Hani and Ishu's Guide to Fake Dating

by Adiba Jaigirdar

  “Yeah?”

  She chews on her lips before shaking her head. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She doesn’t look me in the eye as she says this. Before I know it, she’s turning around and heading to the bus stop.

  I heave a sigh, watching her retreating form for a minute, wondering why she would bring up our rules. Tomorrow will be the first time the two of us are going to be together without Aisling and Deirdre in a long time. Maybe, we can fix whatever is broken between us. Maybe there’s still time for us to figure things out.

  Ammu is in the kitchen from five o’clock on Saturday morning. Even though I’m in my bedroom with my door closed, I can hear the sound of clinking pots and pans as she cooks, and the hoover as she cleans. At one point I venture downstairs, peeking into the kitchen to see her bent over the stove.

  “Do you need help, Ammu?” I offer. Abbu is working at the shop until just an hour before the guests are supposed to arrive, so it’s just been Ammu all on her own, working away.

  “Shouldn’t you be studying for your summer exams?” Ammu doesn’t even look up from stirring her pot of biryani.

  “Yeah, but you’re all on your—”

  “Go, study,” Ammu says. “I’m fine.”

  Heaving a sigh, I slip back upstairs, trying to ignore my stomach rumbling at the smell of the delicious food. Ammu always goes all out when we have a dawat. She makes so many dishes that there’s hardly space for them on our dining table. She invites so many people that they can barely squeeze into our narrow three-bedroom house.

  I try to go back to my studying but it’s difficult to focus when all I can think about is how Hani is going to be here in just a few hours.

  Before I know it, it’s almost time for the guests to arrive. I change into a pink and white salwar kameez that’s pretty plain except for the floral patterns on its edges. It’s the urna of the salwar kameez that really makes it. It’s a mesh urna with garlands of pink and white flower patterns from one end to the other. I drape the urna on my front first. When I look in the mirror, it doesn’t look right, so I wrap it around the back of my neck instead. The patterns on the urna get hidden that way, so I settle for placing it across my shoulder instead.

  Still, something feels off. I brush my hair back and pin up the sides of it so it doesn’t get into my eyes. I even apply a little eyeliner—making my usually huge eyes a little smaller—and some pink lipstick to go with my salwar kameez. Ammu peeks into my room while I’m putting on my makeup.

  “I didn’t know you wore makeup.” She takes me in slowly, a small frown on her lips. “I didn’t even know you owned makeup.”

  “I own makeup,” I say. “I wore it to that wedding we went to.”

  “That was a year ago,” Ammu says.

  “Yeah, well.” I shrug. “This is the biggest dawat we’re having this year. I wanted to look nice.” I’m regretting brushing my hair out of my face, because I’m afraid Ammu can see the flush on my cheeks. Then the bell rings, and she forgets all about me.

  “Come downstairs and greet the guests.” She calls as she hurries down the stairs.

  “Okay, Ammu.” I take one final look at myself in the mirror. Deciding it’s the best it’s going to get, I slip downstairs.

  chapter twenty-nine

  hani

  GOING TO ISHU’S HOUSE FOR A DAWAT IS THE LAST thing I want to do. But I can’t really skip out on it. For one, it would be pretty rude. But more than that, if I tell Amma I don’t want to go, she’ll know something is wrong and press me for more information. And of course I can’t tell her that I’ve developed real feelings for the girl I’m supposed to be fake dating, or that I think she’s broken my trust.

  For the past few days, I haven’t gone onto our guide at all, though there have been times when I’ve thought about deleting it altogether. But what good would it do if Ishu’s sister has already seen everything? What I don’t understand is why. Ishu seemed so sure that day at the cafe that if her sister knew anything she would use it against her. So why would Ishu share this with her?

  As Abba, Amma, and I wait outside Ishu’s front door, I notice that Abba is shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His nervous gaze doesn’t settle on one thing for too long. He’s wearing a panjabi again today—one that is pure white with gold accents around the collar and cuffs. He’s even wearing the tupi he brought to the mosque the other day.

