by Sabina Khan
“What are you saying?”
“I broke up with her last night.” I began to sob and Shaila moved to wrap her arms around me. I felt empty inside, and the worst part of it was that I had done this to myself. Even though I knew it was the right thing to do, Ariana’s voice kept echoing through my head.
Do I get to have a say in all this?
I had decided for the both of us, and if I had made the wrong choice, then she would pay for my mistake.
After I calmed down a little, I washed my face to get rid of any telltale signs. The last thing I wanted to do was make my parents suspicious.
“I know that you’re upset right now,” Shaila said. “But please don’t lose hope.”
“Do you think I could see a picture of him?”
Sohail and I were back at Arirang House, the Korean place where we had our first date. We had ordered a tabletop sizzler of assorted seafood. I stirred the pieces around on the grill, my mouth watering from the tantalizing aroma of the spices.
He handed me his cell phone. Mushtaq’s smiling face looked back at me. Some stubble, dark eyes crinkled with laughter, and the same hairstyle as Sohail. I smiled as I gave him his phone back.
“Oh, he’s cute!” I said. “I hope I can meet him some day.”
He nodded. “Your turn,” he said, holding out his hand for my phone.
I hesitated, then looked down at my phone. My wallpaper was a picture of Ariana and me, taken last Christmas at her house. We were both smiling into the camera, my arms around her from behind. We’d just started seeing each other, the glow of newfound love still fresh in our eyes.
I handed him the phone, wondering what he would say if he knew I’d broken up with her. But I couldn’t tell him yet. Saying it out loud to him would make it real again.
So I said nothing, watching him silently as he looked up from the phone.
“She’s beautiful,” he said softly. Then he raised his glass of water. “Here’s to all of us getting together one day soon.”
I could toast to that.
For the first time in weeks, I was actually kind of happy.
But something felt off. I didn’t notice the men at the table in the corner at first. Being stared at wasn’t unusual here, and I had to get used to it again whenever I came to Bangladesh. But there was something in the way they were staring that felt malicious somehow. Not the usual undressing with the eyes deal.
“Sohail.” I nudged him gently under the table. “Don’t turn around, but I think those guys are staring at us.”
He nodded and then discreetly turned, pretending to look for the waiter. Then he signaled for the waiter to come to our table. When he looked at me again his face was ashen.
“Rukhsana, we should leave.”
“Do you know those guys? Who are they?”
The waiter came over and Sohail asked him to pack up our food to go.
“Let’s get out of here. We can go to my office and eat there. It’s pretty close by.” He paid the bill when our packed-up food arrived, and we left. The entire time I could feel eyes on me, watching our every move.
“Who were they?” I asked as he pulled up in front of a tall office building.
“Just some guys who like to make trouble wherever they go.” Sohail’s office was on the fourth floor, a set of glass doors leading into a large, open area with desks arranged along one wall. He led me to a private office in the back and I set the food down on a small table in the corner.
“Are they dangerous?”
“Yes, they belong to a group that dabbles in extremist beliefs. They’ve threatened some friends of mine before.”
“Did they hurt them?”
“No, but the threats were pretty bad. My friends had to go into hiding for a while. You can’t be too careful.”
My stomach reminded me that we hadn’t eaten yet. I began to unpack the food and Sohail disappeared down the hall. He returned a few minutes later with plates and silverware.
“Rukhsana, there’s something else you need to know about me,” he said, helping himself to some food.
I was already eating, so I just waited for him to continue.
“I have a website where I write about some very polarizing topics.”
“Like what?”
“Mainly LGBTQ issues, but also religion and politics. You know, all the fun stuff.”
“I see. That must upset a lot of people.”
He bit his lip before replying.
“Well, there are a lot of freethinking individuals in Bangladesh. But there are also those who would like to take us back to the Stone Age.”
I nodded. Thanks to my parents’ regular social functions, I was usually on top of Bangladeshi current affairs.
“Do you think those guys at the restaurant recognized you?”
“I’m fairly sure they did,” Sohail said. “I mean, to be honest, I think they’re just trying to intimidate me. But I didn’t want to take any chances, so I thought it would be better if we left.”
“Are there a lot of people who follow your website?” I was curious, because judging by the way my parents and their friends talked about gay people, I wouldn’t expect a lot of people in a Muslim-majority country to be sympathetic to Sohail’s views.
“I think I have about twenty thousand weekly readers,” he said. “There are many intellectuals here who believe in a secular Bangladesh and don’t approve of extremist views.”
“That’s really surprising,” I said. “Whenever I hear Bangladeshis talk about this stuff, it’s always so homophobic.”
“There’s a lot of that here too, obviously,” he said. “But not everyone thinks the same way, especially among the younger generation. Fortunately, enough people want to see things change and want to make it a better place for everyone. But that’s going to take a very long time.”
We finished our food quietly after that and then he drove me home. Mom and Dad were watching a Bollywood movie when I walked in.
“Did you and Sohail have a nice dinner, ammu?” Mom said. “Where did you go?”
