The Mismatch

by Sara Jafari

  Whenever Soraya had revealed her background growing up she received mixed (but equally ignorant) responses:

  “Don’t they all live in huts there?”—from those who thought Iran was just a desert

  “Do you mean Iraq?”—from those who thought Iran and Iraq were the same country

  “Isn’t that where all the terrorists go before an attack?”—from those who thought all Middle Eastern countries were filled with terrorists

  Magnus’s response surprised her. “That’s really cool.”

  “I wouldn’t say it’s cool,” she said, quietly.

  “You wouldn’t?”

  “I mean, like growing up it didn’t feel cool. There were only a few ethnic minorities at school. I just felt different, and kids are little shits, so they made it known we were different and that was a bad thing.”

  She hadn’t meant to say this. In fact, it was exactly the kind of thing she did not divulge to people she didn’t know very well, but she couldn’t help herself. There was something about him that made her feel as though she could tell him this. It was strange and she was not sure how much she liked it.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. He stroked the back of her hand. “I bet they’re all fucking losers now, and look at you.”

  She snorted.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I like being Iranian. I just guess I still have hang-ups from going to basically an all-white school. That’s why I like London so much—it’s so different to where I grew up.”

  “I like that about London too. It feels like you can be anyone here and that’s fine, no one cares.”

  She wondered what he meant. Who did Magnus want to be, and was that the person he truly was? She had seen his different sides now, each one contradicting the other. She almost wanted to ask him, “Who do you want to be?” but she pressed her lips together instead.

  They didn’t get past the opening credits of My Neighbor Totoro before they became distracted. There was a small smile on Magnus’s face, his brown eyes gentle and appealing. Soraya leant in to kiss him, intending for it to be just a small kiss, but they ended up kissing for half an hour.

  She was nervous to begin with, but he had an uncanny ability to put her at ease. Kissing him was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. He touched her cheek at first, and as it escalated his hands bunched her hair. He lifted her up so she was sitting on top of him.

  But then guilt engulfed her. It told her that she shouldn’t be doing this, that she was a bad person. She shut her eyes tight, trying to stop the images of her family watching her like this, of God watching her, from creeping in. It was infuriating; she wasn’t even entirely sure why she should feel guilty.

  She dug a fingernail into her palm, Magnus was none the wiser. With the sharp pain she gained clarity, and pushed past the guilt, and began kissing his neck.

  Eventually he looked up at her, his eyes wide, his lips swollen and a deep pink. Somehow his top had come off, exposing his broad shoulders and hairless chest. In the moment she enjoyed the feel of his muscles against her and allowed her hands to explore his chest and back, to feel how ripped and taut they were. He looked even better than in the photos.

  His hand trailed its way lower, past her breasts and to the waistband of her underwear. In the heat of the moment she had let him take her clothes off, with the exception of her bra and pants. She was glad she’d worn semi-sexy lace underwear.

  Sensing her stiffen, he stopped. “Are you OK?”

  “I just…” She didn’t know what to say. Here was a man many women wanted naked in their beds, a man who wanted to pleasure her, and she couldn’t allow it. She didn’t know how to explain why she couldn’t. “I’d like to take things slow, like I said before.”

  “Of course, I’m sorry. I thought you wanted…” He trailed off, an edge to his voice.

  She shut her eyes. It wasn’t his fault.

  “I know, I wanted it. It’s just…”

  “It’s OK.”

  “It is?”

  “Of course. We’ll only do what you want to do. That’s important to me.” She could imagine many men saying this and not meaning it, but when Magnus said it she knew he did. She’d expected to feel shame or embarrassment when this conversation came up—which didn’t explain why she had allowed herself to be in this situation in the first place—but she didn’t feel like that at all. “It might be nice to take things slow,” Magnus said. They lay in silence for a while, her head leaning against his shoulder. She liked the way he smelt of man, sweat, and musky cologne.

  She looked up at him, about to say something when she noticed a dark mark on his neck. “What’s that?” Soraya said, gasping when she realized exactly what it was.

  Magnus got up and looked at himself in the full-length mirror. He laughed. “Well, you were kissing my neck for quite a while.” He shrugged, coming back to the bed to sit next to her. He looked incongruous in her room, almost too big for it. She supposed that was because she had never had a man in her room before, Oliver being the exception. But despite being tall her friend had the catlike ability to make himself appear smaller.

  Suddenly Magnus had a smile on his face. “I think you’re trying to mark your territory.”

  She let out a short laugh. “Absolutely not.”

  He lay back on the bed, arms crossed behind his head, the picture of ease. “Trying to ward off other girls,” he said. “I don’t blame you, to be honest.”

  She swatted him with her Hello Kitty cushion, horrified at what he was saying. Despite this, the sight of him lying on her bed bare-chested was startlingly attractive. The biceps she’d once thought too much were now immensely appealing to her. She imagined him lifting her up and pinning her to the bed. The weedy indie boys couldn’t do that.

  “You have such a big fucking head,” she said.

  “Yeah, but you love it.”

