It All Comes Back to You

by Farah Naz Rishi

  “Well, I’m glad that’s been cleared up,” Asher pipes in, all friendly smiles. “And I’m glad to be here. I’m a big fan of the Noorani sisters.”

  “Uh, yeah. Same,” agrees Faisal, blinking hard.

  Seeing Asher and Faisal standing together, the difference between them is . . . apparent. Asher plays the part better than I thought.

  I clear my throat. “It’s funny,” I say, even though it’s not really funny. “We grew up with Asher. Me and Amira. It was cute because Asher’s four years older than me, and Amira is four years older than him. ’Course, Asher and Amira were always closer. So it’s no wonder you misunderstood the situation. Most people do.”

  Faisal nods weakly. “The two of them did look picture perfect.”

  “Everyone says that. Actually, my mom was sure the two of them would end up together. Lawyer, future doctor.”

  Faisal’s eyes widen. “Oh. You don’t say.” Even over the din of the music, I can tell his voice is thin.

  “Oh yeah, Asher’s going to med school next year,” I throw in casually. “And get this: when they were younger, they’d finish each other’s sentences. They liked all the same things. They were really cute together.”

  The ball in Faisal’s throat bobs up and down. “I’m jealous. I’m always saying I wish I’d met Amira sooner.”

  “Crazy, though, that you all chose the same exact restaurant out of the hundreds of thousands of restaurants in Manhattan, at the same exact time,” Deen cuts in, his voice like red-hot iron.

  The back of my neck prickles.

  “Crazier things have happened,” I say, smiling, keeping my voice level.

  “Have they, though?”

  “Maybe it’s a sign from heaven,” I reply, doubling down. This is my chance. Time for step two of my plan. “Actually, you know what would be good? If you guys get to know each other a little better. You guys could do your own little bachelor party thing. Right, Asher?”

  “Oh, I don’t know . . .” I feel Asher’s eyes on me, ignore the angry bite of them.

  “I like that,” Faisal says. “If you’re—if you’re special, to Amira, then I want to get to know you, too. What if we did something next Friday? On Saturday we’re all supposed to be going to Edison to get wedding clothes, but Friday could work. Haris, you’re in, yeah? What do you think, Asher? Wholesome little night out?”

  “What a great idea,” says Asher weakly.

  I clap my hands together. “So it’s settled.” Faisal almost makes it too easy.

  Haris pats Faisal’s shoulder. “I should get this guy to his bride-to-be. We’ll finalize things later?”

  Asher nods, still chewing his samosa. He looks pale.

  But I catch Deen staring at me as if he’s trying to burn holes through my skin.

  Before I can process, Deen spins on his heel and disappears into the throng of people, leaving me standing there. Dumbfounded.

  The music suddenly picks up behind me; the crowd has edged to the already-packed corners of the giant living room, leaving space around the dhol drum and the older woman playing it. Leaving a lot of space.

  Enough space for a dancer.

  Oh no. I have a bad feeling about this.

  I hear someone call my name; it’s Mona, elbowing her way through the crowd. She grabs my arm, breathless. “Come, Kiran. You have to dance.”

  “What?” I stare at her in disbelief. “I only agreed to dance for the wedding.”

  She tuts in annoyance. “It’s your sister’s dholki. Think of it as a practice round for the actual wedding.”

  I look back at Asher.

  “Please. Asher,” I plead.

  But he shrugs. Have fun, he mouths.

  Okay, so maybe I deserve that for pushing him into the bachelor party thing, but that’s cold. I try to worm my way out of Mona’s grip, but the woman is strong. I realize there’s no winning this.

  I toss Asher my purse for safekeeping before I’m dragged away by Mona.

  She shoves me into the center of the living room and I’m dizzied by the sheer number of people around me, the loudness of the music.

  And then I see Deen, leaning against a back wall behind the crowd, a knowing sneer plastered on his face.

  Three Years Ago

  KIRAN: lolllll

  KIRAN: I can’t believe you fell out of the tree

  KIRAN: like a goddamn coconut

  DEEN: Ok first of all

  DEEN: I thought it would be romantic

  DEEN: We’d get some PRIVACY

  DEEN: And then you go and laugh at me!!!!

