Love from a to Z

by S. K. Ali

  Because it was the first song that I’d ever learned.

  The first one I picked up a guitar for.

  He knew this and remembered it, and it was like the I love you, man that I’d needed today.

  MARVEL TWO: HANNA

  Because the minute she got home, she came up to check on me.

  MARVEL THREE: BLUE SKIES

  What I meant was Zayneb, because that sky had reminded me of her so fast, and now she was still in my head.

  ZAYNEB

  TUESDAY, MARCH 19

  ODDITY . . . AND MARVEL: PLOTTERS

  KATARA TURNED OUT TO BE magical. We arrived at the golden hour, with the sun setting, and it was like stepping back in time, into another world, pristine and protected.

  The first thing we saw was the dazzling mosque, covered with geometric designs and calligraphy in dark and light blues, interspersed with gold.

  Two pigeon towers stood in front of it. I couldn’t stop staring at the birds going in and out of the holes that ran up and down the tall, clay, conelike structures, with wooden perches sticking out in a pattern.

  Auntie Nandy took my hand and led me to a bench, and we sat there for a long time, watching.

  Something about it was like floating in the pool. So I let go.

  • • •

  We spent time wandering around the cultural village completely constructed to look like cities from another era, especially the cities of the Muslim golden ages in Baghdad, Timbuktu, and Spain, with small galleries and cafés and petite museums and restaurants and symmetrical gardens.

  It was like we’d left our era.

  It felt like a sanctuary.

  “I love this,” I said to Auntie Nandy, indicating the water flowing in neat streams at the edges of the buildings, where the foundation met the paved stone path, the sound providing just the right amount of melody, soothing and calm. “Can we sit here, too?”

  “Of course.” Auntie Nandy pointed at a bench. “We’ll need to be at the amphitheater in fifteen minutes, so we’ve got a bit of time.”

  Once we sat, I leaned on Auntie Nandy, and she put her arm around me.

  “You know you and I are alike, right?” Auntie Nandy asked. “You got your can’t-be-a-bystander genes from me.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I figured that.”

  “That means I can be firm in what I’m about to say, Zayneb, and you have to listen to me like it’s you telling you. Okay?” She waited until I agreed before continuing, her voice solemn. “You need to have a way to take care of yourself. A way to recharge. Otherwise the world will get you down so fast, you won’t be able to hold your head up. I learned this the hard way.”

  “I know how to take care of myself, Auntie Nandy. I’m about to go to college.”

  “I mean, like this. Like sitting here listening to the water. Like looking at the birds earlier. Like sitting in a tub with fizzy bath bombs.”

  I couldn’t stop myself. “But not like smoking, right? Or boozing? From the bin?”

  She tilted her head to try to look at me. After catching that first glimpse of her expression, I kept my Slytherin head securely down against her and my mouth clenched tight in an attempt not to laugh.

  “Zayneb. Did you go through my stuff? Without me?”

  “It was an accident. I was trying to be a good host to the Emmas.”

  “Oh no, did they see?” Auntie Nandy let go of me, and I looked up, worried she was angry at me.

  “No, no, don’t worry—they didn’t,” I assured her quickly. “Nobody looked in the bin except me.”

  She sighed and put her hands in the pockets of the dress she was wearing. “Actually, I’m glad you’re bringing that up. It goes with my point; you need to find healthy ways to center yourself. Otherwise, you’ll dip into the bin too much.”

  “I’m sorry, Auntie Nandy, for looking too deeply into it, into the bin.” I hugged her to emphasize my apology. “I call it the bin of sin.”

  She laughed. “True, that it is. I try to keep myself away from that bin of sin. Sometimes I lapse. But you’d better never.”

  “My bin of sin would have a ton of macarons and cream puffs. Only French pastries.”

  “Well, isn’t that snobby.” She stood up. “Let’s get going? It’s a bit of a walk to the amphitheater.”

  As the sun descended, the sky turned yellowish-pinkish-purplish blue.

