I crumple the green tissue angrily. I'm in no mood to be at Mariyam's house, helping her and her annoying mother--my Khala--to make favors for Mariyam's Nikah ceremony.
"Less than two weeks left and my daughter will leave me," Khala laments. I roll my eyes, but I'm thankful she hasn't brought up the boy subject yet.
"She's going to be happily married," I can't help but say. It's comforting to know that Mariyam really likes her fiance but I would be terrified if I were in her situation.
"Yes, and one day, it'll be your turn," Mariyam teases.
"Uh, that's not happening anytime soon," I reply quickly. Tariq's face appears in my mind and something flutters in my stomach.
"Well there's nothing wrong with getting married young. It's a good thing in my opinion," Khala says, carefully counting dates and nuts to place in each favor bag.
"I didn't ask for your opinion," I mutter under my breath, avoiding Mariyam's glance.
"Look, beta, you're probably upset." Her tone is sincere, which is surprising, but I have no forgiveness to offer. "I saw what I saw and it is my duty to tell your mother and that is what I did. She thinks it's a confusion, but--"
"Khala, you have no need to worry about me." I don't want her to say anything more so I continue talking, dissolving her doubt with words. "I don't have a boyfriend and I don't plan on having one." I clench my teeth. I cannot stand the sight of her; she infuriates me.
"Ammi, we'll finish the rest now. You should go rest," Mariyam suggests. I breathe a sigh of relief when Khala leaves us both at the dining room table, her face pleased as though she has successfully taught an important lesson to a young child.
"Don't mind her or what your mother said, Iman. They just care about you," Mariyam says when we are alone.
"God, not you too! I'm so sick of hearing this. I'm not a little girl." I slam the scissors on the table and get up from my seat. Something is happening to me and I can't describe what it is. I feel ridiculed, dumb even because everyone feels the need to explain every little thing to me. "I need to go home now," I say more quietly, my head turned away from Mariyam.
"Okay, I'll drop you off but calm down. What's wrong?" Mariyam gets up from where she is sitting and stands in front of me. "Tell me. You know I'm here for you," she says softly, placing her hand on my shoulder.
I roll my eyes, trying to hide my tears. "You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
I hesitate and then look into her eyes. Mariyam has always been like an older sister to me; in this moment, I envy her for what I am not capable of being. I can't bear to let her think of me as someone unworthy of her respect and love, so I simply say, "Mariyam, why is that there are some things in this life that we just can't do--the very things that can bring joy and happiness? Why are there so many rules?"
There is curiosity in her eyes, but she does not ask me what this is about. I appreciate that she is not prying like most other people are. "Iman, there are some things that look really good to us at first, especially because Shaytan makes it appear so and everyone else seems to find joy in it also. But Allah has created us, He knows us more than we know ourselves...That's why He has made some things permissible and other things not."
I shake my head. I heard this many times before; all I want is to be with Tariq without feeling guilty. All I want is not feel as though it is a sin, to live in a secret that is too exhausting to carry on. "I don't buy it. It doesn't make sense. It almost feels like a prison."
"Is it a boy?" Mariyam asks quietly, studying my face. My skin feels hot and I can't meet her eyes. "You don't have to tell me if you're not comfortable," she adds when I don't say anything.
I want to pour my feelings out to her, but something is holding me back. I know what she will tell me. That I have to give him up, that I can't talk to him anymore, shouldn't even look at him. And I'm not ready to make that sacrifice.
"You already know we don't date. People think we're weird not to, but trust me. You have just to be patient. One day, you'll be engaged like I am and it will the most beautiful moment in your life. What you're feeling now is nothing compared to what it will be like."
I shake my head stubbornly. "I--I just don't see what's wrong with it. I--" The words come out fumbled. "I--I should go home...I want to be alone."
I walk out before she has anything more to say. "Please talk to me if you need to Iman. You know I love you," she still says.
Mariyam's words linger in my head throughout the day, but I force them away just like I have removed Farah's stinging words. I am upset at this world for being incomprehensible. Why has Allah put love in my heart for Tariq when He does not permit it?
I feel restless at home. Even Ammi miraculously has no housework for me to do. Homework is sitting for me but I cannot focus. Fortunately, Anum calls me over to her house to help practice a dance for her cousin's upcoming mehndi. Why do I feel like everyone is getting married, all the time?
When I arrive at Anum's doorstep, there is Hindi music mixed with English lyrics blaring in her stereo. I wonder if the neighbors are disturbed as I ring her doorbell.
A guy opens the door and I'm taken aback. There is no way I am mistaken where Anum lives, although I can't say the same for her inviting guys over. That had to mean one thing--her parents were not home.
"You're Anum's friend?" the guy asks, giving a cheesy smile while leaning against the door. He is looking at me carefully, passing his eyes over me and I wonder what he is thinking. Despite the hijab wrapped loosely around my head, I feel somewhat exposed. It was a good thing Ammi didn't see me when I stepped out of the house.
"Um, is Anum there?" I ask gingerly, feeling awkward.
"Yo, Anum. Your cute friend is here." He flashes me a smile while my cheek burns. Cute? Did he just have the nerve to call me cute? I can't tell whether I feel ashamed or slightly delighted by the comment. Anyway, it doesn't seem like anyone has heard him over the music. "This way," he says and I'm grateful that he walks ahead of me instead of besides me.
I walk to a spacious room towards the back of Anum's house, where Anum's parents have kept exercising equipment, a flat screen TV, and a stereo system. There are about eight or nine other people and I feel kind of alone. All along, I had assumed it would have been just Anum and me. But I was wrong to think that someone as popular as Anum would rely on me alone.
I look for Anum over the noise; no one has still acknowledged my presence and each second seems to drag. When I spot her, I see that she has her hair tied up high in a ponytail and out of the way. She's wearing a T-shirt, hugging attractively to her skin. Her mouth is open in sync with the lyrics and her eyes laughing. But it's the way the boy next to her has his hands on her arm, touching her bare skin that freezes me in place. They are moving together effortlessly in tune with the music, their eyes not leaving each other.
I step back, the tears building up. I don't want to cry, all I want is to rewind these several minutes so the knowledge of betrayal is not there. It does not upset me that Anum has invited boys over, or that she is dancing with them. What upsets me, tears me apart, is who she is dancing with.
I turn to leave, but of course, that is exactly when Anum calls me. I swallow my hurt, wipe away the tears and turn around, forcing a small smile on my face.
She grabs my hand, unaware of my emotions. "Finally, you took forever. C'mon."
"No," I say, pulling my hand away and she looks confused. "I...I'm actually not feeling that well." It takes all the effort that I can muster to not look at him, especially when he is so close.
"Is something wrong?" Anum asks. I look into her eyes, both anger and sympathy rising simultaneously within me for her. How could she be so oblivious to my feelings, my pain? How blind could one be to know what is and isn't wrong?
"Of course not," I lie, my voice trembling.
And then he is standing next to me. My body is confused, torn between wanting to stay and run.
"Hey Iman," Tariq says. His voice, as usual, has a pleasant ring to it. Why did I ever let myself become attune to it? "We could use your help."
"Help?" I ask, looking at Anum instead of him. I try not to think that he, too, is unaware. I had always imagined that love transcends everything, that the person you love is able to notice immediately your pain, the ability to recognize that you are hurt and need mending. That one is able to let go of everything else for you, to never turn around and share it with somebody else.
"Yeah, for the mehndi dance. We're still in the process of choreographing it." Anum waves her hands while she speaks. In that instant, I realize how distant we are. We aren't the girls anymore who used to braid each other's hair, read Qur'an together, chase after each other and lick the sweet taste of kulfi while the sunshine poured over us.
I clear my throat, a bit more confident now. "Anum, I need to go." The tone of my voice makes her still. Despite the chatter around us, something passes between us and I know she understands. She looks away uncomfortably as Tariq speaks.
"But you just got here."
I turn my eyes to the floor. Does it matter to you that I'm even here? the question remains unspoken.
"You guys can do without me," I simply say, meaning every word of it. She doesn't try to stop me and Tariq hesitantly walks behind me as I turn to leave, waiting perhaps for me to say something.
"You look pale. Are you feeling okay?" he asks, his hand touching my arm. I jerk away at the touch, remembering how he had touched Anum only minutes earlier.
"I'm fine," I manage to say, avoiding his gaze. "I want to be alone," I say for the second time that day. And then I leave, unleashing the tears once again.
4/26/12
1/19/12
Daring and Deceiving
I inhale slowly, trying to calm my pounding heart but I feel suffocated.
"Ammi, I really don't know what you're talking about," I lie. Well, it's not exactly a lie. She may be thinking about Tariq, but she may not be. Then again, what other boy do I hang out?
"So, you think I'm making this up?" she asks, her hand on her hip. "Tell me exactly where you were yesterday after school." I avoid meeting her eyes. I'm a terrible liar so I decide to tell the truth.
