This Is How You Fall In Love, page 11
I sigh. ‘Adnan really wanted to go.’
And what Adnan wants, Adnan gets.
‘We should all go!’ Joe slaps his hands together. ‘If it’s all right, I’ll invite Ceri and Liam – I bet they’d be up for it.’
Adnan’s eyes light up with panic. He clearly hadn’t expected anybody else to want to go. I guess that’s what he gets for telling me his plans only when prompted by others, rather than telling me in advance.
‘The more the merrier,’ I say.
‘Sadie, want me to pick you up? I can ask my mum to drop us off.’ Joe and Sadie live only a few streets apart.
Sadie smiles widely, like a five-year-old who’s just been granted all the sweets in the world. ‘Yeah. That’d be great.’
With both Joe and Sadie agreeing to join the outing, Sadie looks to me before subtly pointing at Cami with her eyes, silently prodding me to do the decent thing. I mean, she’s going to be there anyway; at least this way it won’t be such a surprise to everyone when she does turn up.
Letting out a deep breath, I put on a smile I usually reserve for aunts and uncles in Bangladesh. ‘Cami?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Do you want to come, too?’
As if she doesn’t already know whether or not she wants to go, she takes a few seconds to ponder the question, tilting her head in thought. ‘Sure, why not? It could be fun!’
The table goes on to talk about what to wear on Saturday, Cami being invited to give her opinion like she’s now part of the group.
And I guess, unbeknown to everyone else, she one day will be.
SHAH RUKH KHAN 2.0
Today 13:32
Zara
Next time you want to make plans, involve me, please
I know I’m not your real girlfriend but I’d really appreciate being in the loop
Adnan
sorry, Cami sprung it on me this morning
Zara
It’s fine, don’t worry about it
But just keep me in mind, yeah?
I know you don’t want to be a shitty friend
Adnan
:(
we OK otherwise?
you seem a bit off
Zara
Just tired of pretending to be somebody I’m not
Just tired of feeling like somebody is going to figure us out
Just tired of lying to Sadie
Yeah, I’m cool
I don’t want to screw it up for you and Cami
I know how much you like her
Adnan
thank you, Z
you’re honestly the best
i love you
Zara
Love you too, bro
17
The afternoon of the disco, I know something’s wrong as soon as Ma knocks on my door. The second indication that things are out of the ordinary is when Ma asks, ‘Zara, are you decent?’
It might not seem strange to anybody else, but it is to me because Ma never enters my room by asking whether or not I’m decent. It’s almost like she’s incapable of doing so. And if she does bother to knock, it’s a quick one with her other hand already pressing down on the handle. When I’ve called her out on it before, all she’s said is, ‘I’ve seen your naked bum before, it won’t be anything new now.’
But this knock is soft, tentative, and she actually waits for me to reply. When she steps into my room, she’s not empty-handed. My eyes follow her from the door to the end of my bed where she perches with the bag in her hand.
‘What’s in the bag, Ma?’ I ask, skipping any kind of formalities.
Wordlessly, she places the bag in front of me. There’s pink tissue paper sticking out of the top. ‘Open it,’ she says.
I remove the tissue to uncover . . . pants. But not just regular pants. Thongs. Thongs in neon, in leopard print, in lace. And, oh, Allah, there are condoms!
‘Ma, what is this?’ I shove the bag away like it physically pains me to touch it.
‘I’m not stupid, Zara. I know what it’s like to be a young girl. I know you have needs –’
Oh, Allah. I thought the benefit of being a South Asian child was that your parents never give you the talk. Then again, maybe I should have seen this coming after I shut her down when she tried to give me that after-school special about ‘next steps’ with Adnan.
It was foolish of me to think I could evade Ma once she has her mind set on something. And, unfortunately for me, that something seems to be the sex talk.
‘Please, no, Ma. I don’t want to have the “talk”.’
‘Baba. We should discuss this.’
‘But why? I’m not even thinking about doing it,’ I lie, obviously. I am a teenage girl, after all. ‘You don’t have to worry or buy me . . . pants.’ My cheeks flush. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with Ma.