  It was such a breathtaking walk to the open-air concert that I arrived with a bit of space opened in my heart.

  • • •

  We got spots directly across from the stage, not too high up, with Auntie Nandy’s friends, three teachers from DIS, just in front of us.

  Auntie Nandy pointed out how we could see the water far off in the distance, behind the stage, as she put her purse on the bench beside her. “Can I borrow your bag too?”

  “Why?” I passed it to her.

  “Saving some seats for a few more friends coming.” She set my purse down. “They’re on the way over from the mosque. The one we saw when we first entered Katara. So it may take them a while.”

  The friends arrived just as the orchestra began the second song, “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” from The Lion King.

  I looked to my left and into the eyes of Adam, following his sister and his dad, as they made their way to their spots beside us.

  • • •

  As the song ended, I looked toward my purse, on the other side of Auntie Nandy, and when I glanced up, Adam smiled at me.

  I’m not going to lie.

  It set something fluttering in me.

  Maybe it was because he was dressed differently. A black polo shirt and jeans.

  A black polo shirt with a collar.

  I reached over and brought my purse to me, brought my phone to me.

  He’d already messaged me.

  Now I’ll get to say sorry in person.

  As “Let It Go” began, I tilted myself to make sure Auntie Nandy couldn’t see my phone.

  Maybe I will too.

  May I suggest something?

  Yes?

  Let it go.

  I leaned back to look at him from behind Auntie Nandy’s and Hanna’s and his dad’s heads, to groan at his corniness.

  But he had leaned forward to look at me.

  Then we switched and missed each other again.

  Auntie Nandy looked at me. But it was with a Slytherin-like smile.

  “Did you plot this in some way? Him being here?” I whispered to her.

  “Shh, people are trying to listen,” she said, the sly smile lingering on her face. “Little kids are singing and dancing. And some kids are falling in love.”

  “Auntie Nandy, stop,” I whispered again, making the mistake of looking his way.

  He shot me another smile.

  I’d never seen him look so happy.

  He was bursting with it, and it suited him so well.

  In all ways.

  The things I’d read about MS flooded my brain just then.

  Because I hadn’t only been researching drones and warfare.

  I’d also been reading about Adam’s disease.

  How it didn’t need to be a death sentence.

  And while I was reading, I’d been itching to tell him what I’d found.

  He needed to know, he needed to see that there was hope ahead, so I smiled back at him.

  And he sent me a rose emoji.

  • • •

  We sat through the Star Wars theme, and then he got up and left the amphitheater.

  I waited for a while. Then I did too.

  ADAM

  TUESDAY, MARCH 19

  MARVEL: ZAYNEB . . . I MEAN, WATER

  That first day in Doha, when you were over at my house, I’d wanted to show you the night sky above the water.

  But I didn’t get to.

  Now I can.

  There’s a beach right in front of the theater.

  • • •

  In the lightly breezy night air, I waited outside t
he amphitheater.

  It was just me and a few stragglers lining up for tickets, and I realized something.

  Maybe she’d be reluctant to follow me because she might not be sure that I knew the protocol. Of us interacting.

  Btw, I’ll follow the rules. Like, we won’t be alone. My dad’s taking Hanna to play on the beach too.

  And I’ll never touch you. Of course.

  I paused. Until you give me permission, I mean. Until your family does. Until everyone does, I mean.

  As I cringed at the awkwardness of the message, someone cleared their throat nearby. “I know you’d follow the rules, Adam.”

  To look up to see her standing there—beaming, beautiful face framed by a teal scarf, vibrant against the cream color of the amphitheater—felt like a dream that I could hold on to in vivid detail. “Hi. Salaam. Zayneb.”

  “Walaikum musalam.” She smiled again and looked down the wide, shallow steps to the left of her, leading to the beach part of Katara. “This enchanting sky and the water?”

  “This way.” I began going down the stairs, then paused midway and turned to her, standing a few steps above me. “Hey, I’m really sorry about the way our trip to the museum went. I just wanted to say that first. I didn’t pause to think about what you could have been going through with your teacher.”