"At the park." It was a dumb idea, I know. The weather was gorgeous and I had a childish desire to go on the swings so I persuaded Tariq to join along.
"With who?" she interrogates.
I decide to play innocent. "Ammi, I don't like your tone. I was with Amy. How can you accuse me like this?"
"You weren't with anyone else?" she asks, her brows coming together with that motherly expression.
"Ammi, I always listen to what you say...you know I'm not that kind of girl. It hurts when you treat me like this. And Humza? You never tell him anything. Why me?"
I sniff, wiping away fake tears.
"Oh, Iman. You always bring it back to Humza. You're older, he's still young."
"Oh yeah? He's still five, I know," I scoff.
"Look, maybe Khala is mistaken, but tell me the truth, Iman--"
"Khala? This is about Khala? She's telling you fake rumors about me?" I yell. Anger rises in my throat for Khala. How dare she? She is not my mother and she has no right to pry.
"Just tell me, you weren't with a boy, were you?"
Instead of answering my mother's question, I'm thinking of how to seek revenge on Khala. She's put me in this misery, after all. And Mariyam--had she told Mariyam too?
"Are you listening to me?" My mother is not going to give up so easily. It's a matter of our family reputation more than anything else.
"Ammi, how can I control who goes to the park? Amy and I weren't the only ones there. There were a bunch of other people, kids, boys, everyone. But that doesn't mean I purposely went with a guy--I just can't believe this!"
I storm out of the room, hoping she buys it. It's an awful thing to do; I don't want to lie to my mother. But she would never understand. If I told her how I felt about Tariq, she would never console me--she'd freak out before even giving me a chance to explain. Who knows what the consequences would be? Maybe she would have me transfer to another school, or worse, be home-schooled. Or upon Khala's suggestion, she'd marry me off to some F.O.B. for good. I shudder at the thought just as she comes in behind me in the kitchen.
"Iman, look. I have a right to know, that's why I asked. Especially since your Khala just told me over the phone she saw you laughing with a boy yesterday."
"Laughing with a boy? Is it a sin to laugh when there are boys around, Ammi? I don't know why Khala is so concerned...she just doesn't like me and wants me--"
"Enough. She's your elder and deserves your respect. Anyway, I'll let her know what you told me but from now on, you need to be careful, Iman. Today, it was her. Tomorrow, it could be someone else."
"What? So you're trying to say I can't even go to the park now? Ammi, what is this?" I cry, but she has already left the room. I'm angry when all I should be feeling is relief--relief that I was able to escape without any scars.
We are on the painting unit now in Mr. Hesser's art class. It's a relief that the face sketching unit is over, especially after having Laila and I debate with him about how we wanted a different assignment.
Art is my favorite class. Not that I'm much good at it, of course. But because it's relaxing. Mr. Hesser only lectures for five minutes at the beginning, then lets the radio go on in the background while he lets us do our art. Laila, Tariq, and this other guy sits at our table and the fifty minutes often pass by without a single glance at the clock.
"Iman, why are you painting a shoe?" Tariq asks me while I wipe the sweat off my forehead. I am awful at painting.
"Ugh, that is not a shoe!" I feel offended; a vase doesn't have much resemblance to a shoe, but maybe he's right. I shove him on the shoulder anyway with my free hand.
"Ouch! You have some strong hands, woman," he says, but I know it hasn't hurt him. Laila makes eye contact with me and her face is glowing like she's the one in love.
"Oh, this is nothing," I tease and Tariq feigns a scared expression. "You haven't seen me wrestling with Humza."
"Better watch out, Tariq. Don't get Iman upset," Laila warns, winking at me.
A little while later, Tariq leans over to take a closer look at my painting so far. He's inches away from me and I notice the small hairs on his chin. I've become so comfortable around Tariq but there are times like these when he leaves my heart pounding.
"Don't ever become a painter," he says, slowly turning towards me. There's some pink left on the paintbrush I'm holding and I quickly wave it across his right cheek.
"Hey! What the--" he tries to grab the paintbrush from my hand but ends up touching my waist instead. I almost gasp but Mr. Hesser is a table away and eyes us like You're having way too much fun, get to work.
My cheeks feel hot and Tariq doesn't bother to wipe off the paint off his face. Five minutes before class is about to end, we start cleaning up. I'm at the sink when Tariq comes beside me, but he doesn't say a word.
"What?" I ask, unable to keep quiet.
"I'm waiting for you to wash out the mark you left," he says softly.
"Tariq!" I hiss. "Wash it yourself!" I quickly go back to my table, daydreaming what it would be like to do what he just asked me to.
"You guys are definitely hitting it on," Laila chirps softly, only so that I can hear.
"Laila." I give her a stern look.
"What? Can't wait to tell Anum and Farah how naughty you are, flirting with--"
"Don't you dare! Farah will freak and I am not flirting."
"Oh really? And when did Farah become your Mom?" I know Laila is just kidding, but there is some truth in her words. I've been very bold around Tariq. I guess that's what happens when you get close to someone. And about Farah, well, that's the reason why I didn't bring up Tariq during lunch the next day, but he always comes up anyway.
"So I just found out my cousin is getting married to Tariq's second cousin," Anum announces. My ears perk. Oh man, can I be invited to the wedding too?
"How?" Laila asks.
"I was chatting with him last night and..."
I couldn't focus on what else she was saying. Only the first couple words stuck in my head. What was Anum doing, chatting with Tariq?
"Hey Iman, can you come with me for a sec? I needed help with this assignment we had," Farah interrupts my thoughts.
"Huh?" I ask.
"Just come," she says and she takes me by the arm so I have no choice. It's when we are down the hallway, away from all the noise that I realize what she's up to.
"Iman, I know you're not going to like .what I have to say but I'm gonna say it anyway. You're my friend, that's why."
She looks so earnest that even though I don't want to listen, I do and then make a mental note to ask Anum about that wedding she was talking about.
"Look, I know when you're in class with Tariq, you don't have much of a choice, but I really think otherwise, you should stop hanging out with Tariq. Just imagine--"
"You've told me this before, Farah and I don't think there's anything wrong with--"
"Do you honestly think it's okay, just laughing and flirting like that with him? You were always the one to stay away from guys and suddenly you're..."
Now, I'm angry. She has no right to accuse or interfere. "Since when did I have to ask your permission to do something? I never asked you to be my mother," I say through clenched teeth.
"I'm not," she says, a look of hurt evident on her face. I roll my eyes and avoid her gaze. "But if your mother knew, she would be so upset..."
"Farah, I just don't understand. Just because no guy has given so much as a glance your way, why do you have to ruin it for me?" I blurt. The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Tears spring in Farah's eyes as she stares at me in shock. I look away, a part of me wanting to embrace her and say how sorry I am. But my feet are glued to the floor.
"You've changed a lot. I've lost my friend, Iman. I really have," she manages to say quietly.
"Okay, then. Let's end this friendship crap," I say before walking away. I feel ugly in the inside, but there is no helping it. I've done what I've done and there is no turning back.
After my last class, I meet Tariq at his locker. This has become our meeting place for a while now. Sometimes, a couple of his friends hang out with him and I just wait for them to leave. Being around a lot of guys isn't something I'm used to. Being around one is definitely enough to take my breath away.
"Wanna go for some ice cream?" Tariq asks, swinging his locker door shut.
"Ooh, yum. I haven't had some since the last family picnic party, I think." I'm still feeling pretty glum after my fight with Farah.
"Lemme guess, your mom?" he asks as we walk side by side down the stairs.
"You bet." But then I see him grabbing his car keys and I'm wondering why. "Wait, aren't we going to the ice cream parlor in the corner over there?"
"I'm so tired of that place. I was thinking Oberweis."
I stop walking. Suddenly, Ammi's words echo in my head. "What? You don't...feel comfortable in the car with me?" Tariq asks.
I shake my head quickly. "No, of course not. I just...I remembered I had to take Humza to his friend's house, but..."
"But, you're such an awesome sis, you're not going to say no to him, right?" Tariq asks. I'm trying to discern the look on his face. Is it frustration, hurt, or something else?
"Tariq, you're not upset, are you?" I venture, placing my hand on his. It feels so good I don't want to take my hand away.
"A little bit, Iman. I thought you'd give me some time, you know?" he asks. I can't figure if its his words or the way he is caressing the top of my hand with the pad of his thumb that's making me all hot and confused.
"Okay, I promise. The next time you plan something, I'll definitely come," I manage to say and he gives me one of those cute smiles.
"Promise?"
"Promise," I assure him. The next thing he does makes me turn dead still. He puts his arms out, waiting for me to step towards him. Okay, I've dreamed of embracing him, but...really? I never thought he'd actually want me to. I can't bear to think what he's thinking as I stare at him like some dumb clown so I sheepishly step towards him.