‘Sex is not a bad thing, but you must know the consequences of it.’
I sigh, having heard this exact thing in sex ed previously. ‘Unwanted pregnancy, I know.’
Ma smiles wistfully, like she expected my reply. ‘Not that, baba. Your uterus is not the only thing you need to protect. You need to protect your heart as well. Your uterus and your heart are both powerful organs.’
‘Thank you, Ma. I’ll be careful, promise,’ I grit out, cringing on the inside. ‘With my uterus and my heart.’
‘Thank you, beta.’ Ma caresses my cheek before kissing me on the forehead and leaving my room, shutting the door on her way out.
I peek at the bag as if I think there might be a frog or something in there just waiting to pounce at me, until finally I shove it in the back of my closet. As nice as the gesture is, it’s very much not needed.
Since I’ve got a few hours before I have to start getting ready for the disco, I lie down in bed with my tablet and read. I’m so engulfed in the second-chance romance that, when Ma and Baba raise their voices from their bedroom across the hall, I think I’m imagining it as part of the dialogue in the book. To check it’s not a figment of my imagination, I put the tablet away and crack my door open, allowing the sound to travel more clearly from my parents’ bedroom to mine.
‘I couldn’t get hold of you!’ Ma shouts, her voice as loud and clear as if she is standing next to me.
Shit. They’re arguing again.
‘My phone was low on battery, so I put it on Airplane Mode,’ Baba responds, his voice more muted. Level-headed. Calm. ‘How was I supposed to know they were going to call you?’
‘Because I am your wife, that’s how!’ Ma croaks out the words. ‘I am your wife, and I should know where you are because I should be there with you. Why didn’t you tell me you had an appointment at the clinic?’
‘Because I knew you were working. I didn’t want you to waste your time while they told me what I already knew – that everything is OK. It’s just routine tests.’
‘Do you know how stupid I looked when they asked me where you were, and I didn’t even know you had an appointment?’ Even though I can’t see them, I imagine Ma crossing her arms across her chest with a dismayed expression on her face. ‘Where did you even go?’
‘I just went to the vending machine on the next floor. I checked in with the nurse when I got there but the doctor was running late so I picked up a snack for later. Is that a crime?’
Silence ensues. Both probably participating in a staring match.
I’m grateful not to see. I gently shut my door and take a seat at the end of my bed. I thought they were OK again. Maybe I’ve been slacking in my performance.
Come to think of it, I haven’t mentioned Adnan as much as I could have. Even when Ma came in here earlier, I wasn’t really acting like Zara, a girlfriend who was pleased that her mum was preparing her daughter for future intimate moments. Instead, I was acting as Zara, the friend who gets disgusted at the mere thought of her best friend seeing her in her underwear. No wonder Ma and Baba’s relationship is refracturing.
As the alarm on my phone rings, reminding me that I have an hour to get ready before I need to leave and meet up with Adnan, there’s only one thought running through my mind: now, more than ever, I need to keep up the act.
And I need to do it better.
18
‘You ready for tonight?’ Adnan takes the window seat, his legs propped up on my lap as we settle in for the thirty-minute bus ride to the Tobacco Factory. We’re a bit behind schedule, thanks to His Royal Highness’s inability to choose a shirt, so the group and Cami are meeting us there. ‘I’ve been practising my dance moves, you know.’
He starts to wiggle his shoulders while pulling funny faces and it makes me think of Yahya and the way he surprised me by going from a weirdo who jumps in fields to a person I’d actually like to get to know.
‘Let’s just get it over and done with,’ I reply.
‘More enthusiasm, please,’ he says, pinching my arm.
But I can’t. Not with Ma and Baba’s fight still fresh in my mind. When I left the house, I poked my head into the kitchen to see Ma angrily chopping up vegetables. When I asked her where Baba was, all she did was grunt.
To be honest, I’m shocked she didn’t tell me to stay home.
