It All Comes Back to You

by Farah Naz Rishi

  Faisal grabs the attention of a waiter to let them know about our reservation, and my throbbing heart crescendos as we near the back of the restaurant.

  This is it. This could be the moment that fixes everything, the moment of truth. I just wish it didn’t have to feel so painful, so wrong.

  Familiar voices grow louder ahead of us, and I stop in my tracks, abruptly, as though my own body were resisting. Faisal bumps into me from behind, making me stumble forward.

  In the booth in front of us sits Amira in a cute yellow dress, her arm reaching across Asher’s chest to scoop at the mochi ice cream they’re sharing. He slides the plate closer to her and she grins with childlike satisfaction.

  “Dumbass,” says Asher, laughing softly. “You have something on your mouth.”

  Amira’s face falls. “Where?”

  “Here,” he says, and dabs at the corner of her mouth, gently, with a napkin.

  My cheeks burn. They look like an actual couple, a beautiful one at that. When I was younger I used to imagine them getting married—one of my best friends getting married to my big sister, the fantasy!—but right now it looks so convincing I’m ashamed, like I walked in on something I shouldn’t have.

  I’m not the only one; next to me, Faisal’s shoulders stiffen, his face freezes. The human has turned back into a gargoyle.

  Amira is the first to notice us.

  Her head tilts, like a bird, and she frowns. “Faisal? Kiran? What are you doing here?”

  Beside her, Asher’s face is locked in a grimace.

  “Oh. I—I thought—” The ball in Faisal’s throat bobs up and down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were here.” He takes a step back. “I should—I should get out of your hair.” He looks at me, his dark eyes nebulous. “Rain check, Kiran?”

  I say nothing because every muscle in my body has turned to lead.

  Amira gets to her feet. “Wait, Faisal—”

  But Faisal’s already gone.

  The three of us say nothing for what feels like minutes.

  “That was . . . weird,” Amira finally says, blinking hard.

  “Yeah,” I reply. My mouth is dry. “Very weird.”

  I should feel a lot of things. Satisfaction. Gratification. My plan worked, after all. Faisal’s obviously shaken up.

  But I didn’t expect to feel something that feels an awful lot like guilt.

  Asher looks at me, his lips still pressed in a thin line.

  He doesn’t have to say a word.

  I already know.

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  [ROANA GUILD CHAT ROOM]

  * * *

  Devynius Foxx: Random question

  Devynius Foxx: Do you ever think about how weird dancing is?

  Devynius Foxx: Like as a concept?

  Devynius Foxx: The idea that people just get up onstage

  Devynius Foxx: and move their bodies around

  Devynius Foxx: and the audience claps

  Devynius Foxx: “Thank you!! Thank you for moving your body in such a compelling, delicately patterned way!”

  Devynius Foxx: “And thank you for watching! I have trained years to move my body in this way!”

  Kasia Coribund: Are you okay Foxx

  Devynius Foxx: LISTEN

  Devynius Foxx: Isn’t it WEIRD?

  Devynius Foxx: And yet

  Devynius Foxx: I find dancing to be, like, one of the coolest forms of expression

  Devynius Foxx: It’s mesmerizing

  Devynius Foxx: Why is it so mesmerizing?

  Devynius Foxx: What even IS IT?

  Devynius Foxx: What makes something a gesture versus a dance?

  Devynius Foxx: These are the things I think about before bed

  Kasia Coribund: Wow, I . . .

  Kasia Coribund: I’ve never really thought about it that way

  Kasia Coribund: I mean, I love dancing, personally

  Kasia Coribund: But, hm

  Kasia Coribund: I guess I’d like to think

  Kasia Coribund: Dance is a person’s soul reaching out to talk through the body

  Kasia Coribund: That’s the difference between just, a physical gesture and dance

  Kasia Coribund: You’re talking in dance.

  Kasia Coribund: You’re baring your soul,

  Kasia Coribund: conveying meaning in a way we just can’t with words.