The moment we're touching, my heart's soaring I'm scared he can hear it. It's a little awkward at first, but then I fit my face into the crook of his neck and inhale the cologne I've become so familiar with. I shut away all other thoughts, embracing the moment and then we abruptly let go of each other since we're not the only ones in the parking lot.
"I'll see you tomorrow then?" he asks, tilting his head slightly. He's so cute I don't want to stop looking at him.
"Of course," I say, a little flustered.
I can't stop smiling, even when reaching home and watching Rishta with Ammi instead of doing my homework.
"What are you so happy about?" Ammi asks.
"Oh, I was just thinking of Mariyam," I reply, having rehearsed it cause I know she'd ask me. "She's so happy, getting engaged to Umair."
"Masha'Allah. And well, don't worry. It's not going to very long until we start finding someone for you too."
My eyes widen in horror, but Ammi's are glued to the T.V. screen, where everyone is dressed really fancy for a mehndi party.
"Ammi, I'm still in high school. Please." I'm literally begging her, but Ammi just smiles and says okay.
I let my head lean against the soft cushion and close my eyes. There's a romantic melody playing in the drama serial and I start humming to it. I'm wondering how long I can keep this up, but then decide to stop worrying and just live in the moment.
"Ammi, I really don't know what you're talking about," I lie. Well, it's not exactly a lie. She may be thinking about Tariq, but she may not be. Then again, what other boy do I hang out?
"So, you think I'm making this up?" she asks, her hand on her hip. "Tell me exactly where you were yesterday after school." I avoid meeting her eyes. I'm a terrible liar so I decide to tell the truth.
"At the park." It was a dumb idea, I know. The weather was gorgeous and I had a childish desire to go on the swings so I persuaded Tariq to join along.
"With who?" she interrogates.
I decide to play innocent. "Ammi, I don't like your tone. I was with Amy. How can you accuse me like this?"
"You weren't with anyone else?" she asks, her brows coming together with that motherly expression.
"Ammi, I always listen to what you say...you know I'm not that kind of girl. It hurts when you treat me like this. And Humza? You never tell him anything. Why me?"
I sniff, wiping away fake tears.
"Oh, Iman. You always bring it back to Humza. You're older, he's still young."
"Oh yeah? He's still five, I know," I scoff.
"Look, maybe Khala is mistaken, but tell me the truth, Iman--"
"Khala? This is about Khala? She's telling you fake rumors about me?" I yell. Anger rises in my throat for Khala. How dare she? She is not my mother and she has no right to pry.
"Just tell me, you weren't with a boy, were you?"
Instead of answering my mother's question, I'm thinking of how to seek revenge on Khala. She's put me in this misery, after all. And Mariyam--had she told Mariyam too?
"Are you listening to me?" My mother is not going to give up so easily. It's a matter of our family reputation more than anything else.
"Ammi, how can I control who goes to the park? Amy and I weren't the only ones there. There were a bunch of other people, kids, boys, everyone. But that doesn't mean I purposely went with a guy--I just can't believe this!"
I storm out of the room, hoping she buys it. It's an awful thing to do; I don't want to lie to my mother. But she would never understand. If I told her how I felt about Tariq, she would never console me--she'd freak out before even giving me a chance to explain. Who knows what the consequences would be? Maybe she would have me transfer to another school, or worse, be home-schooled. Or upon Khala's suggestion, she'd marry me off to some F.O.B. for good. I shudder at the thought just as she comes in behind me in the kitchen.
"Iman, look. I have a right to know, that's why I asked. Especially since your Khala just told me over the phone she saw you laughing with a boy yesterday."
"Laughing with a boy? Is it a sin to laugh when there are boys around, Ammi? I don't know why Khala is so concerned...she just doesn't like me and wants me--"
"Enough. She's your elder and deserves your respect. Anyway, I'll let her know what you told me but from now on, you need to be careful, Iman. Today, it was her. Tomorrow, it could be someone else."
"What? So you're trying to say I can't even go to the park now? Ammi, what is this?" I cry, but she has already left the room. I'm angry when all I should be feeling is relief--relief that I was able to escape without any scars.
We are on the painting unit now in Mr. Hesser's art class. It's a relief that the face sketching unit is over, especially after having Laila and I debate with him about how we wanted a different assignment.
Art is my favorite class. Not that I'm much good at it, of course. But because it's relaxing. Mr. Hesser only lectures for five minutes at the beginning, then lets the radio go on in the background while he lets us do our art. Laila, Tariq, and this other guy sits at our table and the fifty minutes often pass by without a single glance at the clock.
"Iman, why are you painting a shoe?" Tariq asks me while I wipe the sweat off my forehead. I am awful at painting.
"Ugh, that is not a shoe!" I feel offended; a vase doesn't have much resemblance to a shoe, but maybe he's right. I shove him on the shoulder anyway with my free hand.
"Ouch! You have some strong hands, woman," he says, but I know it hasn't hurt him. Laila makes eye contact with me and her face is glowing like she's the one in love.
"Oh, this is nothing," I tease and Tariq feigns a scared expression. "You haven't seen me wrestling with Humza."
"Better watch out, Tariq. Don't get Iman upset," Laila warns, winking at me.
A little while later, Tariq leans over to take a closer look at my painting so far. He's inches away from me and I notice the small hairs on his chin. I've become so comfortable around Tariq but there are times like these when he leaves my heart pounding.
"Don't ever become a painter," he says, slowly turning towards me. There's some pink left on the paintbrush I'm holding and I quickly wave it across his right cheek.
"Hey! What the--" he tries to grab the paintbrush from my hand but ends up touching my waist instead. I almost gasp but Mr. Hesser is a table away and eyes us like You're having way too much fun, get to work.
My cheeks feel hot and Tariq doesn't bother to wipe off the paint off his face. Five minutes before class is about to end, we start cleaning up. I'm at the sink when Tariq comes beside me, but he doesn't say a word.
"What?" I ask, unable to keep quiet.
"I'm waiting for you to wash out the mark you left," he says softly.
"Tariq!" I hiss. "Wash it yourself!" I quickly go back to my table, daydreaming what it would be like to do what he just asked me to.
"You guys are definitely hitting it on," Laila chirps softly, only so that I can hear.
"Laila." I give her a stern look.
"What? Can't wait to tell Anum and Farah how naughty you are, flirting with--"
"Don't you dare! Farah will freak and I am not flirting."
"Oh really? And when did Farah become your Mom?" I know Laila is just kidding, but there is some truth in her words. I've been very bold around Tariq. I guess that's what happens when you get close to someone. And about Farah, well, that's the reason why I didn't bring up Tariq during lunch the next day, but he always comes up anyway.
"So I just found out my cousin is getting married to Tariq's second cousin," Anum announces. My ears perk. Oh man, can I be invited to the wedding too?
"How?" Laila asks.
"I was chatting with him last night and..."
I couldn't focus on what else she was saying. Only the first couple words stuck in my head. What was Anum doing, chatting with Tariq?
"Hey Iman, can you come with me for a sec? I needed help with this assignment we had," Farah interrupts my thoughts.
"Huh?" I ask.
"Just come," she says and she takes me by the arm so I have no choice. It's when we are down the hallway, away from all the noise that I realize what she's up to.
"Iman, I know you're not going to like .what I have to say but I'm gonna say it anyway. You're my friend, that's why."
She looks so earnest that even though I don't want to listen, I do and then make a mental note to ask Anum about that wedding she was talking about.
"Look, I know when you're in class with Tariq, you don't have much of a choice, but I really think otherwise, you should stop hanging out with Tariq. Just imagine--"
"You've told me this before, Farah and I don't think there's anything wrong with--"
"Do you honestly think it's okay, just laughing and flirting like that with him? You were always the one to stay away from guys and suddenly you're..."
Now, I'm angry. She has no right to accuse or interfere. "Since when did I have to ask your permission to do something? I never asked you to be my mother," I say through clenched teeth.
"I'm not," she says, a look of hurt evident on her face. I roll my eyes and avoid her gaze. "But if your mother knew, she would be so upset..."
"Farah, I just don't understand. Just because no guy has given so much as a glance your way, why do you have to ruin it for me?" I blurt. The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Tears spring in Farah's eyes as she stares at me in shock. I look away, a part of me wanting to embrace her and say how sorry I am. But my feet are glued to the floor.
"You've changed a lot. I've lost my friend, Iman. I really have," she manages to say quietly.
"Okay, then. Let's end this friendship crap," I say before walking away. I feel ugly in the inside, but there is no helping it. I've done what I've done and there is no turning back.
After my last class, I meet Tariq at his locker. This has become our meeting place for a while now. Sometimes, a couple of his friends hang out with him and I just wait for them to leave. Being around a lot of guys isn't something I'm used to. Being around one is definitely enough to take my breath away.
