Sleepless in Dubai, page 19
He parted his lips when he finally looked at me, like maybe he would say something profound. Instead, in perfect Yash fashion, he said, “You look like a pufferfish.”
“Shut up.”
The corner of his mouth hiked up. “You’re not going to lose me,” he promised.
My lips trembled.
“Oh my god, don’t cry again!” He smooshed my face against his chest as I breathed through my tears.
“I mished shuz,” I croaked against Yash.
“I missed you, too, you big crybaby.”
“Wah!”
“Hey, look!”
I pulled away, wiping my face, and a gigantic weight lifted off my shoulders. Although I was trying my best not to feel hurt if he didn’t like me back in this way, I at least took comfort in knowing one thing: We were going to be OK.
We turned toward the water. The telltale shrieking of fireworks had started. Crowds cheered and oohed and ahhed and huddled closer to the creek.
“Come on.” He stood, pulling me up and toward the water.
Photography could always calm and focus me. I would deal with this whole mess later. But for now, I concentrated on the fireworks, capturing crowds and joy as the night sky lit up and sizzled with bursts of every color imaginable.
Whatever awkward tension there was melted away as Yash laughed, looking like he was ten again at Lake Travis for Fourth of July fireworks. I twisted just a little to get him in some of the shots as the faraway buildings lit up to say: happy diwali!
Yash was effortless and natural when he didn’t realize he was being photographed. Right now? He had no clue. His eyes glinted with pure joy as different colors lit up small surfaces of his face, his chin tilted up at the night sky.
What was he thinking? Or was he just enjoying the moment like everyone else?
Catching him at his relaxed best—and with all the right angles, best lighting, and soft shadows—was rare.
In this moment, having Yash in the corner of the picture completed a perfect shot. Perfect squared? Was that a thing? Well, it was now.
Behind him were sparkling bursts of bright blue, green, pink, red, purple, yellow, and white. The fireworks swelled into a fantastical crescendo, their exploding lights and shapes obliterating the darkness of the sky. Glitter lit up the night as celebrations boomed around us in cacophonies of cheers, laughter, and the distant crackle of fireworks. The water mirrored the sky, creating an endless loop of shimmer against darkness, a full circle of radiance.
The play of light and shadow softened the contours of the otherwise sharp lines of Yash’s features—his jaw, his face, his shoulders—and brushed glowing lines of light against the silhouette of his frame.
Breathtaking. It was the most magical moment teeming with artistic bursts.
Thank goodness for the noise drowning out the clicks of the camera. Otherwise, he’d realize what I was doing and go stiff.
Yash was so incredibly photogenic.
Stay just like that.
Yash was lost in the show above him, his hands relaxed and dangling at his side and not balled up as if having his picture taken destroyed a piece of his soul.
I glanced at the screen to study the shots before taking another. I couldn’t lose this moment, but I also had to make sure I was getting decent shots and adjusting anything that wasn’t working.
“This is awesome!” Yash called back, glancing at me just as I captured my last photo of him. “What are you doing over there? Don’t get separated.”
I nodded and pressed my arm against his. The knuckles of our pinkies touched, and a flutter swam through me.
Yash was watching the last of the show, and I wondered what was going through his thoughts. But then his finger twitched and caressed my pinky, and I didn’t move away. Instead, I sank into his touch and tried to tamp down my smile.
A second later, he hooked a finger with mine. We were sort of holding hands, but this time, it had a whole new meaning. Not kids or just friends, and definitely not like siblings. Maybe this felt new to him, too, the way it did for me.
I pressed closer against his arm, tilting my head toward his shoulder while he tilted his head toward me. His chest was going in and out, like maybe he was breathing a little harder.
Was he feeling this, too? Did he have flutters in his stomach? Was his skin warm and tingly? I really hoped so. And I really hoped that we could always feel this way with each other.
