Ayesha leaned back against the headrest of her car and gripped the steering wheel. This was not the way things were supposed to happen. Calm, clear, drama free. Nothing about Khalid was any of those things. Even thinking about being with him made her heart race and her palms break out in a sweat.
She thought about how comfortable and excited she had felt sitting next to Khalid in the parking lot, the occasional hum of a train leaving the station nearby a buffer from the rest of the world. Their voices low and soft, faces illuminated by a lone street lamp. After they had eaten the last Twinkie and drunk the last of their slushies, they had walked to her car. Even then they’d lingered, not wanting to leave.
“When will I see you again?” he asked, leaning on her car window.
Ayesha smiled up at him. “At the next meeting. We have a conference to plan.”
“And when the conference is over?”
“Then we’ll see,” she said. Their eyes locked and the air around them grew still.
“Inshallah,” he said, straightening. God willing.
She felt light-headed even now, remembering the hungry way he had looked at her. She hadn’t felt this loose-limbed and powerful since the last time she’d performed her poetry, onstage at Bella’s. The night they had first met.
Ayesha parked her car in the driveway, a dreamy smile on her face as she walked up to her porch. Hafsa opened the front door.
“What are you doing here?” Ayesha asked. “Is everything okay?”
Her cousin enveloped her in a hug. “I have a surprise for you!” She led Ayesha into the living room, where the rest of her family was sitting. There was a festive air in the room, and boxes of sweets were being passed around. Sulaiman Mamu embraced Nana, and even her mother was smiling. Idris was videotaping everyone, while Nani sat in the back corner, her face inscrutable.
“What’s going on?” Ayesha asked.
Hafsa’s face glowed. “I’m so happy.”
Samira Aunty came up to them. “Hafsa is engaged!” she said. “The first wedding in the family!”
Ayesha smiled so broadly, her face hurt. She was happy for everyone tonight. “Who’s the lucky guy?” she asked.
“It is a good match,” Samira Aunty said. “He is twenty-six years old, works in computers and comes from a well-respected family. You don’t know him—his name is Khalid Mirza.”
Ayesha stopped breathing.
“Remember that crazy rishta with the two aunties who asked me all those questions?” Hafsa said. She had a smug, satisfied expression on her face. “Her son is Khalid. She called me a few days ago to apologize, and then she talked to Mom and Dad, and they really hit it off. When they showed me his picture, I just knew he was the one!”
Ayesha sat down beside Nana. “I don’t understand. You’ve never met him?”
“We’ll meet at the engagement party on Sunday. The most important thing is, I’m getting married!”
Ayesha’s mother sat down beside her, nibbling on a chum chum, a milky dessert dyed bright pink. She leaned over and whispered, “Khalid’s family is extremely wealthy. They own land in India, and real estate all over Canada.”
Ayesha’s head spun. Khalid was rich? He always wore the same three robes, and the car he drove was even older and rustier than her own. She stood up and walked into the kitchen.
Nani followed her. She silently filled a glass with water and handed it to Ayesha. “What did Nana tell you the other day?” she asked her granddaughter.
Ayesha shook her head, eyes filling with tears. “He said a lot of things.”
“What he said in the park: There is nothing worse than watching your loved ones suffer. Choose laughter over tears.” Nani was grim-faced.
Ayesha tried to laugh, but it turned into a sob. “It’s fine. I’m shocked, that’s all. I just saw Khalid, and he said . . . and then to come home and find out that he belongs to Hafsa—” her voice broke, and she buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking silently.
Nani placed one warm hand on Ayesha’s arm but otherwise made no move to comfort her. She waited until Ayesha had stopped shaking and passed her a slightly damp paper towel.
“Khalid does not belong to Hafsa. He does not belong to you either. He belongs to Allah, and Allah is the One who will determine your young man’s fate, as well as yours.” Nani looked determined, eyes unflinching. “Now you must do a very difficult thing. I know you can do it, because all your life you have done very difficult things. I want you to walk back into that room and congratulate Hafsa. Smile and hug her, as an older sister should.”