"Wanna go for some ice cream?" Tariq asks, swinging his locker door shut.
"Ooh, yum. I haven't had some since the last family picnic party, I think." I'm still feeling pretty glum after my fight with Farah.
"Lemme guess, your mom?" he asks as we walk side by side down the stairs.
"You bet." But then I see him grabbing his car keys and I'm wondering why. "Wait, aren't we going to the ice cream parlor in the corner over there?"
"I'm so tired of that place. I was thinking Oberweis."
I stop walking. Suddenly, Ammi's words echo in my head. "What? You don't...feel comfortable in the car with me?" Tariq asks.
I shake my head quickly. "No, of course not. I just...I remembered I had to take Humza to his friend's house, but..."
"But, you're such an awesome sis, you're not going to say no to him, right?" Tariq asks. I'm trying to discern the look on his face. Is it frustration, hurt, or something else?
"Tariq, you're not upset, are you?" I venture, placing my hand on his. It feels so good I don't want to take my hand away.
"A little bit, Iman. I thought you'd give me some time, you know?" he asks. I can't figure if its his words or the way he is caressing the top of my hand with the pad of his thumb that's making me all hot and confused.
"Okay, I promise. The next time you plan something, I'll definitely come," I manage to say and he gives me one of those cute smiles.
"Promise?"
"Promise," I assure him. The next thing he does makes me turn dead still. He puts his arms out, waiting for me to step towards him. Okay, I've dreamed of embracing him, but...really? I never thought he'd actually want me to. I can't bear to think what he's thinking as I stare at him like some dumb clown so I sheepishly step towards him.
The moment we're touching, my heart's soaring I'm scared he can hear it. It's a little awkward at first, but then I fit my face into the crook of his neck and inhale the cologne I've become so familiar with. I shut away all other thoughts, embracing the moment and then we abruptly let go of each other since we're not the only ones in the parking lot.
"I'll see you tomorrow then?" he asks, tilting his head slightly. He's so cute I don't want to stop looking at him.
"Of course," I say, a little flustered.
I can't stop smiling, even when reaching home and watching Rishta with Ammi instead of doing my homework.
"What are you so happy about?" Ammi asks.
"Oh, I was just thinking of Mariyam," I reply, having rehearsed it cause I know she'd ask me. "She's so happy, getting engaged to Umair."
"Masha'Allah. And well, don't worry. It's not going to very long until we start finding someone for you too."
My eyes widen in horror, but Ammi's are glued to the T.V. screen, where everyone is dressed really fancy for a mehndi party.
"Ammi, I'm still in high school. Please." I'm literally begging her, but Ammi just smiles and says okay.
I let my head lean against the soft cushion and close my eyes. There's a romantic melody playing in the drama serial and I start humming to it. I'm wondering how long I can keep this up, but then decide to stop worrying and just live in the moment.
9/9/11
Dissolved Barriers
I'm feeling a little impatient, sitting in my Uncle's house, as we discuss Mariyam's marriage. An argument is inevitable when there are five adults with differing opinions. But the bride-to-be is finally given a chance to explain herself. After all, she is the one who has instigated this family feud.
"I don't understand what's so wrong with having a wedding with a partition--" she begins.
"No one in our family has ever had a separated wedding," her mother interrupts, her eyes glaring with anger. "What will everyone say? They're going to think we're marrying you off to some--"
"I don't care what anybody thinks," Mariyam retorts. It's not often that I see this side to her. She is always gentle and soothing, hardly ever angry.
"It's just a matter of couple hours. Surely, you can do that for your parents," Ammi intervenes. I'm not surprised that she favors the opposing side. Sometimes, reputation and culture overruled.
"Okay, okay," Abu takes over, clearing his throat. "What about a wedding were the men sit on one side and the women on the other. But we're still all together?" He is playing the negotiator and I'm glad he is making the effort, however futile it may be.
"What's the point?" Mariyam mutters under her breath before I can verbalize my agreement with Abu.
"Everyone likes to sit with their family and friends. We can't impose their seating arrangements," her mother refuses immediately.
"I want to dress up for my wedding and besides, there's so much haraam that happens during some weddings. I just want to avoid that, you know what I mean?" Mariyam explains, her brown eyes searching mine as if I can somehow understand.
I nod, but my heart and mind disagrees. Of course, Mariyam doesn't want to wear a hijab on her wedding day and she would have to if the male guests could see her. But then again, our family wasn't that religious. And I wonder...a partition separating the male and female guests would make me more solemn than content. It's not good maybe, but that's how I feel. If Tariq and I were at the same wedding, I would want to see him.
As the argument continues, my mind drifts to the restaurant where Tariq and I had dined with Anum and her friend after watching the movie last week. I had hesitated, afraid of being seen with a boy by a relative or acquaintance. But Anum and Tariq convinced me to join along.
On the corner table in the restaurant, Tariq and I sat together, his shoulder slightly grazing mine. It was ironic that in public, barriers dissolved so that boys and girls could mix freely. I would never dream of sitting this close to Tariq if we were at each other's home or even at a wedding.
I suddenly became nervous, aware of how closely we were sitting. The kissing scene from the movie we had seen flooded my mind and I flushed with embarrassment. I would never forgive myself for going through that with Tariq sitting awkwardly in the seat adjacent to mine. Fortunately, the darkness in the theater disguised the hundreds of emotions that ran through me.
My phone vibrated in the pocket of my jeans.
Home.
I ignored the call, afraid of having Ammi or Abu hear Tariq's voice over the phone. They might even be able to recognize it, considering they had actually met him.
Once the food arrived, I accidentally dropped my spoon in a hurry to clear some space on the table. It fell on the maroon leather seat, just between where Tariq and I were sitting. We both reached for it together, his hands over mine. I looked up and he smiled, his eyes glimmering in the dim light.
"We all know Iman's starving and ready to pig out," he teased. He hurriedly grabbed two pizza slices and placed it on my plate.
"Thanks," I murmured, touched by his gesture. My skin tingled on the spot where his hand had touched mine.
For the rest of the time, I hardly felt Anum and her friend's presence. I was living in a bubble--daydreaming of Tariq and I together..some place together...some place alone.
"I'm stuffed. Want to go for a run?" Tariq asked after we're done, interrupting my little fantasy.
"A run?" I repeated, confused.
"Why not?" There was a sense of excitement in his face and the tone of his voice.
But, it's so late...and I should be getting home and well, what if someone sees me.
The bill came and I was thankful for the change in subject because I hadn't made up mind yet.
"C'mon Iman. Let the boys pay," Anum ordered, leading me to the bathroom. She went directly to the mirror, fixing her hair and reapplying her make-up though it looked perfect to me.
"Anum, what was Tariq saying about me," I asked her, now that we were alone.
"He was asking if you were coming. By the way, you guys look so cute together," she exclaimed.
"Anum, why didn't you tell me that he was coming? Look at me...I'm not even dressed right." She turned towards me, peering down at my loose jeans and pale blue top. My beige colored hijab didn't match at all, but I had worn it in a hurry.
"That's for sure. We need to go shopping one day." And she went back to putting on make-up, not bothering to answer my question. It irritated me that she talked to Tariq without letting me know exactly what they discussed. I was going to press her but my phone vibrated again. This time, I answered.
"Iman, where are you? Why didn't you answer your phone?" Ammi sounded worried.
"Uh, sorry, Ammi. I was in the theater so I couldn't talk." The lie came easier than I thought.
"You're dad's been wanting the car for so long. What's taking you so long?" Ammi sounded frustrated but I tried to take control of the situation.
"Sorry mom. The movie took longer than I thought. I'm on my way though," I assured her.
"You better be. It's going to be ten soon."
Tariq and I ended up alone afterwards, walking towards my car.
"Sorry about the run. I'll take a rain check?" I asked, surprised by my own boldness. I wanted to reassure myself that I would still be able to see him.
"Sure. We'll make it a race."
There was an awkward silence as we stood near my car. Couples normally embraced, even kissed, when departing. But that was out the question in our circumstance.
Or was it?
With the light of the streetlamp, I could make out Tariq's eyes intently gazing mine. I didn't want to break it and wished so badly that it would last. My heart pounded, wanting to take a step closer, both terrified and excited by the prospect.
But Tariq simply said a goodbye, flashing his smile and leaving me alone in my car.
"Iman, are you listening to me?" It's Mariyam's face looking at me, interrupting my memory. She appears frustrated. I feel guilty for not listening to her.
"Uh, yeah?" I ask.
"Nevermind," she says numbly.
"Oh, Mariyam I know you're having a hard time, but insha'Allah, God-willing, we'll figure this out."
"Sometimes I wish I could just have a small wedding and not worry about pleasing everybody else except myself."
"Well, at least you have Umair to look forward to right? He sounds so amazing, masha'Allah. I want to meet him already!"