  I frown. I’m about to ask Abba exactly what’s going on but then the door swings open. Dinesh Uncle stands on the other side, wearing a brilliant blue shirt and an even more brilliant smile.

  “Welcome, welcome! Come in!” He waves the three of us inside, and immediately I can hear the buzz of Bengali chatter and smell the aroma of Bengali food. The former a curse, the latter a gift.

  “Sajib!” A man approaches us from the sitting room. It takes me a moment to recognize him—after all, I only saw him briefly and from a distance at the mosque. But there’s no mistaking his white-flecked beard and white tupi.

  “Assalam Alaikum.” Abba reaches forward to take his hand in his own. Then he turns toward us, an oddly cheerful smile pasted on his lips. “This is my wife, Aditi.” Amma gives salam. “And my daughter, Humaira, though we call her Hani.” Abba smiles at the man. “This is Salim.”

  Salim Uncle considers me for a moment. It’s honestly a little creepy, like he’s staring into my soul with his dark brown eyes.

  Finally, he says, “Humaira is a beautiful name.”

  “Thank—”

  “Did you know it was the nickname the Prophet Muhammad gave to his wife, Aisha?”

  I exchange a glance with Amma who—thankfully—looks as freaked out as I feel.

  “I didn’t,” I say. Before he can say anymore, Amma shoots him a polite smile and excuses us, pulling me away toward the kitchen where most of the women are seated.

  “He was intense,” Amma whispers to me. I can only nod in agreement, because I’ve already spotted Ishu standing by herself in one corner of the room. And it’s a little hard to look away from her. She’s wearing this salwar kameez that is white, fading into a soft pink. The colors seem to soften her. All of her hard edges seem to have disappeared and there’s some vulnerability to her standing to one side of the room, twisting the edges of her urna around her fingers.

  “Hey.” I step toward her almost instinctively—though I had planned to do my best to avoid her today. Ishu turns to me so fast that her urna floats off her shoulder. She manages to grab it at the last second, haphazardly draping it around her shoulder once more.

  “I … like your salwar kameez.”

  Ishu looks down at the bottom of her kameez, like she has forgotten what she’s wearing. She tugs at the rose-gold hem. “Thanks … I like yours too.”

  She looks up and finally catches my eye. I can’t help the smile that appears on my lips. She returns it. Then we descend into a silence that seems only for the two of us, a quiet pocket within the usual bustling noise of a Bengali dawat.

  “It’s a little—” I begin, at the same time that Ishu mumbles, “How was—” We both cut ourselves short, catching each other’s eyes again. I feel a familiar knot in my stomach, and there’s nothing uncomfortable about it. And I know that I have to ask Ishu about the guide. About her sister. No matter how much I don’t want to.

  Aparna Aunty calls Ishu away to help with setting the table, and pretty soon all the chatter is interrupted by Aparna Aunty calling us to dinner. She’s laid the table with so many different types of food that there’s no empty spaces on it at all. On one side, there’s a pot of biryani—the aroma coming off of it absolutely divine. Surrounding the biryani is chicken korma, and lamb curry. On the other side of the table, there’s white rice, surrounded by mixed vegetable curry and fish cutlet. In the middle of the table, there’s a plate of shorisha ilish—this has always been Aparna Aunty’s specialty. Amma can definitely make shorisha ilish, but not in the way that Aparna Aunty can. Even the look of the fish sitting in the golden mustard paste is he
avenly.

  The food tastes even better than it looks. Almost as soon as I’m finished eating, Ishu grabs my hand and pulls me up the stairs.

  “I hate dawats,” she mumbles under her breath.

  “Well, the food is always good,” I say. Ishu raises a questioning eyebrow but I don’t think she should question how good her mom’s shorisha ilish tastes.

  She opens up the door to her bedroom, and almost as soon as the two of us are through it I hear the click of the lock behind us. It’s not like we haven’t been alone in her bedroom, or in my bedroom, before. But for some reason, now the thought of us here together in a locked room makes my heart beat a million times faster than usual.

  “It’s just so the kids can’t come in,” Ishu explains.

