Hani and Ishu's Guide to Fake Dating

by Adiba Jaigirdar

  Aisling sighs. “I shouldn’t have been so judgy of you for being gay—”

  “Bisexual.”

  “Bisexual, yes. And … I shouldn’t have been … jealous of Ishita.”

  “That’s why you did all of this? Jealousy?” I ask.

  Aisling shrugs. “We’ve been friends since primary school … I just didn’t want to lose you.”

  I nod slowly. “You’re going to apologize to Ishu?”

  “Are we friends again?” Aisling finally meets my gaze. There’s so much hope in her eyes, but none of it makes me feel anything. How can I ever trust her again, after everything she’s lied about? Everything she’s done?

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. I need … time.”

  She glances at Dee instead of me. “I can’t believe you won’t even accept my apology. I don’t know what you want from me!” She exclaims.

  “I want you to give me time,” I say. “Everything you’ve done … it’s a lot, Aisling. It’s a lot to forgive.”

  “It was a mistake,” Dee says. “Aisling regrets it.”

  “How are lying and manipulating mistakes?” I ask. “And I’m not the only one who needs an apology. You know that.”

  Aisling chews on her lips. It’s the most nervous I’ve ever seen her, I think. The most human I have seen her in a very long time. Then, she shakes her head.

  “Forgive me, don’t forgive me. I’m definitely not apologizing to Ishita Dey.” She waits for a moment, like she’s expecting me to say something—to take back what I’ve said. Then, she turns on her heel and begins her ascent up the steps and out the main gates. Dee glances between me and her for a moment, like she’s trying to make up her mind about who to choose. Like she hasn’t already done that. Then she’s gone too.

  And it’s just me.

  chapter forty-eight

  ishu

  I KNOW I SHOULD PROBABLY FEEL BAD FOR eavesdropping on Hani’s conversation with her friends, but as Aisling and Deirdre rush away from Hani like she’s worth nothing, I couldn’t be more glad about my decision.

  I watch as other people push past Hani, casting curious glances. I have no doubt that within hours Aisling will have filled their heads with propaganda about Hani—even if they’re friends. Though I’m not sure if they’re friends anymore. Not after this.

  As I watch Hani stand there on her own, looking after her awful friends, it’s as if all my confusion, all my questions wash away to nothing. Because Nik was right. I’m ready to forgive Hani, but maybe I haven’t been ready to know if Hani and I could really work.

  I slip out of the side of the secluded corner of the school building and walk toward Hani.

  “Wow,” I say. Hani turns to me with unshed tears in her wide eyes. She tries to blink them away as soon as she spots me.

  “Hey … what are you …” She gulps, like it’s taking some effort to quell her tears. Aisling and Deirdre are definitely not worth her tears. I guess Hani still has to learn that.

  “I was just going home when I saw this all blow up, so … I stayed behind to see how it all turned out.” I shrug. “You held your own pretty well.”

  Hani lets out a little sniffle, tears rolling down her cheeks slowly. She wipes one away almost aggressively. Maybe they’re angry tears rather than sad ones, but somehow I don’t think so.

  “I … f-feel … silly.”

  I chuckle. Step forward. Brush away another tear from her cheek. Softer than she had done it. The touch of her skin again mine is hot. I want nothing more than to touch her again, but I don’t.

  I say, “They don’t deserve you. They never did.”

  “I-I’ve been f-friends with … th-them m-my who-whole l-life.”

  I wipe another tear away from her cheek, tucking a strand of hair away from her face. Then, I cup her cheeks in mine, holding her face up so we are eye-to-eye. She blinks. Hiccups. Then, sniffs.

  “There will be other friends,” I say. “Other people. Who … will appreciate you. Who will mean it when they say sorry. Who will be able to say the word ‘bisexual’ without cringing.”

  Hani lets out a soft chuckle, and the hint of a smile on her face makes me smile as well.

