It All Comes Back to You

by Rishi, Farah Naz

  “Amira and Dad will be here first thing in the morning, okay? We’ll talk about next steps together,” I’d said.

  Slowly, Mom began to write: That’s the only thing that’s getting me through this, Kiran. Knowing you’re all together.

  Promise me you’ll look after them.

  Thinking about it, my chest contracts.

  “Anyway, I gotta go,” says Asher, yawning. “If you need a healthy distraction, there’s always your online boyfriend.”

  I sit down at my computer and pop open the launcher for Cambria and the guild channel on Discord. But Devynius Foxx isn’t online right now.

  My heart sinks. “He’s not around.”

  “Ah, right, busy doing mysterious things that you don’t know about because you refuse to tell each other any real-life information.”

  “We don’t need to know any real info. Foxx is one of my dearest friends, and we know each other’s hearts.” And as corny as it sounds, I’m not exactly kidding; Foxx has been my rock since the day I first started playing Cambria, my emotional dumping ground. It’s hard to explain, but I can imagine his voice, clear as day against my ears. Warm and familiar.

  “Uh-huh. Okay, weirdo. I’m out.”

  “Fine. I’m gonna go play some Cambria.”

  “Hey, just think: if you actually meet Foxx one day in real life, you could have group dates with Amira and Faisal.”

  I hang up.

  Three Years Ago

  DEEN: I can’t believe you

  DEEN: who brings their Nintendo 3DS to the masjid

  DEEN: ???

  KIRAN: okay first of all

  KIRAN: you were THRILLED

  KIRAN: and second of all

  KIRAN: literally every kid under the age of 10.

  DEEN: And you, apparently

  KIRAN: and me.

  KIRAN: what can I say

  KIRAN: I was inspired.

  DEEN: you’re the weirdest person I have ever met

  DEEN: but that was probably the most fun I’ve had at an Eid dinner, ever

  KIRAN: you’re welcome

  KIRAN: next time, I’ll bring Mario Kart

  DEEN: you sure you wanna do that? :/

  KIRAN: ??

  DEEN: I mean . . .

  DEEN: I’m gonna kick your ass, so . . .

  DEEN: Dunno if you really wanna risk the embarrassment

  KIRAN: . . . oh my god

  KIRAN: you trash talking me right now, Deen Malik?

  KIRAN: are you actually trash talking me

  KIRAN: on this holy day of Eid al-Fitr???

  KIRAN: I’m gonna make you eat your words

  KIRAN: eat em like a good Muslim during iftar

  DEEN: wow Noorani, you are . . .

  KIRAN: :)

  DEEN: SO corny

  KIRAN: :(

  DEEN: But you know what

  DEEN: it’s on

  DEEN: like Donkey Kong

  KIRAN: HA

  DEEN: see you next week?

  KIRAN: more like beat you next week

  DEEN: SO CORNY

  Chapter 4

  Deen

  Friday, June 11

  “COME ON, I NEVER ASK you for anything,” Vinny whines. “When was the last time I asked you for any favors?”

  It’s the day before dinner with Faisal. I’m in Vinny’s dorm room in Rubin Hall, sitting at his desk while he’s hanging off his bed, messing with some of his remixes on his laptop. Vinny’s got a basketball net attached to his door and I like tossing the ball when my brain’s feeling jumbled.

  “At lunch today. An hour ago. You literally asked me for half my chicken tenders. And when I said no, you ate them anyway.” Swish. The ball flips right through the net. Twenty points for me. Or is it ten points? I don’t really watch sports.

  Vinny swipes the ball off the floor. “That was a favor to you and you know it. You don’t even like chicken tenders.”

  “Chicken tenders are the best thing at that goddamn excuse for a dining hall and you know it.”

  Vinny throws the ball at me. It bounces off my shoulder.

  “Come on, D-Money. I like Amy. You’ve got that magical charm. How many times do I have to ask you to help me win her over?”

  “You wanna get laid? Then just be hot and unavailable.”

  “Don’t you mean available? Why would I get with Amy if I’m unavailable?”