  “Let me get this straight. You’re seeing him again?”

  There was only so long Soraya could keep something secret from Oliver. She did live with him, after all.

  “I just feel being with him will be good practice for when I meet someone else,” Soraya answered, cringing as she said the words aloud. They’d sounded much more reasonable in her head; saying them out loud she sounded like a monster.

  Truth be told, she didn’t know what she was doing. She knew from what happened to Laleh that being with a man was dangerous—let alone being with someone like Magnus who she couldn’t quite work out. And yet, here she was.

  “Just to clarify, this isn’t Angus, Thongs and Perfect Snogging.” Oliver lifted a vintage velvet dress from a rail and held it against Soraya’s body. “This would suit you, by the way.”

  She took the dress from him, checked the price tag. It wasn’t actually expensive but she wasn’t sure she could justify any unnecessary purchase with no student loan or job prospects.

  Oliver began rummaging through another rail. He had an impeccable eye for finding gems within a hoard of moth-eaten garments.

  She put the dress back. “I thought you and Priya liked my plan.”

  “Yes,” he said slowly. “But I know you better than she does. You aren’t the type to just use a guy for sex—”

  Soraya opened her mouth to protest but he waved his hand in front of her.

  “OK, not sex. ‘Kissing practice,’ as you so eloquently put it. But what happens when he wants to do more? What’s your plan then, exactly? Because I’m sure if you asked Priya, she’d say ‘Just do it!’ ”

  “I’ve already thought of that, actually.”

  “Oh, really. Pray do tell.” He turned around, giving her his full attention.

  She hadn’t thought of that.

  “You know what,” she said, picking the dress up again, “it doesn’t even matter. I’m trying this on.”

  Before
she turned away she caught Oliver smirking and rolling his eyes.

  * * *

  —

  It was the first time she had been to Magnus’s house.

  She was wearing the newly purchased velvet dress; it was tight on her waist, and flared out in the skirt. She dressed it down with Doc Martens so he didn’t think she was making any special effort for him.

  She knocked once, lightly, but no one came to the door. Shifting on her feet, she was debating whether to knock again when she saw a figure approaching behind the stained-glass door panel.

  “Hey, you,” Magnus said, once he’d opened the door. “You look amazing.”

  “Thanks,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

  This time she hadn’t asked to see him, he’d messaged her to ask if she wanted to come over for dinner. It struck her as an odd, couple-like thing to do, and she almost said no, wondering if she had taken this experiment too far. But another part of her was intrigued; no man had ever made her dinner before.

  As he led her into the house, she noticed how messy it was. Two bikes cluttered the hallway, making it a tight squeeze to get into the living room and kitchen. The floorboards had holes in them, and the walls were painted a strange shade of off-white. The house had a masculine smell to it that she wasn’t fond of.

  She heard voices coming from the living room and her stomach clenched. She had hoped the house would be empty.

  As they entered the living room, three athletic-looking boys stood there with their jackets on.

  “This is Soraya,” Magnus said. “Soraya, this is Henry, Luke, and Callum.”

  She wasn’t sure who was who, but waved awkwardly in their direction.

  “So this is her,” one of them said. He was blond with patchy facial hair. “Don’t worry, we’re off to the pub so you have the place to yourselves.”

  The others looked like they were repressing laughter. She grimaced, and when Magnus put his hand on the small of her back, resisted the urge to move away from it.

  “All right, all right,” he said. “We’re going to make dinner anyway.” With his hand still on her back, Magnus gently propelled her in the direction of the kitchen.

  It was rectangular and tidy but not necessarily clean.

  She heard the front door slam shut.

  “Why were they laughing at me?” she said, her eyes narrowed.

  Magnus was busy pouring pasta into a pan, so the silence was broken by the hard shells hitting the aluminum. On the table was a packet of Quorn mince. She’d half thought he was joking when he’d said he was considering becoming a vegetarian like her the last time they’d spoken.

  “They weren’t. What are you talking about?”

  She said she needed to use the toilet.

  It was upstairs. Safely inside, she told herself to stop acting crazy.

  She looked around, not wanting to touch anything. There was facial hair in the basin, and an empty bottle of soap. By the toilet was a pile of magazines with naked women on the covers. Her jaw dropped when she saw this. She knew young men were the target market for such magazines, but didn’t think people she’d studied with actually still bought them. Questions arose about why these magazines were by the toilet, and the possibilities made her mutter “Ew” under her breath.

  When she made her way back to the kitchen, Magnus was chopping vegetables and putting them into a frying pan.

  “Why do you have those magazines in your bathroom?” she asked.

  He jumped slightly, not realizing she was back.

  He opened his mouth to say something, but shrugged. “I don’t know, really.”

  “Do you think those magazines are good? That objectifying women is good?”

  She was reminded suddenly of Lucy—the girl he had been seeing for a few months and then dropped like she meant nothing.

  He put the knife down and leant against the counter. “Some would argue it’s empowering.” He looked like he was resisting the urge to laugh.