“I can’t,” Ayesha whispered.
Nani placed her other hand on Ayesha’s arm and gripped her, hard. “Allah kassam, I will find out what happened. I promise. Please, do as I say.”
Ayesha wiped her eyes and smiled, lips trembling. She tried again, and her smile looked slightly more genuine. She walked back into the living room, ready to greet her family, mask firmly in place.
AFTER Ayesha left the parking lot, Khalid stood staring after her car for a few moments, his heart light. He felt such an unfamiliar joy. He walked to where his car was parked, at the back of the lot, and pulled out the woven prayer rug that he kept in the trunk. Laying it flat on the grass beside the curb, he prayed two rakats, or units, of prayer. He felt the need to mark this moment. He needed to turn his face toward his Creator and give thanks for his life, and for the serendipitous series of events that had led him to Hafsa.
It was close to ten o’clock when Khalid pulled into the driveway of his house, and he cut the engine. He sat in the dark and relished the tiny ember of happiness in his chest.
Khalid had ignored the part of his life that others filled with relationships, biding his time until marriage to experience love, companionship and the other perks of coupled life. In the meantime, work and the mosque helped to distract him from his single existence.
Now Khalid considered an alternate possibility. He pictured Hafsa once more. Sitting beside him in the parking lot, her dark eyes shining in the dim evening, the gentle and sometimes not-so-gentle way she teased him. The way her voice had softened the longer they talked, so he had to move even closer to her. Her black hijab had been coming loose on one side and he wondered what her hair looked like, whether it was long and flowing and softly scented like the rest of her. She smelled like jasmine and coconut. The urge to touch her had made him dizzy.
Khalid had never felt this way about anyone else. This tumbling, this lightening, this easing. Was this what it felt like to fall in love? It was so different than what he had expected. For the first time in his life, he could imagine what it must feel like to be drunk and completely unbalanced.
All the lights were on when he opened the front door and Farzana was waiting for him in the living room, along with Aliyah Aunty and a few other women he didn’t recognize. His mother welcomed him, beaming, and he grinned back, pleased she looked so happy.
“Khalid, where have you been? I have glorious news!”
“I had dinner with a friend. Actually, I have some news too.”
Farzana waved his words away. “I found you the perfect wife. You’re engaged to be married!”
Khalid was blinded by a flash of light. Aliyah Aunty grinned behind her cell phone. “Posted to Facebook,” she said. “Congratulations, Farzana!”
“What?” he asked, staring stupidly, but his mother was surrounded by her friends, who crowded around with words of congratulations and suggestions for banquet halls and jewellers.
“Mubarak. I know you and Hafsa will be very happy,” Aliyah Aunty said beside him.
Khalid’s heart, which felt like it had stopped beating, began to thud in his chest. “What?” he repeated.
“Your Ammi and I went to see her a few weeks ago. Didn’t you know? Maybe Farzana wanted to surprise you.”
“I’m surprised,” Khalid said. He felt behind him for the sofa and sat down.
“Their home is so beautiful. Farzana was a little concerned that Hafsa wa
s too old for you, but I told her it would be a good match.”
Khalid tried smiling. “I’m engaged to Hafsa,” he said out loud, and the words sounded so sweet in his ears that he said it again. “I’m engaged to Hafsa!”
Farzana came up to them. “The engagement party will be Sunday,” she told Khalid. “You will meet her for the first time then.”
Khalid didn’t tell his mother he had already met his future wife, or that he had come home tonight to tell her that he didn’t want to be with anyone else. “Yes, Ammi,” he said instead. His heart felt too big for his chest.
Farzana patted her son on the arm. “You are all I have left in this world, my most precious possession. I have chosen a bride who will make us both very happy.” Farzana’s eyes filled with tears and her lips trembled. Khalid embraced her, and Aliyah Aunty snapped another picture. “I promise you will be happy, Allah kassam,” Farzana said. “As long as you listen to me. I know what is best for you.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Khalid should have been miserable at work, but instead he couldn’t stop smiling. Even though Sheila had effectively demoted him from e-commerce manager to website developer, the sort of job performed by new graduates, he was too happy to feel the sting of humiliation. He had spent all week inputting data, and the only thing left was layout design. He was leaning toward brown and mustard yellow for the colours of the website, with a black background. Hafsa said black was classy.