  Devynius Foxx: Just another way to throw open our trench coats and reveal the bare-naked truth of ourselves, huh

  Kasia Coribund: I hate you

  * * *

  Chapter 16

  Deen

  Tuesday, July 13

  40 Days Until the Wedding

  “YOU LOOK LIKE YOU’RE SEIZING.”

  It’s a few days before the dholki, and I’m in Vinny’s summer dorm room, in front of the full-length mirror hanging on his door. My room doesn’t have a mirror like this, for whatever reason, making Vinny’s room the perfect place to practice dancing.

  Or at least, what’s supposed to be dancing. Apparently the line between aimlessly flailing your arms and actual choreography is thin.

  “Then tell me what I’m doing wrong,” I say, gritting my teeth. “Because I’m following the exact moves the guy’s doing in this stupid movie.” On a chair I’ve strategically placed next to the mirror, I’ve propped my laptop up with some Bollywood movie called Bajirao Mastani. Mona khala was the one who recommended it, since I know approximately jack shit about Bollywood. I look over my shoulder, but Vinny’s tapping away at his laptop. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking up the symptoms of a stroke.”

  I stop moving and wipe the sweat from my brow. “You think you could do better?”

  He pulls down his headphones from his ears. “Bollywood dancing? Nah, man, there are many things I can outperform you in, but that’s, like, in your blood.”

  I roll my eyes. “So people keep saying.” I wipe my forehead with the bottom of my shirt and try to catch my breath.

  The truth is, I don’t dance much these days. I mean, I’ll dance at clubs. But I used to dance a lot more as a kid, at weddings and stuff. Almost everyone dances at weddings. I’m not talking “Cha Cha Slide” bullshit. At desi weddings, people pull out the bhangra drums, the ones that beat in syncopation to your goddamn heart and set the floor, your body, hell, your very being on fire. You can’t not dance. Your body just reacts to the beat, like it’s been waiting for it all this time.

  If there is some magical thing about my blood that can make me dance, though, it’s not working right now. Maybe it’s performance anxiety or something.

  “You just need a better coach. Why don’t you shove your pride in that special sock drawer of yours and text Kiran?”

  “No way. It’s a dance-off, a competition. I’d rather make a fool out of myself than ask her for help.” I sigh. “Plus, the last time I saw her we had a huge fight.”

  I still can’t believe half the things I said to her at the masjid. I of all people should understand why she’s snooping around Faisal, to some degree. She’s like a freaking hound catching a whiff of something, hoping to catch a big one at the end of the trail. Determined on a whole other level. She doesn’t like me, same. She’s hurt about what I did to her, fair.

  I know Kiran said she was only doing this to protect Amira, but I don’t believe it. There’s too much fury wafting off her for it not to be personal. But hurting Amira and Faisal to get back at me, sabotaging their relationship—it’s way too much. Can she not just take it back a notch or two or ideally ten?

  If Faisal detects even a hint of Kiran hating him, it’d probably crush him.

  At the very least, it seems like things are going along smoothly with the wedding preparations, including the dreaded task of digging up Faisal’s baby pictures for some slideshow Amira’s friends want to make, and sorting invitations to our side of the family (which according to Faisal, resulted in heated arguments between M&D). And with the way Ki
ran conveniently sidestepped giving any specifics, she was probably just bluffing when she said she knew more beyond just Leah.

  I hope.

  Except there was something about her face that doesn’t give me much hope to go on.

  “Your pride’s showing, D-Money.” Vinny, presumably done looking at WebMD, goes back to clicking at his laptop, where he’d been making another one of his remixes. “Well, I’m sure you’ll eventually win Kiran over. Just like you do with everyone else.”

  I pause. There’s something about his tone that feels . . . off. “Hey, are we cool?” I ask. “You’ve been acting kinda off ever since that party in Brooklyn.”

  “Yeah. ’Course. Of course we’re cool.”

  I sigh and ignore the nagging feeling that for once, Vinny has learned how to lie.