That does the magic. Her mouth immediately breaks into a smile and I love it. For a moment, I'm tempted to tell her about Tariq. But, would she understand? Or would her trust and respect for me decline? The guilt seeps within me and I do not like the feeling one bit. It reminds me of Farah, whom I had left alone in the theater and who held a grudge against me for only two days before making up. She tried to respect my decision to be with Tariq while I attempted to keep her suggestions in mind.
"Iman, I need you to clean the bathroom and help Humza with the laundry," Ammi commands when we arrive home. I'm exhausted by my mental battle, but the chores distract me for a while.
It's not until the next day that the guilt really kicks in, mixed with fear. I'm working on my homework at my desk when Ammi storms into my room, her face pale.
"What's wrong?" I ask worriedly, jumping from my chair.
"Who is it?" she asks. "What's his name?"
"What?" My heart hammers, fear creeping up my back. There's no way she's thinking what I'm thinking.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Iman." Her stern gaze seems to freeze me in place and I swallow hard as if to remove the bubbling emotions within me.
"I don't understand what's so wrong with having a wedding with a partition--" she begins.
"No one in our family has ever had a separated wedding," her mother interrupts, her eyes glaring with anger. "What will everyone say? They're going to think we're marrying you off to some--"
"I don't care what anybody thinks," Mariyam retorts. It's not often that I see this side to her. She is always gentle and soothing, hardly ever angry.
"It's just a matter of couple hours. Surely, you can do that for your parents," Ammi intervenes. I'm not surprised that she favors the opposing side. Sometimes, reputation and culture overruled.
"Okay, okay," Abu takes over, clearing his throat. "What about a wedding were the men sit on one side and the women on the other. But we're still all together?" He is playing the negotiator and I'm glad he is making the effort, however futile it may be.
"What's the point?" Mariyam mutters under her breath before I can verbalize my agreement with Abu.
"Everyone likes to sit with their family and friends. We can't impose their seating arrangements," her mother refuses immediately.
"I want to dress up for my wedding and besides, there's so much haraam that happens during some weddings. I just want to avoid that, you know what I mean?" Mariyam explains, her brown eyes searching mine as if I can somehow understand.
I nod, but my heart and mind disagrees. Of course, Mariyam doesn't want to wear a hijab on her wedding day and she would have to if the male guests could see her. But then again, our family wasn't that religious. And I wonder...a partition separating the male and female guests would make me more solemn than content. It's not good maybe, but that's how I feel. If Tariq and I were at the same wedding, I would want to see him.
As the argument continues, my mind drifts to the restaurant where Tariq and I had dined with Anum and her friend after watching the movie last week. I had hesitated, afraid of being seen with a boy by a relative or acquaintance. But Anum and Tariq convinced me to join along.
On the corner table in the restaurant, Tariq and I sat together, his shoulder slightly grazing mine. It was ironic that in public, barriers dissolved so that boys and girls could mix freely. I would never dream of sitting this close to Tariq if we were at each other's home or even at a wedding.
I suddenly became nervous, aware of how closely we were sitting. The kissing scene from the movie we had seen flooded my mind and I flushed with embarrassment. I would never forgive myself for going through that with Tariq sitting awkwardly in the seat adjacent to mine. Fortunately, the darkness in the theater disguised the hundreds of emotions that ran through me.
My phone vibrated in the pocket of my jeans.
Home.
I ignored the call, afraid of having Ammi or Abu hear Tariq's voice over the phone. They might even be able to recognize it, considering they had actually met him.
Once the food arrived, I accidentally dropped my spoon in a hurry to clear some space on the table. It fell on the maroon leather seat, just between where Tariq and I were sitting. We both reached for it together, his hands over mine. I looked up and he smiled, his eyes glimmering in the dim light.
"We all know Iman's starving and ready to pig out," he teased. He hurriedly grabbed two pizza slices and placed it on my plate.
"Thanks," I murmured, touched by his gesture. My skin tingled on the spot where his hand had touched mine.
For the rest of the time, I hardly felt Anum and her friend's presence. I was living in a bubble--daydreaming of Tariq and I together..some place together...some place alone.
"I'm stuffed. Want to go for a run?" Tariq asked after we're done, interrupting my little fantasy.
"A run?" I repeated, confused.
"Why not?" There was a sense of excitement in his face and the tone of his voice.
But, it's so late...and I should be getting home and well, what if someone sees me.
The bill came and I was thankful for the change in subject because I hadn't made up mind yet.
"C'mon Iman. Let the boys pay," Anum ordered, leading me to the bathroom. She went directly to the mirror, fixing her hair and reapplying her make-up though it looked perfect to me.
"Anum, what was Tariq saying about me," I asked her, now that we were alone.
"He was asking if you were coming. By the way, you guys look so cute together," she exclaimed.
"Anum, why didn't you tell me that he was coming? Look at me...I'm not even dressed right." She turned towards me, peering down at my loose jeans and pale blue top. My beige colored hijab didn't match at all, but I had worn it in a hurry.
"That's for sure. We need to go shopping one day." And she went back to putting on make-up, not bothering to answer my question. It irritated me that she talked to Tariq without letting me know exactly what they discussed. I was going to press her but my phone vibrated again. This time, I answered.
"Iman, where are you? Why didn't you answer your phone?" Ammi sounded worried.
"Uh, sorry, Ammi. I was in the theater so I couldn't talk." The lie came easier than I thought.
"You're dad's been wanting the car for so long. What's taking you so long?" Ammi sounded frustrated but I tried to take control of the situation.
"Sorry mom. The movie took longer than I thought. I'm on my way though," I assured her.
"You better be. It's going to be ten soon."
Tariq and I ended up alone afterwards, walking towards my car.
"Sorry about the run. I'll take a rain check?" I asked, surprised by my own boldness. I wanted to reassure myself that I would still be able to see him.
"Sure. We'll make it a race."
There was an awkward silence as we stood near my car. Couples normally embraced, even kissed, when departing. But that was out the question in our circumstance.
Or was it?
With the light of the streetlamp, I could make out Tariq's eyes intently gazing mine. I didn't want to break it and wished so badly that it would last. My heart pounded, wanting to take a step closer, both terrified and excited by the prospect.
But Tariq simply said a goodbye, flashing his smile and leaving me alone in my car.
"Iman, are you listening to me?" It's Mariyam's face looking at me, interrupting my memory. She appears frustrated. I feel guilty for not listening to her.
"Uh, yeah?" I ask.
"Nevermind," she says numbly.
"Oh, Mariyam I know you're having a hard time, but insha'Allah, God-willing, we'll figure this out."
"Sometimes I wish I could just have a small wedding and not worry about pleasing everybody else except myself."
"Well, at least you have Umair to look forward to right? He sounds so amazing, masha'Allah. I want to meet him already!"
That does the magic. Her mouth immediately breaks into a smile and I love it. For a moment, I'm tempted to tell her about Tariq. But, would she understand? Or would her trust and respect for me decline? The guilt seeps within me and I do not like the feeling one bit. It reminds me of Farah, whom I had left alone in the theater and who held a grudge against me for only two days before making up. She tried to respect my decision to be with Tariq while I attempted to keep her suggestions in mind.
"Iman, I need you to clean the bathroom and help Humza with the laundry," Ammi commands when we arrive home. I'm exhausted by my mental battle, but the chores distract me for a while.
It's not until the next day that the guilt really kicks in, mixed with fear. I'm working on my homework at my desk when Ammi storms into my room, her face pale.
"What's wrong?" I ask worriedly, jumping from my chair.
"Who is it?" she asks. "What's his name?"
"What?" My heart hammers, fear creeping up my back. There's no way she's thinking what I'm thinking.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Iman." Her stern gaze seems to freeze me in place and I swallow hard as if to remove the bubbling emotions within me.
5/22/11
Conflicting
I tap my foot impatiently and yell at Humza. "Get off the computer!"
He does not register my words, his eyes focused on the blasting car animation before him. In a swift motion, I reach over and press the small circular button to shut down the computer.
"What?" Humza looks confused as the screen becomes black and then his eyes narrow in anger. "What the hell did you do that for?"
"Excuse me?" I ask, a hand on my hip. "What did you just say? What makes you think you can swear like that?"
He rolls his eyes, bending down to turn on the computer again. I push him out of the chair and he slaps me hard on the shoulder.
"Just stop!" I screech, infuriated now as I dig my nails into his arm. He screams in response and kicks me in the shin.
Abu comes rushing in the room while we fight and he yells at us to stop. "You both are acting like a pair of janwar." He's right of course. The image of two bulls nailing their horns into each other comes to my mind.
"Abu, I asked him five times to get off the computer. I have homework to do and he's busy playing games."
Abu gives a scolding look at Humza but my sneaky brother has a comeback that startles me. "Yeah right, if you call doing homework by always being on Facebook and chatting."