  “Yeah … that’s what I figured,” I say. “You’re pretty obsessive over everything being organized.” I cast a sweeping look over her bedroom. It’s pristine. “How is this cleaner than the last time I was here? There aren’t even any books on your desk.” If I didn’t know this was Ishu’s room, I’d be doubtful anyone lived in it.

  “I wasn’t going to let the guests see a messy bedroom.” Ishu’s voice sounds a little insecure. Like she really thinks she’s capable of having a messy bedroom.

  “Because Uncles and Aunties love coming to scope out your bedroom?”

  She shrugs and settles onto her bed. There’s so much space beside her, but I hesitate before finally sitting myself down at the farthest end of the bed, as far away from Ishu as I can get without making it weird. Though from the way Ishu glances at me, I’m pretty sure things are already weird enough between us.

  Time seems to slow down as the two of us sit there. It’s deathly silent, though we can hear the hum of voices floating up from downstairs.

  Finally, after what feels like hours, Ishu turns her whole body toward me, a frown etched into her face.

  “So, are we going to talk about what’s bothering you?” she asks.

  My heart stops, and I glance up. I can only meet her gaze for a moment before looking down once more, at the bright blue of her duvet cover. She’s given me the opening to ask about her sister and the guide, but the words feel clogged in my throat. “Nothing … nothing’s bothering me.”

  Ishu heaves a sigh and the bed creaks with the weight of it. “This should have been one of the rules in our guide, right? What to do if our fake dating leads to … awkwardness?”

  I glance up once more to see Ishu looking up at her ceiling like something up there will have the answer to her question. Does she really not know?

  “Something … happened.” The words slip out of me. For a moment, I’m not sure I’m the one who’s said them. But then Ishu looks at me with curiosity written on her face and I know that I have. “Your sister.

  Curiosity turns into confusion on Ishu’s face, and she scoots forward. “My sister?” Did she … do something?”

  “I thought you knew,” I say, but the more I speak the more sure I am that Ishu didn’t break any of the rules. Ishu didn’t tell her sister. She didn’t share our guide with her. “I was looking at our Google Doc a few days ago, and … your sister was on it. She … has access to it.”

  Ishu blinks slowly, like she’s having a hard time processing this information. “You didn’t share it with her?”

  “I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

  “You think I sent it to her? On purpose?”

  “It’s the only explanation,” I say, even though now it sounds ridiculous. Of course, Ishu wouldn’t send her sister this on purpose. Not after literally running away from Nik after our first date. Not after what she told me about her relationship with Nik.

  “Why would I send it to her?” Ishu asks.

  “I guess … you wouldn’t,” I say. “I just assumed … but … after everything that happened at Seven Wonders, I should have known …”

  Ishu bites her lip. “What if I sent it to her by accident?” Pausing, she looks up to meet my eyes. “She didn’t say anything about it to me, so … she must not have told anyone yet.”

  It’s the “yet” that makes me afraid. I can’t imagine what would happen if people found out that all of this has been an act. Aisling and Dee would never let me live it down—they would never ever believe that I’m really bisexual. They’ll be convinced that I did this whole thing as a stunt for attention.

  “So, you think she’s going to tell someone?” I ask. “Because if people find out …”

  “I know.” Ishu’s voice is little more than a whisper. “She could … tell my parents.”

  Silence sits between us again. But this time there’s nothing awkward about it; it’s heavy with the knowledge that someone knows our secret. That with just one click, someone can undo everything that we’ve been working toward.

  Ishu’s face is contorted into an expression that I’ve never really seen on her before. I edge toward her until we’re basically face-to-face. “It’s going to be okay. Your sister … she won’t tell anyone.” I try to say it with conviction that I definitely don’t feel.

  Ishu meets my gaze, and her expression softens. For the first time today, I notice that she’s wearing makeup. There’s a hint of eyeliner around her eyes, and a tint of pink on her lips. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ishu wearing makeup before. The familiar knot tugs at my belly, and I feel warmth creep up my neck.

  “You don’t know Nik,” Ishu says. “And … you don’t know what our relationship is like.”

  “Maybe we can talk to her and … explain the situation …”

  Ishu is smiling now, as if I’ve said something really funny.

  “What?”