  “Well, this is going nowhere, so I’m heading back to my dorm.” In any case, I’m taking the train back to Jersey in the morning, which leaves me tonight to catch up on some much-needed Cambria time. It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve had time for a proper hangout with Kasia, and it’s making me feel . . . itchy. Pretty sure I have dozens of notifications even from Nilina and Solen on the guild, asking if I’m okay.

  It’s times like these I wished telepathy were a thing so I could shoot Kas a message. Tell her that even though I’m busy, I’m still here. That I still care.

  Vinny puts on his headphones again and turns back to his laptop, so I open the door and collide right into none other than Amy.

  I stumble forward. “Ow.”

  “Oh, hey. Glad I caught you,” she says after she straightens up.

  “Hey yourself. You looking for Vinny?”

  “No, actually . . .” She bites her lip. “I was looking for you. You weren’t in your dorm.”

  I blink. “Oh.” I think back to the last time I saw her, at that party with Vinny and Raquel. I can’t remember what happened. That whole night was kind of a blur.

  I quickly close Vinny’s door behind me before he notices anything and lead Amy away from his room.

  “Here’s a totally random question,” I say in a slightly-less-than-panicked whisper. “I didn’t say something stupid the other night, did I?”

  “No! No. It was really fun, actually.” She laughs softly. “Even if you spent most of the night raving about a girl.”

  “Feels like I’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

  We reach the common area on Vinny’s floor, and Amy takes a seat on the couch. I remain standing. I’m too antsy to sit. The common area is empty, thankfully, and quiet. Too quiet. I still haven’t gotten used to the emptiness of campus during the summer.

  “Any updates on that front?” Amy asks, twirling one of her curly locks of hair. She looks cute, like a doll, and I get why Vinny’s into her.

  “Huh? With Kiran?”

  “Yeah. I mean, it sounded like you were really stressed out about that dance you have to do together. You kept going on about how your brother’s wedding has to be perfect or you’d never forgive yourself. Pretty dramatic language coming from a guy like you.”

  “Ah. That. Well. That was a bit of an exaggeration. I do that.”

  “I think it’s sweet, though. Admirable.”

  “That why you wanted to see me? To compliment me?” I ask. “Not that I’m complaining.”

  “In a way.” She smiles. “I want to get to know you better.”

  Ohhh boy.

  I feel my mouth go slack, and it all comes together. Vinny. No wonder he’s been pissy. How could I not have seen?

  I clear my throat. “I, uh. I’m actually pretty busy—”

  “Right, that thing you mentioned before—that’s Saturday? The dole-key?” She butchers the word so hard it makes me wince.

  “The dholki.”

  “Yeah, that. We’re still invited, right?”

  Oh, hell. And my drunk ass thought it would be a good idea to invite her and Raquel. As if things aren’t already balancing on the edge of a precipice. What the hell was I thinking?

  You don’t think. That’s the problem, says a voice in my head that sounds far too much like my own.

  I run my hand through my hair. “So the thing is—”

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and my eyes go wide at the name flashing on my screen.

  Faisal. Calling me.

  I hold up a finger at Amy. “Actually, put a bookmark in that. We’ll, uh, chin-wag later?” I tell her, already heading out of the common room.

  I throw open the doors of Brittany Hall and plunge outside. New York is humid and dusty and dense with sound: the occasional bellow from an angry pedestrian, the symphony of honking cars, the rattle of a jackhammer cutting concrete from a nearby construction site. The sun’s already drooping below the cityscape, illuminating the backdrop of skyscrapers in tangerine hues and liquid shadows. I narrowly miss stepping into a puddle—of rainwater or piss, I can’t tell.

  “Hey, what’s up?” I say into the phone, plugging my other ear with my finger.

  “Hey.” There’s silence on the other line. “Are you coming tonight?”

  Faisal’s voice sounds shaky. Wrong. I tense. “My train’s for tomorrow morning. Why?”

  “I just saw Amira. With another guy.”

  “What?” My insides turn to ice. “No. Are you sure you’re not misunderstanding something? Are you sure it was her?”