  “I’m sorry,” she says in a whisper. “I shouldn’t have—”

  But I’m already kissing her, so the words are trapped between us. The apology dances between our lips and our tongues, and in her hands in my hair, in my hands on her back. We only pull apart to the sound of the rain against the pavement, and I’m not sure how long it’s been raining for. From the look on Hani’s face, neither is she. Both of us are smiling—grinning, actually—and clutching each other’s hands like they’re lifelines and if we let go we will drown. We’re both already soaked, but we lean forward again, pressing our foreheads together, and Hani trails a line down the nape of my neck with her fingertips.

  “So … you forgive me?” she asks, her eyes bright with hope. Instead of responding, I lean in and kiss her once more.

  “Come on.” I take her hand in mine and tug her away from the school gates. The rain is cold against our skin but there’s something almost cleansing and wonderful about it.

  “Where are we going?” Hani asks, letting me pull her along.

  “Anywhere we can be together,” I say.

  chapter forty-nine

  hani

  IT’S THE HOTTEST DAY OF THE SUMMER, AND I’M GLAD that schools closed last week. There’s no way any of us would have been happy being stuck inside a classroom in the scorching heat.

  I’m sure that most Irish people are out at the beaches or parks sunbathing. But Ishu and I are outside our tiny local mosque—having a barbeque.

  “I feel weird,” Ishu whispers in my ear, tugging at her salwar kameez. It’s a cotton kameez that is soft yellow in color. Nobody should look good in yellow—but Ishu does.

  “Why?”

  “Everyone else here is Muslim.” She casts a glance around her, like if somebody hears her confessing to not being Muslim, something bad will happen. “They keep saying ‘salam’ to me, and I don’t know if I should say it back or not.”

  “You know if somebody says ‘salam,’ they’re just saying hello in Arabic?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “If someone says ‘Dia dhuit’ to you, which by the way means ‘God be with you,’ do you say ‘Dia is muire dhuit’ or do you just—”

  “Okay, okay,” Ishu concedes, rolling her eyes. “I just … meant, are you sure it’s okay for me to be here?”

  “Yes, obviously.” I reach over and slip my fingers into hers for a moment, giving her a gentle squeeze. She takes a deep breath, and that seems to calm her down a little at least.

  “Hani?” Abba waves me over from where he’s standing by the grill. He’s surrounded by the Muslim men from the mosque that he’s got to know more and more over the past few weeks. In fact, I’ve been seeing more of Salim Uncle nowadays than I have of even Ishu. It seems he’s at our house all the time.

  “I’ll be right back,” I tell Ishu, before slipping away from her and toward Abba and his friends.

  “Hey, Abba,” I say as I approach, casting a wary glance at Salim Uncle.

  “We wanted you to meet someone,” Abba says, pointing to a girl standing beside Salim Uncle. She has long, wavy black hair and she’s wearing a baby blue summer dress that goes all the way down to her ankles. She’s also almost as tall as Salim Uncle himself.

  “This my daughter,” Salim Uncle says.

  “Hey, I’m Aisha.” She waves.

  “I’m Hani.”

  “Her bhalo nam is Humaira.” Salim Uncle beams, like he couldn’t be prouder of the fact that I’m called Humaira.

  “Oh … like the nickname Prophet Muhammad gave to Aisha!” Aisha exclaims.

  “Nobody really calls me Humaira though.”

  “Her girlfriend is over there.” Salim Uncle points to where Ishu is standing by herself, looking a little lost and out of place. “I thought maybe Aisha could keep the two of you comp
any.”

  “Oh … sure,” I agree. “Come on over.” I turn and begin to lead Aisha toward where Ishu is standing.

  “So … girlfriend,” she says thoughtfully. “Brave of you to bring her here.”

  “Honestly, I didn’t think we were even telling people that,” I say. “I mean … not hiding it but not exactly showcasing it. But my dad must have told yours.”

  “You know, when Leo Varadkar became Taoiseach I thought my dad’s head might explode—a gay prime minister: He couldn’t wrap his head around that. But I feel like he’s really come around to a lot of stuff since then,” she says. “I mean, he’s sort of had to, I guess, because my brother’s gay.”

  “Yeah?” The thought of another queer Muslim in this community makes my heart fill up with joy in a way that I hadn’t quite expected.