  KIRAN: Because you FELL

  KIRAN: And then Zahira ran over because she thought you were DEAD

  KIRAN: omg I have never laughed harder in my life

  DEEN: Couldn’t you have at least PRETENDED to be worried???

  DEEN: I could have died!!!

  DEEN: I could have broken my neck!!!

  DEEN: I could be HAUNTING you right now

  KIRAN: lolololol

  KIRAN: I made sure you were okay first!!!

  DEEN: Ugh

  DEEN: Serves me right for trying to be romantic I guess

  DEEN: I used to be amazing at climbing trees, I’ll have you know

  KIRAN: Oh yeah?

  DEEN: Yeah

  DEEN: We used to have a bunch of A+ climbing trees in our backyard

  DEEN: But then my parents went and chopped half of them down

  KIRAN: Oh no, I hate that :(

  DEEN: Honestly? I’m still in mourning

  DEEN: Parents, man.

  KIRAN: Parents, man.

  KIRAN: Guess you don’t really have a good relationship with yours, huh?

  DEEN: lol

  DEEN: Never.

  DEEN: My parents only had kids to uphold their legacy

  DEEN: Like they’re 15th century monarchs

  DEEN: They only care about their image

  DEEN: And that I meet their expectations.

  KIRAN: :(

  KIRAN: My parents don’t really have expectations for me

  KIRAN: My big sister’s always been the perfect one

  KIRAN: At first, I was fine with it because they never give a crap what I did but

  KIRAN: Lately, I kind of feel . . . I don’t know.

  DEEN: Forgotten?

  KIRAN: Exactly.

  KIRAN: Part of me has always wanted to be a dancer

  KIRAN: But I want to do something better

  KIRAN: Something that would make them proud, just to show them I can.

  KIRAN: Maybe then they’ll care.

  DEEN: Well, whatever you decide to be

  DEEN: I hope it’s because it’s what you want

  DEEN: And not because of your parents.

  KIRAN: And whatever you decide to be

  KIRAN: I hope it’s not a professional climber.

  DEEN: You monster.

  Chapter 18

  Deen

  Saturday, July 17

  36 Days Until the Wedding

  SO MAYBE IT’S MY FAULT that Kiran got roped into dancing.

  But I need her distracted. Plus, Mona khala had already been lamenting the lack of dancers—“These youth are killing our culture; no one even remembers the old folk songs anymore!”—so really, what choice did I have?

  I cup my hands around my mouth. “Break a leg, Noorani.”

  She rewards me with a glare.

  Someone turns on the surround-sound stereo and the entire living room vibrates to the bass line; Anum phuppo, my dad’s younger sister, bangs away at the dhol, adding another layer to the beat that makes the song richer, more vibrant.

  Mom and Mona khala stand on the sidelines, close enough for Kiran to see them, their eagle eyes trained on her. And behind Kiran sit Faisal and Amira, perched together on a red velvet love seat on a platform I helped put together out of some old planks of wood and bricks I found in the garage that were probably originally meant for the tree house Faisal and I wanted to build when we were kids. But Amira
and Faisal look . . . awkward together, the inches between them like miles. I told Faisal to talk to Amira about what he saw at the restaurant; I wonder how it went. It looks like they’ll need more time, though. Guess it’s only natural; they haven’t been together long, so unfortunately, it wouldn’t take much to shake them.

  Do I have Kiran to blame for that?

  I glance over at Asher, who’s watching Kiran intently from the other side of the room. Asher sets his plate and Kiran’s purse down on the kitchen counter and squeezes closer for a better look.

  Perfect.

  I haven’t been able to shake off what she said to me at the masjid about having undeniable proof about Faisal. And then with what happened at the restaurant with Faisal seeing Amira and Asher together like that—it’s too much of a coincidence. Whatever she knows or doesn’t, the girl isn’t backing down anytime soon.

  It’s up to me to slow her down. Plus, I’m allowed to mess with her a little, right?

  Kiran closes her eyes and goes very still, almost meditative, like a runner just before the bang of a popgun. I don’t recognize the song, but it’s clear she does; I can see it on her face. The focus. The zoning out into another world.

  The room goes quiet.