  Soraya bit her lip, wishing Priya was here to deliver the perfect comeback. But then she wondered if Priya would agree with him.

  “Well, I don’t like it.”

  “OK,” he said, and began walking out of the kitchen. She stayed there, not quite knowing what to do. He returned moments later with the magazines in his hand, raised them in front of her, and then put them in the recycling bin. “There.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  “Won’t your friends be annoyed?”

  “They’ll get over it.” His eyes locked onto hers. Her breath caught. He grabbed her by the waist and drew her closer to him. When their lips were inches away, he said, “I like you.”

  She gulped, her throat suddenly tight.

  Not knowing what to say back—because he wasn’t meant to say that—she leant in and kissed him. He was tentative with the kiss, gentle almost, but she put her hands on his face in an attempt to escalate it. She’d rather that than feel the guilt she was feeling now.

  Her brother and dad claimed men universally said whatever was necessary to get a woman into bed. “You don’t know what my friends say behind girls’ backs,” her brother would tell her, shaking his head.

  Wasn’t this exactly what was happening right now? But wasn’t Soraya a more than willing participant? In fact, worse than that, wasn’t she the one using him?

  Magnus lifted her up easily, bringing her out of her head, so that she was sitting on the countertop, his hands around her waist. He bent down and his lips met hers again. When their tongues touched Soraya didn’t think about it, but let herself enjoy the sensations that followed. She closed her eyes and turned her mind off. His tongue stroked hers, and it sent butterflies to her stomach. Her body became supersensitive to his touch, and she wanted more. So much more.

  Magnus broke the kiss. Soraya opened her mouth to protest, but his lips found her neck and the delicate skin under her ear. He kissed her ever so softly there, something he had not done before. A moan escaped her lips. This took her by surprise, and as he continued kissing her she felt warm. Her eyes fluttered shut and her legs found their way around his waist, locking him to the spot. She could feel his hardness against her. His hand traveled underneath her dress and found her breasts.

  He touched them, and she was surprised by how good it felt. And then his other hand trailed up her thigh.

  He momentarily broke the kiss, and all she could do was stare at him; she didn’t know how this went, or what would come next. All she knew was that she suddenly wanted it very much. She nodded her head ever so slightly. He pressed his lips to hers again and they kissed more fervently than before, his lips hungry for hers, his tongue caressing hers.

  And then his fingers found her. She’d never been touched there before and just the way he brushed her made her feel as if she might explode. With him she felt arousal, whereas before him she had always been searching for it. He took it a step further, and that’s when she felt it.

  Pain.

  Thoughts such as “broken seal” screamed at her, sudden and venomous. She almost recoiled from them. She knew it was sexist and perhaps if the act was pleasurable she might have pushed past it, but it hurt. And he had no idea because she hadn’t told him she hadn’t even touched herself there, had never put anything up there—not even a tampon—because she had always been told not to.

  Then it began to feel good and her body moved of its own accord. But even then, she couldn’t let go, couldn’t enjoy it. Her mind was in a whirlwind about what it would mean simply to enjoy this man being so intimate with her, when she was unmarried, when she saw no future with him, when she was using him. Her jaw was tight, and she shut her eyes in an attempt to block out the tirade of thoughts.

  It was all too much, and despite the feelings that were very much coursing through her, she remembered the last par
t of her mum’s sermons.

  God is watching.

  That thought was like a shower of ice-cold water.

  “The food,” Soraya said softly. Her legs slackened their hold. Magnus didn’t pay attention to her words. “Stop,” she said again.

  He removed his hand and stepped back. “Huh?”

  “I can hear the food burning.” She pointed to the frying pan. At least she was telling the truth. The vegetables he had been frying were now blackened. That said, she didn’t dare look him in the eye, as though her eyes would reveal everything. The real reason why she was seeing him. That she had no intention of seriously dating him. That she was a virgin. A fraud.

  He laughed. “Oh, fuck, shall we just order pizza?”

  “Yeah, let’s,” she said, getting off the counter and pulling her dress down.

  Only a couple of minutes ago she was a normal twenty-one-year-old woman. But now her in-between state—of thinking of herself as a Muslim but not acting like one—was asserting itself again.

  It was inescapable.

  All Soraya knew about her sister Laleh was that she had left the family fifteen years ago to be with her boyfriend. Laleh had been just seventeen years old then. She was subsequently disowned by the family. Though Soraya was never quite sure whether this was because Laleh had disowned them first.

  Soraya had been too young to actually remember Laleh when she lived at home. This was both a blessing and a curse. She couldn’t miss her sister because she didn’t know her—but wasn’t it weird not to miss a sister you hadn’t seen for fifteen years?

  It was only recently that Soraya thought about Laleh more frequently. Perhaps she finally understood her eldest sister a bit more. Understood what it was like to want to see a boy behind their parents’ back. But resounding in her mind were so many unanswered questions. Why couldn’t Laleh just have waited until she was eighteen, and off to university, before having a boyfriend? Was any boy really worth leaving your family behind?