  My God, he’s serious. I don’t want to correct him. He’s too pure. Maybe that’s why I like hanging out with him. I met him last year, during freshman orientation. He clung to me on day one and hasn’t let go yet. But I don’t mind. He talks a lot, and sometimes it’s annoying, but sometimes it’s . . . kinda nice. He has no secrets. He’s like a dog, and I mean that in the best way. What you see is what you get. I went to dinner at his house once and his whole family’s like that: open and honest and so, so different from mine. I envy it a little.

  “Anyway, it’s not about getting, you know, laid,” Vinny mumbles. “I like her. I want to date her. And I think she feels the same way. Like, while you were getting chewed out by Professor Pryce, Raquel and Amy and I were talking on the couch, and Amy sat next to me. Not her friend. Me. And then her arm kept brushing against me, even though there was plenty more room on her side. That means something, right? That’s, like, a sign, right?”

  “Maybe? Maybe not? Look, bud, I am really not the guy to get advice from.” Don’t get me wrong; I’ve been with women—but lately, the only one I’ve thought about anything more with is Kasia. Even if she is, you know, mostly virtual.

  “Wow, so helpful.”

  It’s my turn to throw the basketball at him. “I don’t freaking know! Just talk to her. Or take Feminist Theory next semester, idiot. Maybe that’ll teach you how to read women.” Actually, I’ve been wanting to audit that class myself. Professor Johanssen is really hot.

  “I’ll take your advisement under consideration.” Vinny abandons his laptop and hugs the basketball to his chest. “But seriously, what are you so pissy about? You stressed?”

  Stressed might be a little bit of an understatement; I’m getting an ulcer just thinking about dinner tomorrow. It’s a sick joke that of all the possible people Faisal could have fallen in love with, he chose Kiran’s sister.

  The thing is, I liked her back then. A lot. Maybe more than that—maybe a lot more than that. But that was also when Faisal started acting different: ignoring my calls and texts, never coming home, snapping at Mom and Dad. Faisal had been bullied at school his whole life, and it wasn’t unusual to see him coming off the bus with new cuts and bruises. It wasn’t unusual for him to be a little closed off. But this was beyond that. Once he left for college, it was like something in him finally cracked. Like all the cuts and bruises he thought he’d shaken off over the years had given rise to an infection, deep within him. That was when my parents started insisting I attend the local Sunday school, probably as a precautionary measure to ensure I, at the very least, would stay in line. They probably just wanted to feel like they were still in control of something. Of someone.

  Kiran was a welcome distraction, a tiny flame that brought me comfort while the cold whipped at my back. Until that day three years ago, when the accident happened and everything went to shit, and we had to pack up and leave. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. I couldn’t. Because saying goodbye would mean having to give her an explanation, and I sure as hell couldn’t tell her the truth and risk putting Faisal in the cross fire. And lying, well—Kiran was always pretty good about seeing through my bullshit.

  So yeah, forgive me if I’m a little stressed about seeing her tomorrow.

  “Question . . . ,” I say carefully. “If you found out someone who potentially holds a grudge against you was standing between you and the happiness of someone you care about, what would you do?”

  Vinny’s eyebrows float. “Depends on how bad the grudge.”

  “Er, unclear.”

  Vinny bites his lip and gets uncharacteristically quiet, lik
e he’s deep in thought. I smile, imagining a tiny Vinny-like dog inside his head, running on a hamster wheel.

  “My mom always says honey catches more flies than vinegar,” he finally answers, shrugging. “All you can do is pick up the pieces and smooth things over as best you can. Dial up that magical charm of yours. Could be they don’t even hate you as much as you think.”

  I wouldn’t be surprised if Kiran hated me; any normal person would after being ghosted like that. Then again, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d forgotten all about it, either. She was always tough, definitely tougher than me; I’ve watched her chase a boy after he threw a monkey ball at her back, tackle him to the ground behind the Sunday school, then act like nothing happened. Me leaving probably didn’t even make a dent. For Faisal’s sake, I hope that’s the case.

  “Hey, is this one of those hypotheticals that aren’t really hypotheticals—”

  “But I don’t elaborate because I don’t want to talk about it?” I finish. “Yep, one of those.”

  Vinny grins. “Not like you to stress over someone like that.”

  “Haven’t really been myself lately.”

