them the truth.”

  My grandma’s grip tightens on her mug. “Why don’t you start from the beginning? I thought you weren’t going to talk to them.”

  “I wasn’t,” I say, keeping my gaze on my mug instead of my grandma. If I keep looking at her face, I’m going to start crying, and I’ve cried enough this week. “But they were in a good mood. I thought maybe...maybe they’d be accepting. Maybe they’d approve. I was being stupid.”

  Dadu’s face hardens and she reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. “You’re not stupid, Myra. What did they say?”

  I close my eyes and shake my head. “I can’t—” I cut myself off, forcing myself to breathe in and out. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. “They said I was being selfish and lazy. That I was only thinking of myself and that I would get nowhere in life.”

  “Myra, sweetheart,” Dadu says hesitantly, but I shake my head. I need to get this all out in one go.

  “They said they were extremely disappointed in me, and that I was ungrateful for everything they’ve given me—which isn’t true. I am grateful for everything they’ve done and sacrificed, but—I wanted this one thing. That’s all.” My throat closes and I can’t say any more.

  When I open my eyes, the look on Dadu’s face is pained. “They said that to you?”

  I nod, swallowing against the bile rising in the back of my throat. “I’m so scared,” I whisper quietly. “I don’t know what to do, Dadu.”

  “The light in your eyes has died out.” Dadu gently touches my cheek. “Myra, darling, please don’t let your parents stop you. If you want to study English, do it. Be happy.”

  “It’s not that easy,” I say and dig the heels of my palms into my eyes before the tears can flow. “They’ll hate me, Dadu. They’ll never forgive me.”

  “To hell with your parents,” she says, and it would be funny if I wasn’t on the brink of a mental breakdown. “I can’t believe after everything, your dad would—no. I guess I can. Ever since he married...” She takes a deep breath. “Regardless. Listen to me, you can’t let them make your decisions for you. It’s your life, not theirs. I believe in your future. Do you?”

  I’m silent. I don’t know what to say in response.

  “Myra? Is this really what you want?” she asks quietly.

  I exhale shakily and lower my hands. “More than anything. Does it matter?”

  Dadu makes a decision then. I see it in the set of her jaw and the fierce glint in her eyes. “Of course it does. Myra, if you want this, you have to fight for it. But that doesn’t mean you have to fight alone.”

  I stare at her, trying to make sense of those words. “You think I should try again? But what if—what if I make things worse?”

  “How can it get worse?” Dadu asks gently. “I know you’re scared, but you’ve always been so strong, and I know you can do anything you set your mind to.” Her eyes are filled with an understanding that I almost wish wasn’t there. It strikes a flame of hope in my heart that would be better left unlit.

  Again, a voice in my head chants, Do it, do it, do it.

  Dadu is right. How can it get worse? What more do my parents have to take from me?

  I take a deep breath and nod. This is my last chance to be brave. I want to be a lionheart. “Okay. One more time. I want to try.”

  “Then we’ll try,” Dadu says, squeezing my hand before leaving the room.

  When she comes back, it’s with both my parents. She locks the door and gestures for them to sit on her bed.

  “Go ahead, Myra,” she says, squeezing my shoulder in encouragement.

  I clear my throat and meet my parents’ eyes. “I want to be an English major. I know we already talked about it before, but I—”

  “This again?” Ma narrows her eyes. “Myra, we already told you no. How dare you bring this up again? And in front of your Dadu? Do you have no shame?”

  Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.

  I am a spark. I am a blaze. I am an inferno.

  I force myself to speak again. “Ma, I don’t want to be a doctor. Please, just listen—”

  My mom looks at my dad, shaking her head. “I can’t believe how disrespectful—”

  “Farah,” Dadu snaps.

  The room goes silent, all of us staring at my grandma with wide eyes. I start counting down from ten right as Dadu unleashes hell.

  “What is wrong with you two? Your daughter is so smart and so talented, and you turn her away when she’s honest with you? You shame her? Are you absolutely insane?”

  Baba blinks in surprise, looking between his own mother and me. “Ammu, I don’t know what Myra told you—”

  “Oh, don’t even start, Hussain,” she says, waving a finger in warning. “I’m so disappointed in you. You wanted Myra to be a doctor. She told you she doesn’t want to do it and that she wants to study English instead. Then you yelled at her for being a shame on our family. Is that right or wrong? Don’t even answer that. I already know the answer. I almost watched a repeat performance mere seconds ago.”

  I wince at her brutal recap and the way my mom starts giving me the evil eye.

  Still, I don’t cower away. I want this. I have to stand on my own two feet.

  “Eyes over here, Farah,” Dadu says, noticing my mother’s gaze. “Your daughter is so respectful of both of you. You treat her as less than she is, and she never says a word. The one time she wants something, you kill her dreams? How dare you? Where is your shame? What would Allah say about this? You are supposed to
love your children unconditionally. Your Abbu and I never treated you this way, Hussain, so why are you doing it to Myra? She’s done nothing to deserve the way both of you dismiss her passion and skills. If she wants to study English, what’s the problem? Is she killing someone? Is she robbing someone? Is she breaking a law? Where in the Quran does it say she has to be a doctor, that you two are so adamant about it?”

  “Ammu, we’re only looking out for her,” Baba says, scratching the top of his head. He’s beginning to look contrite. My stomach starts doing cartwheels. Could this actually work?

  “How is this looking out for her? She’s miserable. All this will do is make her resent you in the future, when she’s on a career path she doesn’t want. Then it won’t matter how much you shame her, because she’ll remember this. This moment when you ruined her life and didn’t care about her feelings. This is your daughter, Hussain. Not some kind of servant to do your bidding. She’s a real human being and she’s trying so hard to always do right by you. When will you do right by her?”

  “English, though?” Ma’s expression is doubtful. “What kind of success will she have with that?”

  “Stop thinking about her future success and start thinking about her future happiness,” Dadu says darkly. “And do not doubt your daughter. She is an incredibly hard worker. She will be amazing at whatever it is she chooses to do. But it’s her choice. You don’t get to make that decision for her, do you understand?”

  “Ammu...”

  “Don’t ‘Ammu’ me,” she says to Baba. “Tell me you understand. If for some reason you don’t understand, I’ll pack my bags and come home with you and Farah so you can also live with a parent that shames you for your choices. Is that what you want? I can start packing now.”

  “Ya Allah, Ammu,” my dad says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “No, you don’t have to do that.”