All around us, the last of the magical fireworks glimmered in what was quite possibly the most romantic moment of my entire life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Last night had been perfect. The taxi ride back had been quiet but pleasantly content. We’d returned to our rooms, where our families were waiting with boxes of sweets. We stole glances at one another while we ate and told our parents about the amazing experiences of Diwali in Dubai.
The following day was Gujarati New Year, which meant we were due back at mandir at some point for worship followed by a big ole family dinner, per tradition. Usually, we’d have this at home, alternating between our house and Yash’s house and sometimes with other family or friends, depending on who was in town and available.
Here, we had a reservation at a nice restaurant, according to Ankit Mama. It only made sense that our parents had hit it off with Mummie’s cousins and would end up doing dinner together. Instead of going all the way back to Mama’s house in Abu Dhabi, we went out for dinner. This was apparently the tradition for Ankit Mama anyway. Between all the dads and uncles, there was sure to be a big, drawn-out back-and-forth about the bill, because Indian dads always fought to pay for everyone’s meals.
I woke up refreshed and still a bit sleepy until I remembered how I’d confessed my feelings to Yash. Cringe. But also how he had sort of held my hand. Squeal!
Our families met in the lobby for breakfast. Yash and I kept trading looks, and I was trying my hardest not to smile. Our parents were oblivious as they planned out the day, while Lilly quietly watched us.
Whenever we’d make eye contact, she’d look from me to Yash and back to me. Then smirk. Oh my lord.
But I had more pressing things to worry over, because after breakfast, Yash and I would be taking a taxi to . . . skydiving.
Nervous energy was a thing, and we both had it all through breakfast, not that we could eat, and straight into the drive toward the biggest leap of our lives (pun intended). We tapped our feet in the taxi, tugged the hems of our shirts, and babbled on about how things would be fun and fine.
I even kept checking my phone to busy myself, noting how Jalebi_Writer had never responded. He probably thought I was definitely a weirdo now, and creeping into that “too-familiar space.” Oh, well.
“Are you sure want to do this?” I asked Yash. “Because clearly you’re freaking out.”
“I’m good!” he said.
Well, if he insisted that he was fine, then I wouldn’t back out.
We checked in, signed more paperwork, weighed in, watched a video, went over detailed instructions, practiced, and got onto a plane.
Oh my lord, I couldn’t believe I was about to be strapped to someone who jumped out of planes for a living. My entire body was shaking as we stood at the door of the plane, waiting for the green light. There was one extra jumper: a camera guy to capture everything.
I clutched onto the straps at my shoulders and tried not to heave. But no matter how visceral, my anxiety wasn’t anything in comparison to how pale Yash suddenly turned. Ashen.
“You look like a ghost!” I yelled to him over the sound of the small plane. “Are you OK?”
He shook his head.
I took his hand and managed a smile. We’d made it this far, and this was something Yash had really wanted to do. He’d regret this if he backed out now. “You got this!”
“No, I don’t. I don’t know what I was thinking!”
“We’re here! I’m here! We’re doing this together, OK?”
Yash shook his head again, his eyes wide behind the goggles.
I tapped the GoPro attached firmly to his strapped-in chest. “Are you the GOAT or what? First person at our school to skydive!”
“Forget them! This is scary!”
Yeah, didn’t I know it. My teeth were chattering and my stomach was doing flips. I squeezed his hand and hugged him. “If you can put up with me, you can do anything!”
Then, for some weird reason beyond me, I gave him a clandestine peck on his cheek.
He froze and I awkwardly smiled, hopeful the kiss had made him feel better instead of weird. His look of surprise melted away, replaced by determination. With lips pressed, he nodded once and gave the guys behind us a thumbs-up.
All right.
Here we go.
We’re really doing this, huh?
Yash and his tandem guy went first, hooting on the way out and dropping into a cloudless sky. Um, was the ground really that far off?
Oh crap. We were doing this! OH MY GOD!
The camera guy gave me a thumbs-up, and here we went!
We. Jumped.
Like, freaking superheroes. Yes, this totally counted as being a superhero.