  I shake my head violently, clearing away the thoughts. I’m being stupid. How I feel doesn’t matter. What Kiran thinks about me now doesn’t matter. All I need to worry about is making sure tomorrow’s meeting runs smoothly, that my past mistakes don’t do anything—literally—to fuck this up for Faisal. If Kiran does hate me, then I’ll just have to smooth things over as best I can, like Vinny said. I’m sure Kiran’s over it, anyway. After all, it’s been three whole years. Everything will be fine.

  Vinny’s trying to balance the ball on his finger. “Anyway, I was thinking something more direct with Amy. Like catch her at the next party, ask her out to lunch. Or asking straight up how she feels.”

  I stand and stretch. I should probably go to the gym, run this tension off. Otherwise, I’ll risk looking like the shrimpy one in the family next to Faisal. Unacceptable.

  “The problem with asking direct questions is it means you’ll get a direct answer and be disappointed. Sometimes it’s just better to ride the wave, take what you can get.” My shoulders let out a satisfying crack. “The last thing you want to do is come off as desperate.”

  The ball falls off Vinny’s finger, and he watches it roll. “I don’t know. Sometimes I don’t think it’s such a bad thing. Being desperate. Just means you want something so bad, you can’t even hide it.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not really my style.”

  “Your loss,” he says with an uncharacteristically knowing smile, one that almost tempts me into asking what he means, before he turns his attention back to the remix on his laptop.

  Loading

  [CAMBRIA: THE EVOLUTION EXPANSION PACK]

  [ROANA GUILD CHAT ROOM]

  * * *

  Kasia Coribund: THERE YOU ARE.

  Kasia Coribund: Quick, I need good excuses to not go to a Thing

  Devynius Foxx: Sorry, sorry

  Devynius Foxx: Some stuff came up

  Devynius Foxx: Now, do you need excuses for a Real World thing or a Cambria thing?

  Kasia Coribund: A real world thing.

  Devynius Foxx: Your dog died.

  Kasia Coribund: I don’t have a dog, first of all

  Kasia Coribund: and second of all, morbid much??

  Devynius Foxx: Okay how about

  Devynius Foxx: you sprained your ankle

  Devynius Foxx: you lost your voice

  Devynius Foxx: you caught a highly contagious monkey flu

  Kasia Coribund: what’s a monkey flu?

  Devynius Foxx: no idea

  Kasia Coribund: let me rephrase the question

  Kasia Coribund: I need a good PLAUSIBLE excuse

  Kasia Coribund: preferably one that doesn’t involve me being hurt or sick

  Devynius Foxx: okay, okay

  Devynius Foxx: you went to the wrong location

  Devynius Foxx: and have now found yourself stranded in Timbuktu

  Kasia Coribund: how do you know I don’t actually live in Timbuktu?

  Devynius Foxx: Have YOU ever met anyone from Timbuktu?

  Kasia Coribund: No, but . . .

  Devynius Foxx: Exactly.

  Devynius Foxx: how about you had class?

  Devynius Foxx: and you got stuck so you tried to sneak out early?

  Devynius Foxx: but the professor—ho boy, that eagle-eyed professor

  Devynius Foxx: he’s a hard man to avoid.

  Kasia Coribund: . . . I don’t have classes right now

  Devynius Foxx: Consider yourself lucky then.

  Devynius Foxx: Okay, last option: tell them you needed to talk to your best friend

  Devynius Foxx: because he is a clingy bastard who gets lonely when you’re not around

  Devynius Foxx: and would much appreciate your company.

  Kasia Coribund: Heh. I’ll try that.

  Kasia Coribund: Ugh, gotta go.

  Kasia Coribund: Wish me luck.

  Devynius Foxx: You and me both.

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  Kiran

  Saturday, June 12

  I’VE NEVER DREADED THE WEEKEND more than I do right now. But I promised Amira I’d meet Faisal, and Saturday comes whether I want it or not. I get ready and ride the Amtrak in a daze—Amira bought my ticket to spare me from the Chinatown Bus—and eventually arrive at some fancy Italian restaurant in Midtown that’s all dim lights and violins and it makes me and my wallet sweat.