  She stopped too and shrugged. “Maybe I wasn’t seeing straight either, because I was so caught up with being upset. And I had this weird feeling about my dad going to Pakistan. I’m sorry too. For yelling at you. So sorry, Adam. Like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “That family? At the exhibit next to us? They acted like we were a museum display too.” I laughed, and her laughter joined easily with mine.

  It was an amazing sound.

  We continued the descent in perfect silence.

  At the bottom of the stairs we emerged onto a paved ramp, and at the end of that, after we rounded a corner, the beach stretched before us, lit with lights lining a path cutting through the sand, as well as lights along the edges behind us, where the sand met the paved walkway fronting restaurants.

  I was right, we wouldn’t be alone. Clusters of families and friends were grouped here and there, either sitting on the beach or on the benches along the boardwalk behind it.

  The colorful street-food carts on the boardwalk caught my gaze. “Wait here? There’s something I gotta get you.”

  She nodded and turned to look at the dark water, twinkling with the lights of numerous boats moored in the distance.

  • • •

  When I returned with two steaming cups of karak and two hot chapatis, balanced on a flimsy, folded cardboard tray, Zayneb was sitting on one of the brightly colored beach chairs dotting the beach. But it was right next to a family.

  “Here, this spot is for you.” She took a towel off one of the chairs beside hers and hung it on the back of it. “There aren’t any empty seats around. I was looking for a pair for us, and these kind people just told me to take two of theirs. That they were using their blanket, too.”

  “Thanks.” I passed her one of the teas before sitting down. “I remember you saying you were a tea person. This is something everyone visiting Doha has got to try. Karak. And chapati.”

  I passed her the flatbread, rolled in white paper.

  She took the lid off the tea and let the steam warm her face, eyes closed. “Mmm, chai. Smells amazing. Thanks.” She opened her eyes and smiled at me before unrolling her chapati to rip a small piece off. “I’m suddenly ravenous.”

  “Oh man, look at those waves.” I bit into the toasty flatbread as I watched the water lapping the shore with foam-speckled edges.

  The chapati was unbelievably fresh, having been made right in front of my eyes, the flaky, grilled part on the surface leading the way to the soft, steamy dough underneath.

  So good.

  I turned to Zayneb to see what she thought.

  She was crying.

  • • •

  “I don’t get how I’m supposed to move on from my grandmother being murdered.” Her chapati lay uneaten as Zayneb finished telling me about her grandmother’s death. How the bread had reminded her of her daadi preparing this after-school snack for her every single day during the months she lived with them. “Like, I’m a person who feels things strongly. And I don’t know how to deal with my feelings. The way society tells me to. Which is mostly to ignore them.”

  I wanted to console her, and it took my all not to reach out to her. I don’t know for what . . . to wipe those tears? Because I wanted them gone. “Maybe you’re not supposed to deal with them in that way. The way you’re told to. Maybe you’re meant to be the person you are.”

  “That’s exactly what Auntie Nandy told me. That I’m supposed to feel things, then shake the world. Smartly.” She picked up her chapati, broke another piece off, and put it in her mouth. “I just don’t like the alone part of it.”

  “You don’t have to be alone. I . . . can be there too.” I took the lid off my tea. “I’m not a shouter, but I’m a helper. And I’d love to help you, Zayneb. Because you care about the right things.”

  “You’re making me cry again.” She covered her face, then drew apart her hands to peek at me, laughing through the tears. “Or maybe it’s the chapati. Maybe I can’t eat fresh chapati or roti or fresh bread ever again, because I’ll cry. Maybe I’ll be a breadless woman for the rest of my life. But . . .” Smiling, she let out a sad sob. “I just love bread so very very much.”

  “Wait. Maybe you can try chewing the chapati with the hot karak. Maybe it will change the sensation, the feeling that you’re eating the bread your grandma made.”