‘Why did you and Cami have to pick a silent disco as one of your dates? You know I hate dancing,’ I say, to deflect from the weight in my chest.
‘I forgot?’ he offers with a pre-emptive wince like he already knows I’m going to punch him on the arm.
Which I do, obviously.
‘There’s no way to forget my intense hatred of dancing.’ Ever since Ma made me take Bollywood classes when I was nine and we were forced to do end-of-term recitals, I’ve hated the entire concept of dancing. Not because I didn’t like the dancing itself – that was actually quite enjoyable – but because of what happened at the infamous Pohela Boishakh of 2015. Let me set the scene: the room is abuzz with energy, the tabla’s beat blares through the speakers and the dancers part like the Red Sea as I take my place on stage to perform my coveted solo.
Except, a STUPID fly is buzzing around my head. Assuming it’s a wasp, I start panicking, yelping and running around the stage, until I’m so disoriented that I misremember the order of my steps and ultimately trip and fall over my own feet in front of 200 people.
Since then, I’ve vowed never to dance again.
Half an hour later, we’re standing in the heart of South Bristol, outside the Tobacco Factory. The red-brick building, with its giant mural of our Swedish eco-queen Greta Thunberg, is nothing if not awe-inducing. Part café, part market and part art exhibition, the Tobacco Factory is like a Kinder egg: you never know what you’ll get.
‘Alphabet! Finally!’ Sadie squeals, hobbling over to us in her heels. When she finally arrives, she immediately frowns. ‘I thought we were wearing jeans and a nice top?’
‘My good jeans were in the wash. So, I had to go with this.’
I’m wearing an oversized black T-shirt dress with a safety belt to give my body some shape over sparkly black tights and my trusty Dr. Martens. I thought it was a good outfit considering we were going for a casual but nice vibe, but maybe Sadie doesn’t agree. Probably because it’s the complete opposite of her look, which is a cropped red cowl camisole with low-waisted black jeans and a pair of strappy heels.
‘I think she looks great,’ Adnan comments just as he slides his hand into mine, his fingers finding the empty spaces between mine. It catches me off guard, not in an entirely unpleasant way. I distract myself by focusing on the weight of his ring; the one I got him for his birthday last year.
‘Zara always looks hot. I was just so surprised by how smokin’ she looks today!’ Sadie spins me by the hand like I’m a ballerina. ‘I take it this is why it took a thousand years to get here?’
I’m quick to point the finger at Adnan. ‘Not my fault.’
‘What can I say? It takes a lot of time to look this good,’ he says with a drawl, like he’s a brooding bad boy from the early 2000s.
‘You are so full of yourself,’ Sadie tells Adnan with a playful shove. ‘You being slow worked in my favour anyway. I’ve managed to interview some random couples for the doc and Joe even got to play Director of Photography for a hot minute!’
‘I did indeed,’ Joe beams. ‘You could say that Sadie and I are now partners.’
Colour rushes to Sadie’s cheeks, and as Joe says something else about the documentary and how they should move forward with their partnership, I can tell that Sadie’s ready to run away from her surprise at the turn this conversation has taken. Fortunately for her, Adnan redirects it entirely.
‘Oh, there’s Cami,’ he says.
Cami comes strutting up to us wearing a white high-neck cropped tank top, a lacy wireless bra underneath, with a light blue pair of jeans and some heeled booties. Her make-up is flawless, a winged eyeliner with blended eyeshadow that perfectly matches the colour of the stones on her rings.
‘Hey,’ she says, her voice breathy and sultry yet somehow warm and inviting. She pushes a lock of hair behind her ear in that way girls do when they’re trying to be cute, her dangly moon earrings glinting in the glow of the fluorescent lights above us.
‘Hey.’ Adnan practically melts at her feet but quickly picks himself up when I loudly clear my throat. ‘Where are Ceri and Liam?’
‘Inside,’ Joe responds, standing close to Sadie but not close enough to encroach on her personal space.
‘Let’s go!’ Sadie exclaims. Putting an arm around Cami, she adds, ‘We’re single and ready to get our moves on!’