The speed was . . . intense. Free-falling had my insides churning and yet pushed up against my spine. One minute. One minute of falling through the air felt like forever. The pressure kept my arms wide open, my body straight, and my hair whipping back in its ponytail. Good thing the tandem guy strapped to my back had on a helmet and a face shield!
The warm wind pulled the skin on my arms and face back and felt like a hundred tiny ice picks drifting over my flesh. I couldn’t even smile at the cameraman. My face wasn’t cooperating, and I was probably going to look super horrified in all the pictures.
Once I let go of the staggering fear clawing into my bones, I began to appreciate the awesomeness that was skydiving. How freeing and magnificent this all was. And when I managed to unclench my eyes, my breath sputtered as I took in the bliss.
First off, the world looked round on the curvature of the land and sea.
Second, there was so much blue water ahead and peaks of buildings and city below, and just desert behind us in a sheet of beige.
Third, Palm Jumeirah really looked like a big palm tree from the sky.
When they gave us signals, we tried to face the camera guy and throw peace signs, heart shapes, thumbs-ups, hook ’em horns, or whatever else we could think of.
Then the parachutes opened. The sudden jerk snatched the breath from my lungs. After free-falling, this gliding felt more like we’d completely stopped and were hovering high above the world. Was this what it felt like to fly? Magnificent!
The terror that had filled me seconds ago melted into utter bliss and peace. I pushed out a breath.
The serenity I harnessed in this moment and during Diwali was surreal.
The world was too big, too glorious to be stuck on negative things.
I just felt so alive! Like I could conquer anything!
We landed with a little fall gently hitting the ground and were quickly unbuckled from all the straps by ground staff.
I bent over, trying to fight off a headache and not hurl.
Yash rushed over to me, embracing me in a hug and swinging me in a circle before dropping me. He bent over and held up one finger.
“Don’t barf!” I told him.
He laughed through his heaves. “That. Was. Amazing!”
He hiccupped and flung an arm around my shoulders. “Did you like it? Are you OK?”
“It was incredible!” I thrust my arms out. “I feel like I can take on the whole freaking world! Like, come at me, bro!”
Yash’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes watery as the sun hit him. He wiped his brow like he’d been sweating. His hair was so windblown that it was standing straight up.
I shoved my fingers through his hair. “You need a haircut.”
His hands landed on my hips, and I stilled. This seemed like one of those implausibly romantic scenes in the movies, ripe for a passionate, adrenaline-infused kiss. Wait. Did I want to kiss him? Yeah . . . I really did.
I swallowed hard. “Up there, I felt like I was literally on top of the world, invincible.”
“Invincible, huh?” he asked, his gaze dropping to my mouth for the briefest of seconds.
I bit my lip and tilted toward him. Yash leaned down. But then we remembered where we were and stepped back. I heaved out a breath, my skin flaring.
Yash cleared his throat and rubbed the side of his neck. “They’re calling for us. We better follow them inside and get out of the drop zone.”
“Oh right. Of course.”
We followed procedure and checked out. This time, when we took a taxi back, we didn’t sit at opposite ends in a weird, quiet space. We sat closer to each other, and Yash took my hand in his. We kept our stare straight ahead. I tried to tamp down a smile and control the belly flips.
This was definitely a non-friend handhold.
* * *
Skydiving had been epic. It had me feeling like a total badass, like I could do anything. The aftermath? Eh. Not so much.
Mummie stood over me as I lay helpless in bed, the lights off, my body surging from the aftereffects. I hadn’t vomited, but man this headache was going to shatter my skull.
“You took all the ibuprofen I gave you?” she asked, checking my forehead as if I might have a fever.
“Yes,” I muttered.
“And you ate some food with it?” She glared at the plate of cheese, grapes, and crackers at my bedside table.
“I can’t.”
“You need to have something in your stomach.”