  A lanky maître d’ with a well-oiled mustache greets me at the door with a painfully slow up-and-down look of derision. “Can I help you?” he asks like someone who has no interest in helping. To be fair, I do look a little out of place; I had enough sense to wear actual pants instead of sweats, but with my short hair sticking out at odd angles, it probably looks like I crawled out of a sewer and was promptly electrocuted.

  I look over his shoulder and find Amira sitting in a round booth, talking animatedly. Laughing. With a pillar blocking my view, though, I can’t see who she’s with.

  But it’s more than one person.

  My stomach free-falls, and I almost barf.

  Amira spots me, and for a moment I feel like I’m my character on Cambria, when I’ve accidentally aggro’d way more mobs than I can take on alone, which often results in me full-on sprinting in game while Foxx laughs and the real me screams at my monitor. But before I can decide how to make my strategic retreat, Amira stands so suddenly that she bumps the table. She’s not wearing her glasses today, and she’s in a flowery skirt that reaches her ankles and a white peasant top that makes her look like she’s about to break into song about this provincial life. She waves me over, grinning ear to ear.

  I give a little wave back and the maître d’ begrudgingly lets me through.

  Please don’t be here, please don’t be here, I beg as I trudge toward Amira’s table, my jaw clenched so tightly that my teeth are throbbing. My eyes are fixed on the pillar, waiting for it to reveal him. Dreading that it will. What’s the point of closure if the universe is determined to open chapters that should stay closed?

  Closer. Closer.

  But it’s . . . not Deen.

  My legs almost collapse beneath me. I’m relieved; there was a chance Deen would show up, I knew, but I don’t think I’m ready. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.

  I recognize the man sitting beside Amira immediately, only because he looks so strikingly like Deen. He’s Deen, only not; even though he’s sitting, it’s clear he’s massive—like two hundred pounds of muscle massive—with biceps the size of small honeydews and a light beard peppering his jawline. It’s like someone crossed Deen with the Hulk. But the family resemblance is there. He has the same messy pile of dark curls for hair, the same tawny, copper-kissed skin and warm brown eyes.

  Faisal Malik.

  Across them sits a young, handsome Black guy wearing a suit like he just got out of work; he’s loosened his t
ie and wears an affable smile. I don’t recognize him, but he is a vast improvement over Deen—reason number one being that he is not, in fact, Deen.

  Amira hugs me and pecks my cheek. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Yeah, of course.” I smile.

  Behind her, Faisal doesn’t get to his feet to greet me. He eyes me, briefly, and looks away.

  Okay, rude.

  The Black guy immediately gets to his feet and extends his hand toward me. “Salaam. I’m Haris Ibrahim,” he says as I shake his hand.

  “Just tagging along for moral support.” He glances at Faisal. “I’m Faisal’s friend from college. This dazed and confused zombie and I go way back.”

  Faisal blinks a couple of times, as if waking from a nap, and jerks to a stand. “Oh, uh.”

  He wipes his hand on his pants, then reaches toward me, as if approaching a flame. His hand is trembling. “Assalamu alaikum,” he says with a perfect Arabic accent, soft like a breeze through leaves. “It’s, uh, good to finally meet you, Kiran.”

  I take his hand. It’s warm and gentle. And, if I’m being honest, a little moist.

  “Walaikumu assalam. Likewise,” I reply stiffly. The smile on my face feels so painfully artificial that it burns my cheeks trying to sustain it.

  He blinks again and retreats to his seat; Amira takes her seat next to him.

  There’s an open space next to Haris, but I sidle in next to my sister in the round booth, forcing Faisal to scooch closer to Haris and make room for me. A waiter brings in some fresh bread and herbed butter, and Amira and I waste no time snatching a couple of rolls.

  “Sorry my brother’s not here,” Faisal mumbles. “Deen’s got summer classes, so . . .”

  Hearing his name aloud sends a jolt through me. I break my roll in half.

  “I’ll catch him eventually. Where does he go again?” Amira asks between mouthfuls of bread.

  “NYU.” I can’t tell if it’s a smile or a grimace, but Faisal’s mouth turns up slightly at the corners.

  “Oooh, smart boy. What’s he studying?”

  “He’s . . . not sure yet,” Faisal responds. “Still figuring things out, I think.”