  “Yeah! And I mean, we wouldn’t go around advertising it to everyone, you know. But my dad really likes yours … and he must really like you too.” Aisha casts me an appraising look. “My brother is about your age, I’d say. He’s going to do his Leaving next year.”

  “I’m doing my Leaving next year too!”

  She grins. “Well, I’d introduce you if he were here, but he somehow managed to wrangle his way out of coming to this thing. I think he feels a little weird sometimes … he’s still figuring things out, being Muslim and gay.”

  “Oh … well. Maybe we can talk sometime. I mean, I’m …” I trail off, unsure if I want to finish that sentence. The last time I told someone I was bisexual didn’t exactly go well. But back then, with my friends, I had so much to lose. I’ve only just met Aisha. “I’m bisexual, so maybe it won’t be the same, but …”

  “Honestly, I know when I tell him about you, he’s going to lose his shit. He’s going to be so annoyed he didn’t come today.”

  “Hey …” Ishu says hesitantly when we’re within earshot. She smiles at Aisha—and her smile doesn’t look constipated. She’s been working on that.

  “Ishu … this is Aisha, Salim Uncle’s daughter,” I say. “This is Ishu.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Aisha greets Ishu with a smile. “So, how long have the two of you been together?”

  Ishu glances at me, like she’s asking permission to talk about us. I guess nobody’s really asked us this question before—everyone at school thinks we’ve been together since the time we started fake dating, Abba and Amma finally know the truth now, and Ishu’s parents still think we’re just friends.

  “Well …” I hesitate, unsure of how to answer her question. “I guess we’ve only been together for about three weeks. But … technically we might have been together for much longer than that.”

  Aisha raises an eyebrow at the two of us. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Hang on, let’s see,” Ishu mumbles, slipping her phone out of her pocket. She taps for a few moments, and I can see the fake dating guide open on her screen. “We technically started dating six weeks ago,” she says, looking at that first picture of the two of us on our “first date.” We both look horribly awkward. “But it was fake.”

  “But our fake dating led to us realizing we liked each other for real,” I add. “And … we got together for real about three weeks ago.”

  Ishu glances away from her phone and up at me, meeting my eyes. She smiles for real this time—that smile that I’m sure is what made me fall for her in the first place. The rare one she only seems to reserve for the special people in her life.

  “Wow.” Aisha chuckles. “I thought that only happened in the movies.”

  “The movies, and us, I guess.” I loop my arm through Ishu’s, and pull her close.

  chapter fifty

  ishu

  DATING HANI FOR REAL IS WEIRD. IT’S DIFFERENT THAN dating Hani for pretend.

  Maybe because I know when Hani holds my hand now, it’s because she wants to, not because she’s trying to prove something to her friends. Because I know that Hani cares about me in the same way that I care about her. She’s also forced me to spend less time shut up in my bedroom, poring over my books and exam papers this summer—even though I keep telling her this is our last summer before the Leaving Cert—and to spend more time hanging out with her in all of the places that I have never hung out before.

  Which is how I’ve found myself at events like her parents’ mosque barbeque, and today I find myself in St. Stephen’s Green park with ice-cold bubble tea in my hand. We’re in the middle of a heatwave and there are way too many people around with their shirts off. Normally, this would annoy the fuck out of me, but with Hani in my arms, I don’t even care. I don’t want to sidle back home to the company of my books.

  “We should try crocheting!” Hani exclaims, like she’s figured out the solution to world peace. “Amma does it, and she says she finds it so calming. Plus, she always crochets me the best things.”

  “I don’t think crocheting sounds … like me,” I say. For the past few weeks, Hani has been trying to cajole me into picking up a hobby. I agreed, mostly because Hani says whatever I agree to do, she’ll do with me too. But it’s definitely not going to be crocheting.

  Hani lets out a gasp, like she’s suddenly gotten the best news of her life. She points toward the entrance of the park, where a group of musicians are setting up. “I wonder what they’ll play,” Hani whispers. There’s wonder in her eyes—as if there aren’t a bajillion buskers in Dublin at any given time, playing all kinds of music.