  “I’m a hundred percent sure. She said my name—she saw me. We go into a restaurant, and as we’re walking to our table, there’s Amira. With a guy. Having dessert, laughing, just the two of them. She looked just as surprised to see me as I was to see her.” Faisal exhales. “God, I don’t know what to do.”

  I close my eyes. I can practically see him right now: in his office, slumped in his chair, head in his hands. Defeated.

  “Wait, what do you mean, we?” I ask.

  “Kiran—” He groans. “Oh God, Kiran. I ditched her, too. And after she invited me out for dinner. Said she wanted to get to know me.”

  “Kiran invited you?”

  “Yeah. I was really excited, too—I mean, I don’t know, I thought she didn’t like me, and I haven’t exactly made an effort to talk to her, either, so I guess I can’t blame her—but I guess I’ve ruined it.”

  I dart into a Starbucks, where it’s quieter, and grab a seat at a small table by the window. A flock of thoughts whirl in my head, but words don’t come.

  “I was an idiot.” Faisal lets out a wet laugh. “I panicked and ran away, like a coward. We’re supposed to be getting married and I can’t even talk to her like a normal person. No wonder she’s seeing someone else.”

  “Don’t pull that bullshit on me. It was obviously a misunderstanding. She loves you, you love her. You just need to talk to her and clear things up like adults. That’s all.”

  Easier said than done, though. I would know.

  “I feel like I can’t really do this anymore,” he whispers.

  “Do what?”

  “This. All of it. I don’t know, I keep thinking—I keep thinking it’s karma or something. What if I don’t deserve her? I haven’t exactly been completely honest with her, you know. It’s like Kiran said at the masjid. Secrets. But I keep running. Pretending to be something I’m not.”

  My pulse quickens. I’ve seen Faisal give up. I was there the last time he gave up on something important.

  I’m not letting him destroy everything he’s worked so hard to build.

  “The dholki’s soon; this is just nerves or something,” I assure him. “Plus, you’re the last person karma’s gonna chase down. You’re a good dude, Faisal. I know it, Amira knows it. And that’s all that matters.”

  “Am I? Sometimes I’m not so sure.”

  “Faisal, you’re not hearing yourself. Amira’s the best thing that ever happened to you. And you’re the best thing that happened to her. Don’t give up everything for a little bit of nerves. Don’t slide, man.”

  “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t talk about what
happened with you. Your secret will be safe.”

  “It’s not about that at all.” My voice rises, and I catch a couple of irritated glances from other customers trying to enjoy their burnt coffee.

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” I hiss. “Even if it’s true, even if she was out with some other guy today, you have to fight for this. She’s worth it, right? You being happy, for once—that’s worth it, right?”

  Silence on the other line. I exhale.

  “In any case, the dholki is in a few days. Go hang out with Haris. Get your mind off things. Then call Amira.”

  I need time to think. The fact that he was with Kiran—invited by her, no less—feels like too much of a coincidence. Did Kiran set the whole thing up? It seems weird, like something out of a bad Bollywood movie maybe. Would Kiran do something like that?

  I should tell Faisal. But he’s barely keeping it together as it is. Staged or not, seeing the love of your life with another guy is a punch to the dick. Not to mention learning that said love of your life’s sister wants you to perish.

  No. I got this.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow when you’ve cleared your head, okay?” I tell him. “Talk to Amira and stop being so hard on yourself. You’re the firstborn son, the pride and joy of the Maliks. Act like it.”

  “I think we both know that title has always belonged to you,” he says softly.

  There’s a familiar, painful throbbing in my chest.

  “Yeah,” I say, chuckling, “but you always deserved it.”

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  [ROANA GUILD CHAT ROOM]

  * * *

  Devynius Foxx: SUPERPOWERS

  Kasia Coribund: SUPERPOWERS!!!!!

  Kasia Coribund: What about them?

  Devynius Foxx: If you could have any superpower

  Devynius Foxx: what would it be and why?

  Kasia Coribund: oh damn

  Kasia Coribund: That’s a good one.

  Kasia Coribund: Hmmmm . . .

  Kasia Coribund: To see the future.