I raise a brow in Sadie’s direction. What is she doing? Is she trying to get a reaction out of Joe? If she is, it’s working. He longingly gazes at her, the want in his eyes as clear as day.
But he’s not the only one reacting to her words. Cami’s face has gone blank. I try to meet her eyes but all she does is look at Adnan. To remind them both that they need to stop being so obvious, I put the hand that was holding Adnan’s around his waist and lean against him. The action seems to jolt Cami awake, reminding her that she, like us, is a thespian, with Sadie and Joe as our audience.
‘Let’s show these couples what they’re missing!’ she says with mock enthusiasm and struts off with Sadie.
At the entrance, we hand over our fivers and grab a pair of large over-ear headphones from a little rack. Inside it’s like a fusion between a disco and a club. There are silver disco balls twirling from the ceiling catching the bouncing gleam of the strobe lights that flash around the room. The DJs have already set up and people are dancing, their limbs moving to beats we can’t hear. The best thing of all is the fog machine, which makes it look like everyone is dancing on clouds.
‘Dude, these are great!’ Sadie says a little too loudly, her headphones on already. ‘I can’t hear anything!’
I remove the headphones from her head. ‘Then you probably didn’t hear how loud you were.’
Sadie laughs before winking and sliding her headphones back on.
The notes of Ariana Grande are bursting through my headphones before I’ve even slipped them on. Next to me, Sadie is rocking out to a punk song, judging from the way she’s strumming an imaginary guitar, along with Joe who is pretending to play the drums; their songs must have synced up.
Honestly, they are living in a romantic comedy without even realising it.
I move away from them, just in case this is the moment one of them finally makes a move and they need their space, and head across the dance floor, noting where everyone else is. In the corner closest to the exit, Ceri and Liam are off making out, their headphones not even on. Meanwhile, Adnan is already in the centre of the room, shuffling his feet like he’s Marshmello as Cami sways along to the beat in her headphones near him. It’s hilarious, really, hearing what I’m hearing and seeing what I’m seeing. How people’s arms and legs are so out of sync with the beat of my music.
Again, Yahya infiltrates my thoughts, reminding me of how well he danced that day in the fields. How, unlike me, he is someone who wouldn’t come to a silent disco only to uncomfortably bop along, waiting for the music to end so he can go home.
I shake off my thoughts about Yahya and decide to find someone who looks like they might have a similar song to me. Maybe that will help me get more into it. As I scan the room, searching for movements that are slow and relaxed, I feel my chest constrict when my eyes land on someone who looks like they could be dancing to my song.
He’s here. Yahya is here.
He’s with a group of guys in the far corner of the dance floor, his face illuminated by the strobing lights as he grooves his body to the song – our song – playing through his headphones. For a moment, I think I’m just imagining it, that there is no way that he could be here of all places. I take my headphones off, thinking somehow that the lack of music will help me to see better, and I find it surprising when it actually works.
There is no denying it: Yahya is here.
And now he’s looking right at me. He’s stopped moving and taken his headphones off, just like me. And, as clichéd as it sounds, I can’t help but feel like my stomach is bubbling up with butterflies. He tilts his head to the side with a half-smirking, half-open mouth, like he can’t believe he’s seeing me either. I offer a stiff wave, which he reciprocates with the most beautiful smile I have ever seen.
I put my headphones back on – an alternative track that is way more up my alley is playing – and am just about to shimmy my way across the dance floor to Yahya when a group of people suddenly block my view of him. I manage to squeeze through them, but on the other side Yahya is nowhere to be seen. The corner where he was standing is now occupied by other people. The butterflies in my stomach drop.
Where is he?
I turn around, scanning the entire room for him. Which is when my eyes land on Cami and Adnan’s bodies getting dangerously close in the centre of the floor, Sadie’s eyes bugging out in confusion as she watches from the DJ booth at the front of the room. Their songs must have synced up because they’re dancing in a similar style. It would have been helpful if it was a rock song, but it seems more like a slow song, judging from their soft movements.