  They set an empty guitar case in front and begin playing an upbeat, folksy tune. Hani bobs her head side-to-side, as if this is the best music she’s heard in her entire life.

  I stifle a groan, and a roll of my eyes. I mean, the music isn’t terrible, I guess.

  “What if we started our own band?” Hani asks.

  “Can you play an instrument?” I ask.

  Hani glances at me with a little frown. “No …”

  “It’s kind of important to have musical talent to start a band.” I point out. “I mean … I can play the guitar, but—”

  “Shut up!” Hani turns to me now, and her jaw is practically on the floor.

  “I can play the guitar … badly,” I finish. “I learned a long time ago, when I was a kid. My sister and I wanted to start our own band. I don’t even know if I can play anymore. Plus … Nik was obviously a million times better than me.”

  “So, you’ll start a band with your sister but not me?” Hani sounds mortally offended at the idea.

  “Yeah, when I was a kid, Hani.” I sigh, leaning back to watch the band change into a new song. A woman with a mass of curls tosses them a coin as she passes by.

  “Did you like it?” Hani asks.

  “I guess …” I trail off, trying to remember what it felt like. It has been years and years. In that time, I’ve moved on from any fascination I had with the guitar, or music in general.

  My phone buzzes with a text in my pocket. I slip it out and read Nik’s text, an automatic groan escaping my lips. “I have to tell her,” I tell Hani.

  A smile flickers on Hani’s lips. “Well, you’ve been putting it off for a long time. It’s not going to get any easier—maybe harder, actually.”

  I lie back on the grass, feeling the heat of the sun on my skin. Hani shifts beside me until she’s lying on the grass too. Even without turning sideways, I can see the way her long, black hair spreads out all around her.

  “Imagine you tell Nik that you’ve picked up the guitar again …” Hani says after a long pause. “You’ll be better than her.”

  I grin. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

  Hani threads our fingers together until I can feel the warmth of her skin against mine. “At least not until I figure out exactly how terrible you are.”

  Ammu is in the kitchen preparing dinner when I get home. The aroma of what she’s cooking—chicken curry and rice—fills the entire house.

  “Ammu …”

  She glances up with a raised eyebrow. “You’re home. Out with Hani again?” She
doesn’t sound angry exactly, but there’s an edge to her voice. I guess she doesn’t like me spending so much time with my “friend” when I could be studying. But I don’t let the edge in her voice bother me.

  I take a deep breath, and dive right in. “Ammu, you know Nik is getting married in two weeks, right?”

  Her eyebrows furrow together at the mention of Nik’s name. I don’t think they’ve spoken in months now. “Yes,” she says with a tone of finality in her voice. She goes back to her cooking.

  “You’re really not going to go to her wedding?” I ask. “She’s your daughter … you’re going to regret it.”

  She keeps stirring the chicken curry, though I’m not sure it even needs to be stirred. I chew on my lip, trying to figure out how to say the next thing, when Ammu stops and turns back to me.

  “If I could go, I would,” she says slowly. “I can’t always do the things I want to. Your Abbu …” She shakes her head. “And anyway, he’s right. If we go now, if we support her in these ridiculous decisions, she’s going to think it’s all right. She’ll never go back to university to finish her degree.”

  “She’s not going to go back because you decide to punish her for following her own path,” I say. “She’s just … doing what makes her happy.”

  Ammu shakes her head. “We can’t always do what makes us happy. If we did, the world would not function. Do you think we came to this country because it made us happy?”

  I sigh. “It’s different, Ammu … you know it’s different … and I’m going.”

  Ammu turns to me with a glare. “No, you’re not.”

  “Nik already bought me a ticket … and Hani. We’re going together,” I say. “You don’t want to go … okay. But I’m not going to miss my only sister’s wedding, Ammu. You shouldn’t ask me to.”

  She’s still glaring at me. I’m preparing all of the arguments in my head. Hani and I have been practicing them together for weeks now—ever since we decided that I couldn’t miss Nik’s wedding, even if my parents did everything in their power to cut her out of our family.