“Arirang,” I said, marveling at the change in her demeanor. She was like a different person. All because she thought I was marrying the right guy.
“You should ask him to come for dinner tomorrow. There is so little time left before the wedding, we want to get to know him better while we can.” I nodded and went up to my room. It had been a long day and I needed sleep.
Because Sohail’s family wanted the wedding to take place so soon, everything had to move fast. There would be several different ceremonies leading up to the wedding. I would have to get through them all before I could make my escape. At least I’d be able to spend more time with Sohail until then. I genuinely liked him and felt like we were growing closer.
When I walked into the living room, Mom was on the phone talking to Parveen about the exchange of gifts that would take place during the engagement ceremony and the wedding. She was relieved that Sohail’s family didn’t believe in dowries, so instead both Sohail and I would receive one or two expensive gifts from each other’s parents. I overheard something about a gold watch, so I assumed I would be getting heavy gold jewelry as well.
On the dining table, an array of velveteen boxes lay open, displaying their glittering contents. I hadn’t noticed the man in a chair in the corner until now. Mom waved me over and covered the mouthpiece of the receiver with her hand.
“Rukhsana, the jewelry store has sent over these for you to pick from. Parveen says they have the best selection. You can pick three or four that you like, okay?”
She went back to her conversation while I looked at the accessories on the table, stunned by the excessiveness of the situation. There were gorgeous earring and necklace sets with matching bracelets, all made of 22-carat gold. A bride would typically wear at least four or five of these sets on the wedding day. The front of her torso would be dripping with gold, placed carefully to display the families’ wealth to their guests. I’d been to one wedding where the
bride had run out of earlobes and decided to wear the rest of her earrings dangling in her hair.
I watched with a detached fascination as my mom bargained with the jewelry store employee, attempting to negotiate the cheapest possible price for the three pieces I’d picked out. Finally, after copious amounts of chai and singharas, money exchanged hands and the man left with the remaining jewelry.
Next my mother began calling all her extended relatives with the wedding announcement and an invitation to come by and visit as soon as they were able. This was a long-standing tradition by which the bride’s family was able to show off their wealth. And it was all accomplished without openly bragging about the gold they were sending with their daughters.
As expected, hordes of visitors descended upon the house throughout the day to congratulate me, but more to see how well the foreign returned family was doing.
While Mom was flitting around being social, Sohail called and asked if I was free for dinner to meet some of his friends. Of course I was, and I had no doubt that Mom would happily let me go.
Half an hour later I was in Sohail’s car as we drove to his friend’s house.
“I thought you might like to meet some of my friends who help me run the website.”
“I’d love to meet them. But do they know about …”
“Yes, they do. I told them everything.” He threw a quick glance in my direction before returning his attention to the road again. “Well, not everything, of course. Just enough so they know.”
“Do they think it’s weird what we’re doing?” Not that it mattered, but I was curious how supportive his friends were about his fake marriage plans.
“Not even a little bit. They totally get it. A lot of them are in the same situation. We all have to be really careful so no one finds out what we’re involved in.”
We were stopped at a red light and I looked at his face in profile.
“Does it ever scare you? You know, doing something that incites so much anger and violence in people?”
“Every minute of every day.” He smiled and reached out to touch my hand. “Are you worried about me? That’s so sweet. And here I thought you only wanted me for my body. Literally. I thought you only wanted a body for the wedding.” He laughed at his own joke and I couldn’t help but smile. He was also incredibly sweet, and I was so happy that fate had brought him into my life. Even if it was in the shittiest of moments.
“I’m glad you think you’re so hilarious, but I’m serious. What if something happened to you? What about Mushtaq? Doesn’t he worry?”
I’d be terrified if Ariana were involved in something that could potentially get her killed.
“He does, of course. But he knows how important this is. He was there when we started all this. But he’s definitely glad I’m getting out.”
“Are you going to continue writing after you’re in the US?”
He pulled into a wide driveway and turned off the engine.
“Yes, I am. The good thing is that I can do so much more if I’m not constantly having to look over my shoulder.”
“And your parents have absolutely no idea that you’re involved in all this?”
Sohail shook his head as we stepped out of the car. He leaned against the hood, staring up into the night sky, a dark blanket dotted with thousands of tiny, sparkling lights. I followed his gaze and wondered if Ariana and I would ever stand like this together again and look up at the stars. There were moments such as these when I wondered if I was fighting a battle I could never win. If it wouldn’t be easier just to accept my circumstances and allow myself to flow along wherever the tide took me. But then I imagined myself a few years later, a hollowed-out version of myself, the very essence of me drained, until there was nothing left of what made me Rukhsana. And then I knew I could never allow that to happen. Even if Ariana never forgave me.
“Ready to go in?” Sohail smiled disarmingly and pulled me close into an unexpected hug. I stiffened at first, but it felt so good to be in the arms of someone who actually cared and accepted me for who I was.
He pulled back a little and looked me deep in the eyes.