  She took a sip and chewed, the lights on the beach reflecting the dried tears still glistening on her moving cheeks. “Now I’m making a roti slushie in my mouth. To erase a sacred memory. Kinda ewww. And sad.”

  “Look at the water, too. To make a new visual connection. Or . . .” I shrugged and smiled. “You can continue looking at me.”

  “Astaghfirullah. I thought we were following the rules. You should be telling me to lower my gaze, brother,” she said, shaking her finger at me, a smile on her face. “And where’s your dad? If my sister, Sadia, were here, she’d say we weren’t following the rules.”

  I looked behind us and, not seeing Dad, texted him.

  “Okay, let’s both look at the water then.” I laughed and watched the waves some more. “Did I ever tell you the minute I saw the water, I was interested in it? In London? At the airport?”

  “What color was the water?”

  “It was deep blue. Azurite colored, like the rock I’d bought for Hanna.”

  “Was that why you’d noticed the water? Because of its blue hijab?”

  “Yeah. That’s exactly why. But also because the water was so busy. Like nonstop busy. So busy all her luggage fell over.”

  “The water was dealing with online hate. The water was being mobbed by ruthless sharks.”

  “I want to know all about the water. Every thing about it. ’Cause I . . . like the water. A lot.” I didn’t turn to her.

  “Because you’re thirsty? Because you’ve never drunk water? Ever?” Her words were rippled with the hint of a giggle.

  I cringed and shook my head, laughing. “Astaghfirullah. I thought we were following the rules. That’s crossing the line, sister.”

  “Sorry. Maybe it’s because I’m thirsty too.” She didn’t say this in a joking way, just matter-of-factly.

  We both looked straight ahead. Then Dad waved at us as he walked by our chairs, Hanna running to the water ahead of him.

  Perfect timing.

  “But what about if the water you’re looking at is . . .” I paused, trying to think of a good way to capture my insecurities about my MS future without soliciting sympathy. “Slightly contained. Not really free like the water ahead of us.”

  “You mean what if the water I like is a tall, cool glass of the sweetest water?” She giggled hard now. “Sorry, this metaphor th
ing is driving me to break ALL THE RULES.”

  “No, seriously, Zayneb.” I became quiet. “Are you okay with that? The MS part of me.”

  “Adam, I finished falling for you the day I saw you with your IV. The day you opened up to me. I’m into openness in people. That’s what I’m drawn to. Well, one of the things.”

  I nodded, so crazy-happy inside but, also, tainted with worry. “And what about your family. Would they freak out?”

  “You’re lucky you’re looking at a girl—I mean at a water—that’s got super-chill parents in that department. Like, they’ve always told me they’re okay with me meeting someone. The vast ocean this water comes from is cool, okay?”

  “No, I mean would they be okay with the MS part.”

  “I think so? They’re not cruel.”

  “But it’s not smooth sailing.”

  “Life isn’t?”

  I sighed. I didn’t know if I was getting across what I was trying to say. “I’ve been sort of paralyzed when I think of the future. It’s, like, dark.” I looked at the sand below my sneakers and then moved my right shoe through it, making grooves. “It closes in on me. It feels like I can’t move. And I’m on my own.”

  “But why do you have to be?” She said it gently, kindly. “You don’t have to be alone, Adam.”

  “The funny thing is, I’m not. My dad, and of course Hanna, is there for me. I’ve also got the coolest friends in that way,” I acknowledged. “But it constantly feels like I can’t tell all. Like they won’t get everything, so I don’t even try.”

  “There are forums, online and in real life, where you can meet others with MS, you know.” Her voice quickened, like she couldn’t wait to share her thoughts. “I’ve found some! I was researching MS treatments and therapy methods, and I found those forums. I’ll send you links. Then we can see if there’s some sort of support group right here in Doha.”

  “You researched MS?” I turned to her. Completely to her.

  “Yeah? There’s so much information! Hopeful information, Adam.” She peered at me to make sure I saw how serious she was, enthusiasm taking over her face as she leaned forward in her eagerness to communicate her excitement. “You don’t have to be alone.”