My cheeks feel a little hot and I venture to look at Abu's face, which is depicting a confused expression. Oh God, he doesn't even know what Facebook is, thank the Lord. Boy, he really is behind in technology.
"Iman, do your homework because I'll need the computer soon too," is all Abu says and I slouch in discontent. One computer to use among the four of us makes things really difficult. And, well, to not have the privacy to use the computer in my room makes certain tasks almost impossible...that certain task being chatting with Tariq, obviously.
Still, I manage to do it and quickly minimize the window whenever I hear someone popping their head in the room or passing by. But right now, Tariq is offline and my heart plummets. It is probably a good thing because I have an exam in two days to study for, but that really isn't exciting.
Fifteen minutes before I have to give the computer to Abu, he comes online. I immediately message him but it takes him two whole minutes to reply. Our conversation is choppy, to my disappointment. He doesn't seem interested or focused. I quickly exit from the chat box before heading back to my room and sulking.
"Wanna go to the park?" Farah asks when she calls me later. The sun is still up and we are blessed with a beautiful day high in the sixties. I realize I shouldn't have to sulk inside the house
On the swings, I feel nostalgic at the beauty of being a child. No worries, no annoying feelings. Life seems full of fun and free of worries.
Farah is talking about something but my eyes linger on a couple near the monkey bars. The boy has his hands wrapped around her waist, the girl's on his neck. Their heads lean in together and I look away, wondering why they chose a public area meant for kids to play out their romance.
"Farah, I--I'm so confused," I can't help but say.
"About what?" she asks. She has a white colored hijab on, which is unusual for her, but it looks great.
"About...you know...Tariq," I say. I like saying his name, but around Farah, it's a topic I'm somewhat reluctant to discuss. She's not my mother, but she may as well be.
She shrugs. "What about him?"
"I'm not sure how he feels about me."
"Well, I'm sure he likes you."
"You think so?" I ask, enjoying the sound of it.
"He's a nice guy," she says, surprising me.
"He is," I agree, closing my eyes and starting to daydream again. "It sounds cheesy, but I can't stop thinking about him."
I've been having dreams about Tariq now. I can't remember much about them, but they give me a pleasant feeling.
"Do you like him enough to marry him?"
My eyes fly open abruptly, and I try to swallow the discomfort rising in my throat.
"Marriage?" I ask stupidly like it's a foreign word. I should have predicted this was coming. I am talking to Farah after all.
"Look Iman," she says, looking at me directly in the face. "There's nothing wrong about liking him. But you have to be serious about it and let your parents know..."
I get up from the swing, setting my legs into motion while thoughts swirl around in my head.
"Farah, we're only teenagers. I can't even think about marriage yet. And I would only want to be with him as a friend, not as..." I can't muster the courage to say husband.
"A friend, really? It doesn't seem like it from the way you talk about him."
My lips purse in anger, but I know very well that what Farah is saying is only the truth, and a truth that I really don't like.
"It's just so dumb. So annoying that we can't be friends. I mean what's wrong with--"
"Wow, Iman. You're calling Islam dumb?" she asks in a shrill voice.
I shake my head, raising my hands in the air in frustration. "Farah, what's wrong with you? You know that's not what I mean."
Like any other Muslim girl, I know the rules. But, it's hard when you feel an overwhelming desire to do something and you're conflicted with your desires and what is actually right. I just wanted to be friends with Tariq, but why did I have to feel so guilty about it?
We both stay silent for a couple seconds, staring ahead at the ice cream man and small kids jumping excitedly to get a taste.
"Wanna get ice cream?" she asks. That's one thing I love about Farah. It's very hard to make her angry enough to stop talking to me.
We buy our ice cream and head home. She gives me a hug and does not discuss the topic anymore.
My mother practically screams when I enter the house. I've cleaned my room so I wonder what it could be this time. It better not have to do anything with Humza.
"Mariyam got engaged!"
I raise my hands and let out a scream too. Finally! "Wait! How come she didn't tell me?!"
I grab my phone to call her, but Ammi stops me. "We're the first to know. Don't yell at her. She's really busy right now. When things cool down a bit, then go talk to her."
I slump on the couch. I'm dying to know how it all happened, what the guy is like--the person that will be marrying my lovely cousin. But, as with so many things in life, it's a matter of waiting.
Speaking of waiting, let me intervene here for just a moment. I'd like to apologize for not writing posts as regularly as I had said I would. I have a lot going on right now, including studying for a graduate admission exam, so thanks for being patient and I'll try my best to continue updating.
Dreamer :)
Okay, moving on....
At school the next day, I feel a tug of guilt as Tariq and I sit next to each other in the library, conjugating verbs. It's like an internal battle.
Don't look at him.
Oh God, but he's so cute.
Stop smiling all the time.
But I can't help it when I'm around him.
You're sitting too close to him.
Am not! We're barely touching.
Ammi and Abu...
Ugh, don't remind me. They'd never understand.
Farah...
She's insane. Tariq would freak if I brought up marriage.
You should leave now...
In just a bit. It's okay if I'm a little late to class.
"Don't you have to go to class?" Tariq asks me. We look directly into each others eyes and I wonder if he feels anything at all. The way his brown eyes twinkle against his long lashes does weird things to me.
"Uh, yea. But I don't feel like it." Why couldn't I have had the same study period as Tariq? Anum is so lucky.
He leans a little forward. "Iman the naughty girl isn't gonna skip class now is she?"
"I'm not naughty," I say defensively, a smile tugging at my lips. I can't help but glance at the way the fabric of his shirt wraps nicely around his arms.
"It's hard to picture you like that anyway."
"Like what?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
"Skipping class, failing tests..."
"Well, I did get a C on my trig test," I confide. Awkwardly, I feel proud saying it around Tariq.
"Ouch. That's a shame, with your dad being an accountant."
I roll my eyes, fluttering my eyelashes. The bell rings but I make no move to stand up. "My next test is in a week."
Tariq leans back on his chair, swiftly twirling a pen in his hand. He's already in A.P. Calculus. I'm hoping he gets the hint.
"I'll help you study, but go to class," he orders me. I try to stop from smiling too widely.
Several days later, Anum calls me to accompany her to watch a movie.
"Why not?" I answer over the phone. After studying for that math test, even if it was with Tariq, I do deserve a break. I call up Farah so she can join us too.
"You're both inseparable," Farah tells me after I pick her up from her house. I drive carefully before Abu has another chance to rebuke me later on.
Tariq is everywhere--in conversation, in my sleep, in thoughts. I'm a little surprised at Farah's tone--it is not condescending, but somewhere between teasing and reprimanding.
"He asked me out," I blurt. "Indirectly of course."
"Tell me all about it," Farah can't hide her eagerness. I sense a part of Laila in her. I miss Laila a lot actually. She's been way too busy with guests over from Jordan to give us any time.
"He was helping me with trig yesterday. After we finished, he said he'd treat me to lunch." Friday was a half day, but he had stayed to help me.
"And?" she asks, tilting her head a little.
"I said no," I reply. It was a tough decision, actually. The more time I spent with Tariq, the less I wanted to be away from him. The prospect of going out with him was so appealing, but Abu made the decision for me in the end. He had called me in the midst of it all, asking me if I had seen his topi, the one he always wears to Jummah prayers. After that, I felt compelled to say no to him.
"I'm proud of you." Farah gives me a friendly squeeze as we enter the theater.
My feet seem to be glued to the tiled floor once we meet Anum. She's standing elegantly in a knee-length dress and tights, but it's the person next to her that I can't take my eyes off of.
Tariq is wearing a splendid dark gray polo, the sleeves short for my eyes to pass over his muscular tone. Before I can take in the rest of him, I see Tariq tilting his head over to Anum, whispering something.
I feel a slight pang of jealously, seeing Anum laughing like that with Tariq. Why the hell is she flirting with him when she knows I like him? And how is he here in the first place? Did they both come together? How come she didn't tell me?
Suddenly, I become consumed by the idea that Tariq likes Anum. She is beautiful, with her straight black hair, large eyes, fair skin and arched eyebrows. In comparison to Anum, I am nothing. Why would any guy be attracted to me--a simple girl in hijab--when they had a beautiful non-hijabi to look at?
And then Anum meets my eyes and she motions me over. I have forgotten about Farah who is at my side.
I walk over lazily, avoiding my eyes to where Tariq is standing.
"Hey," he greets me, taking a step closer towards me.
"Iman, we were just talking about you!" Anum gives me a quick embrace and then feels confused that I've brought Farah along with me.
Out of nowhere, another guy appears. He's Caucasian, and he has two tubs of popcorn, one of which he hands over to Tariq. Anum does the introductions, but I can hardly pay attention. I'm so confused and startled by what's going on.
"So, what movie are we watching?" Farah pipes in, looking at me and Anum.