Because that was the cure-all for Indian moms: Food. Feed everyone for any reason and then overfeed them for good measure. Got a headache? Eat. Period cramps obliterating your insides? Eat. Feeling bloated? Eat. Feeling weak? Eat. Have an exam? Eat. Fell off your bike? Eat. Suffering from heartache? Eat extra.
There was a knock on the door. So loud.
Lilly let Yash and his parents in. Hetal Auntie immediately sat beside me and checked my forehead.
“Did she eat?” she asked Mummie.
My mother clucked her tongue.
“Oh, beta, you have to eat,” Auntie insisted.
I mumbled nonsense into the pillow.
“Should we stay until she’s better?” she asked Mummie.
“You guys can go. I’ll stay with her,” Yash offered. Dude didn’t like having to go mandir so often, either.
“Lilly?” he asked. “You wanna stay with us?”
“No,” she said. “They have food. And it’s really good.”
Our parents fussed over me some more, hemming and hawing until I forced myself to sit up and nibble on a cracker. “I’m OK. See, I’m eating. You guys go if you want. Don’t waste a whole afternoon because of me. Nothing will happen. We’re not that far. Yash can WhatsApp you if something happens.”
They eventually conceded and Papa told him, “Message us in group chat every half hour and immediately if she gets worse, hah?”
Yash nodded. “Of course, Uncle.”
After they got ready, not nearly as quietly as I wanted them to, they hustled out the door.
Finally, silence.
Yash sat at the desk and pulled out his tablet.
“You don’t have to stay.”
“It’s fine,” he insisted. “I didn’t want to go. I have a headache, too.”
“What? And how does no one know? Why is your mom not babying you?”
He swiveled in the chair to face me. “Because I’m not a crybaby like you,” he teased. “Actually, mine’s not too bad. Are you OK?”
I lay back down and draped an arm over my eyes. “This is the mother of all headaches.”
“They said this could happen, but should go away after a little while. Just take a nap.”
“Are you drawing?” I asked instead.
“Yeah.”
“That’s cool.”
He let out a breath and got up. The mattress depressed beside me, and I turned to find him sitting against the headboard, his legs extended, feet crossed at the ankles.
He showed me the tablet. A drawing of The Atlantis hotel with shimmering pale blue water in front of it, but this time he’d used a watercolor style. He was getting so versatile.
He tapped the screen with his stylus and showed me a girl with a ponytail at the souk drinking from a coconut.
“Is that . . .” I started to ask before realizing how egotistical it sounded to assume he was drawing me.
“Yeah, it’s you,” he said.
I beamed.
He added nervously, “I have to tell you something.”
“Hmm?” I turned onto my side to face him, eager to know what had him worked up. But the headache wasn’t having it. The pain was shutting my brain down.
In the silence, in the near dark with the glow of his tablet, Yash drew as he started talking, but I fell asleep without registering a single word.
* * *
When I woke up, my headache had diminished, and Yash was still working. Although now, he had his legs crossed and was hunched over the tablet resting on his lap.
I didn’t see what he was working on, but it looked like homework. Ugh. There was going to be so much to catch up on, but whatever. I couldn’t believe he was staying on top of his while on vacation.
“Hey, Snoring Beauty, do you feel better?”
I weakly pushed him. It did nothing. “Yes. Thanks for staying with me.”
“You should try to eat something, though.”
“You sound like our moms.”
“Well, they’re all hammering into me on the group chat about getting you to eat. So, please eat something. Your dad said we can order food, or he’ll dip out to bring you something.”
“Oh my god, no. I can’t take any more Indian food. So much, so close together. Can I just get a salad?”
He chortled. “Too spicy for you?”
“Spicy, heavy, saucy, fried, the kind of carbs that hurt my stomach. I just want salad. And crackers.”
Yash poked me in the side, and I nearly screamed out a laugh. “You could use a salad.”
“Don’t fat-shame me.”
He pinched my side and a pleasant flutter crashed against my insides. “I meant you should eat something aside from chips and sweets. And we had so many sweets last night. That gets you sick, remember?”