“We’re going to get through this together, okay?”
“It doesn’t feel like it right now.” I breathed in deeply, inhaling the sweet and heady scent of the jasmine that filled the night air.
“Trust me, Rukhsana, I will make sure that you get out of here. No matter what.” He sounded so sure. Some of his confidence seeped into me, allowing my body to relax a little.
“So, are we going inside or what?” I stepped back and touched his cheek. “Thanks for, you know, everything,” I said softly. “I don’t think I could get through this without you.”
He dazzled me with another smile then and took me by the hand as we walked to the front door.
We entered the air-conditioned interior of his friend’s house and I was immediately enveloped by the fragrance of meat baking in a tandoor oven. The smell of garlic, onion, and cumin made my mouth water.
A short man about Sohail’s age approached us.
“Sohail Bhai, you made it,” he said, his voice friendly and booming. He turned to me. “And you must be Rukhsana. I’m Omar. I’m so happy you could come tonight. We’ve all been eager to meet you.”
I blushed a little at the thought that Sohail had been discussing me with his friends.
“Thanks for having me. It’s so nice to meet you,” I said, taking in the elaborate décor of Omar’s house. There were intricately embroidered nakshi kanthas hanging on the walls and earthen pots standing in various corners in the foyer.
“Something smells amazing,” Sohail said as Omar led us inside.
“Everything is prepared. We were just waiting for you both to arrive before we sat down to eat.” He called out in Bengali to a young man to set out the food.
Two other men were in the living room, one playing a tabla set while the other coaxed beautiful sounds from a sitar. After they introduced themselves we were ready to eat. I was elated to see a variety of kebabs on platters, with hot, buttery naan, sliced red onions, and raita spread out on the dining room table. My stomach groaned from hunger and I realized I hadn’t eaten anything all day aside from some sweets this morning.
“So, you all started this website together?” I asked between bites of seekh kebab and naan.
Omar nodded. “Actually, Hassan over here came back to Dhaka after finishing his undergraduate degree in Texas a few years ago, and this was all his brainchild.”
Hassan smiled bashfully as he helped himself to another piece of naan.
“Omar Bhai, you’re being too nice. If it wasn’t for you and Zahir, I don’t think I would’ve been able to get the website or magazine going.”
Zahir looked like he was a few years older than the rest of the group. I gathered from the affectionate glance he threw Hassan that they were together.
“I didn’t know you also had a magazine,” I said. “That’s so cool.”
“Yes, we started it after we got a lot of requests from the community for articles and resources on issues that concern us,” Hassan said. “We couldn’t really find those anywhere else before.”
“And how did you all meet?” I said.
“Zahir and I actually knew each other from Texas A&M,” Hassan said. “But he returned to Dhaka before I did. And then we reconnected when I came back last year.”
“And I just get to watch these two making eyes at each other,” Omar said, grinning at his friends.
“I think it’s so great that you all are doing this together,” I said. “In spite of all the risks.”
Omar nodded. “It is very risky. But we really don’t have a choice. We need a voice, and sometimes you just have to gamble with everything you’ve got.”
“The LGBT community in Dhaka is very tight-knit,” Zahir said. “As you can imagine, safety is an issue, so we have to be able to trust one another completely.”
I couldn’t help but be in awe of all these guys. Their ci
rcumstances were terrifying, yet here they were, facing everything head-on.
“So, Rukhsana,” Omar said, “Sohail tells us that you have someone special back in Seattle?”
“I do,” I lied. “But my parents caught us together and now they’re forcing me to marry Sohail.”
“Yes, that has to be the worst,” Hassan said with a grin. “I don’t know how Mushtaq puts up with him.”
“Well, luckily for Rukhsana, I came up with the perfect plan.”
“Um, excuse me, you mean you listened while I told you about the perfect plan I came up with,” I said haughtily.
“Do we get to find out what the plan is, or do we just have to listen to you two brag about how perfect it is?” Zahir asked.
I was loving this whole exchange. These guys were great.
“Okay, so we do the engagement,” Sohail said. “But then three days later, on the wedding day, we’re just not going to show up.”
“Why not just leave now?” Omar asked.
“It’s too soon. I need a couple of days to get my affairs in order. I don’t know when I’ll be able to come back.”
Zahir raised his glass. “To the happy couple.”
We all joined him.
“To runaway brides and grooms,” Omar said.
“May you both be happy without each other,” Hassan added.
“Rukhsana, the tailors are here,” Mom called out to me while I was on my way to the study. When I found her in the downstairs guest room, a makeshift worktable had been set up and two men sat on stools in front of sewing machines.
“They need to take your measurements,” she said.
“Why can’t we just buy what we need at the mall?” Even though I’d promised I wouldn’t argue with my mother about anything, I didn’t want these men anywhere near my body. It was a well-known fact among Bengali women that most tailors would cop a feel while checking your breast size and the length of your inseam. I was disgusted when Shaila told me this a few visits ago, but she said it was so commonplace that nobody said anything.