The thought of Hafsa made him grin. His fiancée, Hafsa, thought black was classy. His fiancée, Hafsa, had excellent taste.
Clara spotted Khalid as he sat on the front steps of the Livetech building during the lunch hour and walked over. She asked him how work was going.
“Nothing has changed. I’m still designing a website for WomenFirst Design and Sheila still hates me,” he said with a smile.
Clara sat down beside Khalid, tucking her knees under her. “Sheila hates everyone. She makes her assistant cry daily. Yesterday she fired three people in accounting because she was mad at her hairstylist. But she won’t fire you. I’m not sure what you did, but your new lingerie clients love you.”
“It is a mystery,” Khalid said. “Let me ask you something. Do you think yellow and brown are ugly colours for a website?”
“Yes.”
“What about orange and green?” Khalid said. “Purple and yellow?”
Clara winced. “Listen, I want to apologize for dinner last night. I’m so embarrassed.”
“There is no need. How are you and Rob?”
“I don’t know. I’m afraid Rob doesn’t even know why I’m pissed.” Clara’s laughter was hollow. “Your arranged marriage idea is starting to sound really sensible. At least both parties know where they’re headed.”
“The Prophet Muhammad’s wife Khadijah proposed to him,” Khalid said. “She was fifteen years older, a rich widow, and they were happily married for decades. I think he liked her confidence.” Khalid smiled again, eyes dreamy. Clara blinked at him.
“Have you talked to your friend today?” Khalid asked her, and Clara shook her head. “Maybe you should call her,” Khalid said. “Maybe she has news she is waiting to tell you.”
Clara’s cell phone pinged with another angry email from Sheila and she rose, reluctantly, and took her leave.
Khalid’s excitement made it hard for him to concentrate when he returned to his desk. He decided to write Zareena a quick email:
Salams. I didn’t want you to hear this from anyone else. I’m engaged! To that girl I was telling you about, Hafsa Shamsi! Ammi arranged the whole thing, without even knowing how I felt. You were right, Z, I do like her. A lot. The way things worked out, I know it was meant to be. I’m really happy. I’m even happier because Ammi arranged the entire thing!
Life is good. God is great. Allahu Akbar!
Khalid settled in to work, checking emails and fiddling with the website. Maybe lime green and electric orange? His cell phone beeped.
K,
Congrats! I didn’t tell you before, but I heard Ammi was on the prowl for a docile little wifey for you. In fact, the aunties in my neighbourhood asked for your picture to post on their rishta database. I gave them one from your third birthday party. You’re naked and stuffing chocolate cake in your mouth. Iqram didn’t think it was a good idea, but I thought the picture really captured your eyes.
Khalid’s eye caught on the unfamiliar name—Iqram? That was the name of his sister’s husband. Zareena never referred to him in her emails. He continued reading.
Also, I looked up Hafsa on Facebook. She doesn’t really seem like your type, but what do I know? The last time I saw you, you were a sad, awkward fourteen-year-old boy who didn’t talk to women. I’m sure you’re completely different now.
—Z
P.S. Drivers who signal when they want to make a lane change.
P.P.S. You might not hear from me for the next few days. I’m going on a trip. I promise I’ll be in touch soon.
Khalid read the letter again, his eyes lingering on the name Iqram. Maybe this was a good sign. He looked around the office, noticing the quiet for the first time. Amir was sitting at his desk, staring intently at his monitor.
“I have some news for you,” Khalid said, walking up behind Amir’s desk. “Are you free Sunday?”
“Are we going to Bella’s again? I knew you’d love it!”
“No, I’m inviting you to my . . .” Khalid’s voice trailed off as he looked at Amir’s computer. “What are you doing?” he asked, horrified.
There was a picture of a fully veiled Muslim woman looking coyly out from the screen. Beside her stood a woman in a translucent string bikini.