  Vinny would have eaten this all up—especially the food. If there’s one thing my parents can do right, it’s a buffet. But Vinny never showed, which might explain why, thankfully, Amy and Raquel aren’t here, either. I’m wondering if I should have told him about Amy. He texted me this morning with some lame excuse about not feeling well and needing to take it easy, except I’ve never even seen the guy develop so much as a sniffle: not when the flu took out most of campus last semester, not a cold, not even a hangover. I don’t think the guy can get sick. A fool and his cold are soon parted, I guess. Come to think of it, when was the last time I got sick?

  Anyway, not having him around makes me feel uneasy. It’s been years since I’ve gone to an event like this, and I feel out of place. I don’t even know half these people; some are family, I think, but others are just friends of M&D’s. Some maybe from our old masjid in Philadelphia. But these people keep wishing me mubarak, congratulating me and hugging me and telling me how great it is that Faisal found someone like Amira. They pretend like they know us. Like they care about us.

  But these are also the same people who, if they really knew about Faisal—if they knew the truth about our pasts—would be the first to toss us in the sin bin and write us off as hopeless cases.

  It’s all bullshit. And Mom and Dad are eating it all up. They’ve finally found the distraction they’ve been looking for, the perfect opportunity to show everyone that they have nothing to hide.

  This is exactly why I didn’t tell Kiran three years ago. I didn’t want to get her involved in this bullshit.

  Kiran begins to dance.

  Arms flowing in graceful, fluid arcs around her, her hips swaying to the rhythm like the vibrato of strings. With every twirl, her flowing lehenga spins around her legs, teasing the shape of them. Right now, she is the music—as it increases in cadence, so does she. Even from across the room, I can feel her like a live wire, the unspent energy ready to spring from her body.

  I’ve seen her dance before, once. Three years ago, to a song from some ancient Bollywood movie—Devdas, I think. But her moves are sharper now, more confident. Like a person who knows exactly what they want, has found exactly what they love doing. I find myself a little jealous. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that way about anything.

  I catch her smiling, and our eyes meet.

  Dance is a person’s soul reaching out to talk through the body. Kas’s words echo through my mind.

  Only I don’t understand what Kiran could be saying. What either of us have to say to each other anymore. Or what I’m feeling.

  This is my chance to get what I need, while everyone’s distracted. But my eyes won’t look away. My feet won’t move. She feels so far away, and yet I—

  “Yeh larki kaun hai?” says a voice next to me. “Wo kiski beti hai?”

  I turn my head; it’s an older woman with stark black hair and lined, warm brown skin, wearing a bright purple sari. I don’t know her, but I think she was the one leading the songs earlier.

  “Kiran Noorani. Bride’s sister.”

  “Oh ho.” She smiles knowingly. “Friend hai? Dost hai?”

  I’m even more irked, and not just because she’s wasting what precious time I have. “No. Not a friend. Or anything.” I know I said I’d play nice, especially in front of people. But right now I don’t care. Rumors about me and Kiran being friends, more than friends, are worse than the alternative. I don’t want any hint of that going around the rumor mills.

  With Asher still distracted, I excuse myself from the old woman, yank myself from the dance floor, and make my way to the kitchen.

  I wasn’t expecting Asher here; honestly, I’m surprised he’d show after what happened. He irks me, too. I didn’t expect Kiran to have a partner in crime.

  And if what happened at the restaurant was Kiran’s fault, as I suspect it was, then she’s definitely not finished. I know her well enough to know that, at least.

  I find Kiran’s purse shoved in a corner on the kitchen counter. It’s a big, strangely heavy bag of round cloth, with flowery embroidery and tiny beads embedded in the fabric, although some are missing.

  The metal clasp doesn’t seem to be working, either, because the purse just falls open in my hand.

  I slip into the butler pantry and peek inside. There’s her phone (bingo), some lip gloss. A Nintendo Switch. I snort. Of course she still plays games. Some things never change.

  But her phone—that’s the gold mine. She’s been glued to her phone all night, and I saw her showing something on the screen to Asher.

  Except there’s something stuck on the back of her phone. She’s installed a small pocket in the back, the kind that holds credit cards and her driver’s license. My fingers find something thin, a white, glossy piece of cardboard. A business card?