"Oh, I was thinking Road 11," Anum replies. "It got really good reviews."
"And it's rated R," Farah says out loud. I was actually thinking the same thing, but why did she have to say it out loud? This is so embarrasing.
Anum shrugs. Tariq suggests watching another movie. The white guy is busy on his phone. Apparently, we're all going to be watching the same movie together. My stomach churns at the idea.
Anum is pretty stubborn and she's already heading to the ticket counter. I turn toward Farah who looks at me uncomfortably.
"C'mon, it will be fine," I urge her.
She shakes her head. "I think we should leave. I thought it was just going to be you, me and Anum."
My shoulders slump. She can't be asking me to back out now. "Farah, we're already here."
"If you want to stay, go ahead," she says quietly, looking around.
"Where are you gonna go?" I ask.
"Don't worry about it," she replies. We just stand there for what seems to be a long time before she begins to walk away slowly. A part of me wants to catch up with her; I feel sullen for leaving her behind.
"Tariq got your ticket," Anum pokes me in the ribs.
"Farah left," I inform her glumly. I also want to ask her why Tariq and the other guy are here when it was only supposed to be use three. But before I can, my gaze wavers at Tariq and it's hard to think about anything else. I don't look back at Farah's receding figure.
I walk toward Tariq, wondering what it would be like if I just kept walking until we are embracing. I force the image out of my head, the guilt out of my heart, and step into the dark theater room.
He does not register my words, his eyes focused on the blasting car animation before him. In a swift motion, I reach over and press the small circular button to shut down the computer.
"What?" Humza looks confused as the screen becomes black and then his eyes narrow in anger. "What the hell did you do that for?"
"Excuse me?" I ask, a hand on my hip. "What did you just say? What makes you think you can swear like that?"
He rolls his eyes, bending down to turn on the computer again. I push him out of the chair and he slaps me hard on the shoulder.
"Just stop!" I screech, infuriated now as I dig my nails into his arm. He screams in response and kicks me in the shin.
Abu comes rushing in the room while we fight and he yells at us to stop. "You both are acting like a pair of janwar." He's right of course. The image of two bulls nailing their horns into each other comes to my mind.
"Abu, I asked him five times to get off the computer. I have homework to do and he's busy playing games."
Abu gives a scolding look at Humza but my sneaky brother has a comeback that startles me. "Yeah right, if you call doing homework by always being on Facebook and chatting."
My cheeks feel a little hot and I venture to look at Abu's face, which is depicting a confused expression. Oh God, he doesn't even know what Facebook is, thank the Lord. Boy, he really is behind in technology.
"Iman, do your homework because I'll need the computer soon too," is all Abu says and I slouch in discontent. One computer to use among the four of us makes things really difficult. And, well, to not have the privacy to use the computer in my room makes certain tasks almost impossible...that certain task being chatting with Tariq, obviously.
Still, I manage to do it and quickly minimize the window whenever I hear someone popping their head in the room or passing by. But right now, Tariq is offline and my heart plummets. It is probably a good thing because I have an exam in two days to study for, but that really isn't exciting.
Fifteen minutes before I have to give the computer to Abu, he comes online. I immediately message him but it takes him two whole minutes to reply. Our conversation is choppy, to my disappointment. He doesn't seem interested or focused. I quickly exit from the chat box before heading back to my room and sulking.
"Wanna go to the park?" Farah asks when she calls me later. The sun is still up and we are blessed with a beautiful day high in the sixties. I realize I shouldn't have to sulk inside the house
On the swings, I feel nostalgic at the beauty of being a child. No worries, no annoying feelings. Life seems full of fun and free of worries.
Farah is talking about something but my eyes linger on a couple near the monkey bars. The boy has his hands wrapped around her waist, the girl's on his neck. Their heads lean in together and I look away, wondering why they chose a public area meant for kids to play out their romance.
"Farah, I--I'm so confused," I can't help but say.
"About what?" she asks. She has a white colored hijab on, which is unusual for her, but it looks great.
"About...you know...Tariq," I say. I like saying his name, but around Farah, it's a topic I'm somewhat reluctant to discuss. She's not my mother, but she may as well be.
She shrugs. "What about him?"
"I'm not sure how he feels about me."
"Well, I'm sure he likes you."
"You think so?" I ask, enjoying the sound of it.
"He's a nice guy," she says, surprising me.
"He is," I agree, closing my eyes and starting to daydream again. "It sounds cheesy, but I can't stop thinking about him."
I've been having dreams about Tariq now. I can't remember much about them, but they give me a pleasant feeling.
"Do you like him enough to marry him?"
My eyes fly open abruptly, and I try to swallow the discomfort rising in my throat.
"Marriage?" I ask stupidly like it's a foreign word. I should have predicted this was coming. I am talking to Farah after all.
"Look Iman," she says, looking at me directly in the face. "There's nothing wrong about liking him. But you have to be serious about it and let your parents know..."
I get up from the swing, setting my legs into motion while thoughts swirl around in my head.
"Farah, we're only teenagers. I can't even think about marriage yet. And I would only want to be with him as a friend, not as..." I can't muster the courage to say husband.
"A friend, really? It doesn't seem like it from the way you talk about him."
My lips purse in anger, but I know very well that what Farah is saying is only the truth, and a truth that I really don't like.
"It's just so dumb. So annoying that we can't be friends. I mean what's wrong with--"
"Wow, Iman. You're calling Islam dumb?" she asks in a shrill voice.
I shake my head, raising my hands in the air in frustration. "Farah, what's wrong with you? You know that's not what I mean."
Like any other Muslim girl, I know the rules. But, it's hard when you feel an overwhelming desire to do something and you're conflicted with your desires and what is actually right. I just wanted to be friends with Tariq, but why did I have to feel so guilty about it?
We both stay silent for a couple seconds, staring ahead at the ice cream man and small kids jumping excitedly to get a taste.
"Wanna get ice cream?" she asks. That's one thing I love about Farah. It's very hard to make her angry enough to stop talking to me.
We buy our ice cream and head home. She gives me a hug and does not discuss the topic anymore.
My mother practically screams when I enter the house. I've cleaned my room so I wonder what it could be this time. It better not have to do anything with Humza.
"Mariyam got engaged!"
I raise my hands and let out a scream too. Finally! "Wait! How come she didn't tell me?!"
I grab my phone to call her, but Ammi stops me. "We're the first to know. Don't yell at her. She's really busy right now. When things cool down a bit, then go talk to her."
I slump on the couch. I'm dying to know how it all happened, what the guy is like--the person that will be marrying my lovely cousin. But, as with so many things in life, it's a matter of waiting.
Speaking of waiting, let me intervene here for just a moment. I'd like to apologize for not writing posts as regularly as I had said I would. I have a lot going on right now, including studying for a graduate admission exam, so thanks for being patient and I'll try my best to continue updating.
Dreamer :)
Okay, moving on....
At school the next day, I feel a tug of guilt as Tariq and I sit next to each other in the library, conjugating verbs. It's like an internal battle.
Don't look at him.
Oh God, but he's so cute.
Stop smiling all the time.
But I can't help it when I'm around him.
You're sitting too close to him.
Am not! We're barely touching.
Ammi and Abu...
Ugh, don't remind me. They'd never understand.
Farah...
She's insane. Tariq would freak if I brought up marriage.
You should leave now...
In just a bit. It's okay if I'm a little late to class.
"Don't you have to go to class?" Tariq asks me. We look directly into each others eyes and I wonder if he feels anything at all. The way his brown eyes twinkle against his long lashes does weird things to me.
"Uh, yea. But I don't feel like it." Why couldn't I have had the same study period as Tariq? Anum is so lucky.
He leans a little forward. "Iman the naughty girl isn't gonna skip class now is she?"
"I'm not naughty," I say defensively, a smile tugging at my lips. I can't help but glance at the way the fabric of his shirt wraps nicely around his arms.
"It's hard to picture you like that anyway."
"Like what?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
"Skipping class, failing tests..."
"Well, I did get a C on my trig test," I confide. Awkwardly, I feel proud saying it around Tariq.
"Ouch. That's a shame, with your dad being an accountant."
I roll my eyes, fluttering my eyelashes. The bell rings but I make no move to stand up. "My next test is in a week."
Tariq leans back on his chair, swiftly twirling a pen in his hand. He's already in A.P. Calculus. I'm hoping he gets the hint.
"I'll help you study, but go to class," he orders me. I try to stop from smiling too widely.
Several days later, Anum calls me to accompany her to watch a movie.
"Why not?" I answer over the phone. After studying for that math test, even if it was with Tariq, I do deserve a break. I call up Farah so she can join us too.
"You're both inseparable," Farah tells me after I pick her up from her house. I drive carefully before Abu has another chance to rebuke me later on.
Tariq is everywhere--in conversation, in my sleep, in thoughts. I'm a little surprised at Farah's tone--it is not condescending, but somewhere between teasing and reprimanding.