“I wanted to show you this amazing website. It’s called unveiledhotties.com and all the women on it are Muslim. The whole site is full of women who wear hijab in real life, and if you click a button, you can see what they look like with their hijabs off. Some take off even more, if you’re interested. But it’s totally halal,” Amir hurried to assure Khalid. “If you like what you see, you can email the administrator of the website and ask for the girl’s hand in marriage.”
Amir scrolled to a pretty woman wearing an innocent expression and a pink hijab. He clicked on it and all of a sudden the woman was looking lasciviously at the camera, one hand cupping a voluptuous naked breast. Khalid closed his eyes and turned away.
“This is completely inappropriate, especially at work. You could get fired for this!” Khalid said.
“It’s not for me,” Amir said, sounding wounded. “I get enough action. I was thinking about you. You know what Prophet Muhammad said: ‘You’re not truly a Muslim until you want for your brother what you want for yourself.’”
“I’m pretty sure the Prophet did not mean pornography!”
“It’s not porn. It’s a matrimonial service. I know how hung up you are on all that no-dating, marriage-only stuff.”
The reminder of marriage put a smile back on Khalid’s face. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to tell you. I’m engaged! My mom picked out the perfect person for me. Remember Clara’s friend from Bella’s?”
“Mo said that chick was frigid.”
Khalid gave Amir a warning look. “The engagement is Sunday. I’d like you to be there.”
Amir closed the window on the website and looked at his friend. “Are you for real? I can’t believe you did it—you actually got an arranged marriage. Mubarak and congrats! But I still think you should have a backup plan, in case things don’t work out.”
Usually this type of conversation would irritate Khalid, but nothing could dampen his good spirits today. In his own way, Amir was trying to be nice.
Khalid settled down to work on the WomenFirst webpage, but his thoughts continually drifted to Hafsa. He wondered what she was doing now. Maybe she was thinking about him and their life together too.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Nana sat at the kitchen table reading the newspaper while Nani loaded the dishwasher. It was nine in t
he morning and they were alone in the house. Ayesha and Idris were already gone for the day, and Saleha had not yet returned from her night shift at the hospital.
The only sound in the kitchen was the rustle of the newspaper. Nani, deep in thought, looked at her husband. “Nasir, I must go to the mosque,” she said.
“The bus runs every fifteen minutes, Laik,” Nana said. He peeked over the paper, eyes twinkling at his wife of over fifty years.
“Hafsa’s engagement was too quick,” she said, ignoring her husband. He loved to tease her and it was no use encouraging him.
“‘Better three hours too soon than a minute too late,’” Nana quoted.
Nani paused in her cleanup. “Nasir, are you listening to me? Something is not right about this situation. I feel it in my knees. I was there when Farzana first saw Hafsa. She showed no interest in her at all.”
Nana sipped his chai, his face unconcerned. “You didn’t want Saleha to marry Syed because they’d known each other for too long. Now you don’t want your granddaughter to marry this boy Khalid because she hasn’t known him for long enough. If Hafsa is happy with her arrangement, who are we to interfere?”
Nani shook her head. She remembered Farzana’s strange rishta visit, her deep antipathy to Ayesha. Farzana and her friend Aliyah had levelled a barrage of nosy questions at Hafsa and then left the house after only thirty minutes. Their rude dismissal of her granddaughters had left Nani in a foul temper for days afterwards. She had no idea how such an engagement could possibly have come about—and so suddenly, with no word of warning to her or Nasir!
For the engagement to take place so soon after that strange cooking lesson was enough to raise her suspicions. Khalid and Ayesha had not stopped staring at each other while they rolled out their parathas; it was clear they were quietly falling in love. Had Farzana clued in and decided to do something about it?
She did not know Farzana well, as she was new to the neighbourhood and to the mosque community. But from their brief interaction during the rishta visit, Laik had formed a clear picture of the woman’s character. If Farzana suspected her only son was in danger of finding his own wife, she would consider it an attack on the very soul of her family traditions.
Ayesha At Last Page 16