  Carefully, I dig into the pocket and manage to yank out the card. I flip it over.

  It’s a sixty-day time card for Cambria.

  What the hell is she doing with this? Does she play Cambria?

  The thought stings a little; something that I thought was my private getaway, my secret oasis, suddenly feels a little less sacred. It’s just weird, coming across it in Kiran’s purse.

  Well, whatever. I don’t think she used to play MMOs, but even if she does, hundreds of thousands of people play Cambria, all over the world. There’s nothing special about that.

  I turn my attention to her phone, in my palm.

  Okay. She never used to keep a lock code on her phone, so it’s time to do what I came for. My thumb grazes the power button, hesitating.

  Suddenly, the entire house bursts with applause that makes the walls shake. The song is over.

  My heart leaps back into my throat. Shit, shit, shit. I sneak out of the pantry, purse tucked under my armpit, and carefully shove the purse and phone back where I found them.

  Kiran is standing in the center of the room, breathing hard, her chest rising and falling. Her cheeks are pink and she looks like she feels truly alive.

  At least that makes one of us.

  Loading

  [CAMBRIA: THE EVOLUTION EXPANSION PACK]

  [ROANA GUILD CHAT ROOM]

  * * *

  Nilina Torby: You two are so weird

  Devynius Foxx: Ma’am, I resent that

  Devynius Foxx: I am perfectly normal.

  Kasia Coribund: HEY.

  Nilina Torby: Seriously, every time I come in here

  Nilina Torby: You’re asking each other icebreaker questions like a coupl’a middle schoolers out on a date

  Kasia Coribund: They’re fun, though!!!

  Kasia Coribund: Oooh, actually that reminds me

  Kasia Coribund: I thought of a really good one today

  Kasia Coribund: Foxx! And Nil, feel free to an
swer too

  Kasia Coribund: If you could summarize your entire existence with a single song, what would it be?

  Devynius Foxx: Oh man

  Devynius Foxx: This question

  Devynius Foxx: Can’t go wrong with the classics

  Devynius Foxx: Right now . . . hmm . . .

  Devynius Foxx: I’m feeling “Bitter Sweet Symphony” by The Verve

  Kasia Coribund: Yessss, I can definitely see that

  Nilina Torby: NICE, that’s a good one

  Nilina Torby: I’d have to think about it a little longer

  Devynius Foxx: What about you, Kas?

  Kasia Coribund: This is kind of breaking the sacred no-real-life rule, but you need to understand the context before I answer

  Kasia Coribund: But basically, when my parents met one on one for the first time at some diner, my song of choice was playing in the background

  Kasia Coribund: And, as you said, Foxx, you can’t go wrong with the classics

  Nilina Torby: Well, don’t leave us in suspense!

  Kasia Coribund: “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” by Whitney Houston, baby

  Nilina Torby: LOL really???

  Devynius Foxx: Huh.

  Devynius Foxx: a popular favorite tbh

  Nilina Torby: IS IT THO??

  Kasia Coribund: Excuse me, I will NOT stand for this slander!!!

  Kasia Coribund: It’s my parents’ SONG without which I would not EXIST

  Nilina Torby: shit, now it’s stuck in my head

  Devynius Foxx: OHHH I WANNA DANCE WITH SOMEBODY

  Kasia Coribund: I WANNA FEEL THE HEAT WITH SOMEBODY

  Devynius Foxx: YEAHHH I WANNA DANCE WITH SOMEBODY

  [Nilina Torby has logged off]

  Kasia Coribund: . . .

  Devynius Foxx: Guess she doesn’t love us :(

  * * *

  Chapter 19

  Kiran

  Saturday, July 24

  29 Days Until the Wedding

  EDISON, NEW JERSEY, IS A desi immigrant’s dream.

  What you need to know about Edison is that it’s home to the bustling Oak Tree Road, aka Little India, an entire two-mile district crowded with desi shops, banquet halls, restaurants, and wholesalers, with names like Raj of Sweets, Green Chutney, Dosa House, and my absolute and popular favorite, Desi Fashion Bazaar. The true mark of an Asian immigrant community is its sheer disregard for creativity, opting instead for stark, utilitarian conventionality. It’s part of its charm.