  “It’s just … nice that you think Nik will listen to reason,” she says. “And … I guess it’s nice that I’m not dealing with this on my own.”

  “We can figure out a solution together,” I say, trying to ignore the fact that Ishu’s words are making me warm all over again. And that I’m distinctly aware of the fact that we’ve gone from sitting at opposite ends of the bed to being dangerously close to each other. But I don’t know how to put space between us again without going back to our awkwardness from before. Without making Ishu aware of how being close to her makes me feel things that I definitely do not want—or need—to be feeling.

  “Maybe,” Ishu surprises me by saying. It seems she surprises herself, because she blinks slowly like she’s not sure she’s said those words herself. “I mean, since it’s not just going to be me dealing with it … maybe together we can find a solution.”

  Ishu’s eyes are peering into mine, and somehow I’ve never noticed just how warm they are. The light of the sun pouring in through her window illuminates a hint of golden brown in them. Suddenly, all I can think of is the lack of space between us. The fact that if I inched my hands forward, I would reach her fingers. If I leaned my face forward, I would find hers. I guess Ishu must have been thinking the exact same thing, because she does inch her hand forward. Instead of my fingers, she finds a strand of hair and curls it around her fingers. Her touch sends a shiver down my spine. Before I know it, my body is leaning forward of its own accord. The bed creaks beneath me. I close my eyes, and—

  “Ishu!” Aparna Aunty’s voice screeches from downstairs. Ishu bounces back from me. I nearly fall off the bed in my rush to get away from her, even though the bedroom door is locked and Aunty’s voice is ridiculously far away: “Niche eshe mishti khao.”

  Ishu rolls her eyes at me. “Okay, Ammu. We’re coming.”

  Whatever was happening between us, whatever emboldened us to make something happen between us, is broken by Aparna Aunty’s intrusion. I still can’t get my heart back to a regular pace. And I can’t look Ishu in the eye.

  She shoots me a smile before getting off the bed. I don’t know what it means. “We should go downstairs. You like mishti, right?” She swings the door open and looks back at me.

  “I only like some mishti.” I get up and follow her down the stairs. I’m not sure if we’ve made thin
gs between us better or infinitely worse.

  chapter thirty

  ishu

  AFTER THE DAWAT IS FINISHED, AND EVERYONE HAS gone home, our house suddenly feels too empty. After being filled with Bengali chatter for the whole day, the silence seems to press into us.

  I change out of my salwar kameez and strip my face of makeup. All the while, I can’t stop thinking about Hani. And I can’t stop thinking about Nik. Two people I definitely don’t want to be thinking about.

  I crawl into bed and pull out my phone, scrolling to my text thread with Nik. The last messages we sent each other were that day she came home to surprise us. It feels like an eternity ago, though it’s only been a few weeks.

  Hey Nik …

  That’s all I type out before pausing. Because how do I ask my sister if she accidentally discovered the truth about my fake relationship? And how do I ask her what exactly she’s planning to do with that truth? Thinking about all of the possibilities, all of the ways that Nik can use this to get back into Abbu and Ammu’s good graces, makes me feel queasy.

  Erasing my message, I click into my Instagram DM thread with Hani instead. I’m still trying wrap my mind around exactly what had happened in my bedroom earlier today. There was one inexplicable moment where I was sure that Hani and I were on the exact same page. That we wanted the same thing. But the moment was fleeting—it passed as quickly as it came. Maybe it was just a moment of weakness, spurred by the fact that someone knows our secret. That all of our plans might come undone if Nik decides to do something about our guide.

  Should we talk about what happened today?

  The unsent message glares up at me, and I erase it almost immediately. If Hani got a message like this, she would probably run for the hills. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about her, it’s that Hani’s not the kind of person who confronts things head on. Even coming to me about Nik seemed like it was killing her.

  I click away from my message thread and end up on my Instagram timeline instead. The first photo that pops up is from the dawat today. It’s Hani’s, and it’s of the two of us sitting side by side. There are plastic white bowls of mishti balanced in our hands. We’re both half-smiling, Hani’s looking down and I’m staring straight into the camera. The awkwardness between us is almost palpable—just from looking at that picture.