"He asked me out," I blurt. "Indirectly of course."
"Tell me all about it," Farah can't hide her eagerness. I sense a part of Laila in her. I miss Laila a lot actually. She's been way too busy with guests over from Jordan to give us any time.
"He was helping me with trig yesterday. After we finished, he said he'd treat me to lunch." Friday was a half day, but he had stayed to help me.
"And?" she asks, tilting her head a little.
"I said no," I reply. It was a tough decision, actually. The more time I spent with Tariq, the less I wanted to be away from him. The prospect of going out with him was so appealing, but Abu made the decision for me in the end. He had called me in the midst of it all, asking me if I had seen his topi, the one he always wears to Jummah prayers. After that, I felt compelled to say no to him.
"I'm proud of you." Farah gives me a friendly squeeze as we enter the theater.
My feet seem to be glued to the tiled floor once we meet Anum. She's standing elegantly in a knee-length dress and tights, but it's the person next to her that I can't take my eyes off of.
Tariq is wearing a splendid dark gray polo, the sleeves short for my eyes to pass over his muscular tone. Before I can take in the rest of him, I see Tariq tilting his head over to Anum, whispering something.
I feel a slight pang of jealously, seeing Anum laughing like that with Tariq. Why the hell is she flirting with him when she knows I like him? And how is he here in the first place? Did they both come together? How come she didn't tell me?
Suddenly, I become consumed by the idea that Tariq likes Anum. She is beautiful, with her straight black hair, large eyes, fair skin and arched eyebrows. In comparison to Anum, I am nothing. Why would any guy be attracted to me--a simple girl in hijab--when they had a beautiful non-hijabi to look at?
And then Anum meets my eyes and she motions me over. I have forgotten about Farah who is at my side.
I walk over lazily, avoiding my eyes to where Tariq is standing.
"Hey," he greets me, taking a step closer towards me.
"Iman, we were just talking about you!" Anum gives me a quick embrace and then feels confused that I've brought Farah along with me.
Out of nowhere, another guy appears. He's Caucasian, and he has two tubs of popcorn, one of which he hands over to Tariq. Anum does the introductions, but I can hardly pay attention. I'm so confused and startled by what's going on.
"So, what movie are we watching?" Farah pipes in, looking at me and Anum.
"Oh, I was thinking Road 11," Anum replies. "It got really good reviews."
"And it's rated R," Farah says out loud. I was actually thinking the same thing, but why did she have to say it out loud? This is so embarrasing.
Anum shrugs. Tariq suggests watching another movie. The white guy is busy on his phone. Apparently, we're all going to be watching the same movie together. My stomach churns at the idea.
Anum is pretty stubborn and she's already heading to the ticket counter. I turn toward Farah who looks at me uncomfortably.
"C'mon, it will be fine," I urge her.
She shakes her head. "I think we should leave. I thought it was just going to be you, me and Anum."
My shoulders slump. She can't be asking me to back out now. "Farah, we're already here."
"If you want to stay, go ahead," she says quietly, looking around.
"Where are you gonna go?" I ask.
"Don't worry about it," she replies. We just stand there for what seems to be a long time before she begins to walk away slowly. A part of me wants to catch up with her; I feel sullen for leaving her behind.
"Tariq got your ticket," Anum pokes me in the ribs.
"Farah left," I inform her glumly. I also want to ask her why Tariq and the other guy are here when it was only supposed to be use three. But before I can, my gaze wavers at Tariq and it's hard to think about anything else. I don't look back at Farah's receding figure.
I walk toward Tariq, wondering what it would be like if I just kept walking until we are embracing. I force the image out of my head, the guilt out of my heart, and step into the dark theater room.
3/10/11
Lovestruck
The melody is so beautiful and I can relate to it so well. The lights are dim so we can see the movie and I catch myself before I start daydreaming again. It's as if the words are written just to describe my own feelings.
Late at night when all the world is sleeping.
I stay up and think of you.
And I wish on a star, that somewhere you are, thinking of me too.
Cause I'm dreaming of you tonight...
Wonder if you even see me
And I wonder if you know I'm there.
If you looked in my eyes
Would you see what's inside?
Would you even care?
My gaze wavers towards Tariq, slouched in his chair and watching the movie like it's the most boring thing in the world. He is wearing a long sleeve navy colored fleece, the collars sitting comfortably on his shoulders. He doesn't seem to notice me, except for the occasional moments when our eyes meet during class or in the hallway. Even then, it's only a polite nod of the head.
I had expressed the slight pang of disappointment to Farah and Anum when Laila was not around. I am annoyed, much more exhausted actually, by her teasing and taunting.
"Well, that's the whole point of hijab. He's not gonna start chatting with you or go out with you suddenly. He respects you," Farah had explained the obvious. Even though I know this is the truth, I don't like to hear it. Anum's words had appealed to me more.
"He's not a mind reader and until you don't make it seem like you want his attention, he's not going to."
The words float in my mind again while Salena continues to sing in the movie. Spanish class is suddenly now my favorite, the one which I look forward to the most. This is despite the fact that Senora Gonzales is a hard-core Columbian who tries to spew as much information as she can from her mouth in the fifty minutes of class. For once, she allows us to take a break from conjugating verbs and watch a movie, though she makes sure it is entirely in Spanish.
Except for the song, of course.
The class ends and I linger in my seat, waiting to get up until Tariq does. It's no use though; I'm too nervous to initiate a conversation on my own. If he did, I wouldn't mind continuing it.
At home, I feel melancholy. Humza is having fun at a basketball game while I mull over trig problems. I suddenly freeze at the computer several hours later when I check my email.
Tariq Malik wants to be friends with you on Facebook.
My heart hammers though he's not even anywhere near me. But the thought--the realization that he initiated this. He wants to be friends with me, even in cyberspace, means that he had noticed me.
My fingers tap the mouse nervously as I wait for the page to load. In a matter of seconds, I'm browsing through his profile pictures. In some, he doesn't look so nice but in a few, he looks attractive. He's not exactly a hunk that I am swooning over. But he has that genuine sweet look to his face, and I already know from my previous encounter that his personality matches that look. I hesitate for only a moment before I accept his request.
There's nothing wrong with this, I think to myself. Why amI defending this simple act anyway? I don't write on his wall because I don't want to sound so desperate. Maybe he'll drop a line soon.
When he doesn't, I get impatient. But fortunately, Ammi calls me to the kitchen for dinner and my mind steers away from him.
The next day, I'm eager to see him. But in my bedroom mirror, I can't stand the sight of that pimple on my left cheek. I dig my fingernails into it to squeeze out the pus and carefully apply foundation to cover it. It stings a little but it's well concealed, and that's all that matters. The birds seem to be chirping loudly during my usual trek to school.
But,he doesn't wave, much less talk to me. By lunchtime, I'm so irritated by myself that I want to disappear into a corner and hate myself for thinking he likes me too.
Laila makes a joke over something, but I don't laugh. I just stare at my turkey sandwich like it's the most interesting thing in the lunchroom.
"Hey, what's wrong with you?" Laila pokes me in the ribs. I jerk a little backwards at the sudden contact, tilting my head away. In my peripheral view, I see him standing by the entrance of the cafeteria. I let out a deep breath and mumble something in response to Laila, looking down at my sandwich again.
My friends are chattering about something but I'm not paying attention. Why did he have to choose that very spot to stand with his friend? No, it couldn't be because he actually--
"Are you listening?" I hear Laila again. Maybe I really do need to disappear into a library corner so I can be left alone.
"Go talk to him. T-A-L-K." I look up at Anum and she gives me an encouraging nod. My eyes look towards the seat that Farah usually occupies, but she's not here today to give me any input. Darn that root canal for taking her away from me.
I stand up without a word, shoving my uneaten sandwich back into my backpack. I try to make it as natural as possible--to exit the cafeteria and brush right past him enough for him to acknowledge me.
"Hey Iman."
I can't help but smile. It's like magic. I love the way my name sounds when he says it.
Crap. This is really bad. Why am I thinking like this suddenly?
"Hey Tariq," I reply casually, not giving away the rapid thump of my heart beat.
"Chase any buses lately?" he asks me and I stare at him in confusion.
"What?" I stammer.
"Oh, sorry. Now I'm gonna sound like a stalker. But I saw you running after the bus that one day after school."
I swallow, remembering the day Abu told me to meet him at his office instead of going home. He needed some help and he didn't have the time to come pick me up.
"Uh, yeah," I say sheepishly. "I don't usually do that." But he had noticed? Well, duh, you can pretty much tell a hijabi running after a bus in broad daylight. But still. Gaaah. I need to stop having this crazy internal conversation in my head and instead pay attention to him.
We end up walking together towards the stairwell. Suddenly, I'm caught in the fear that he has discovered I am the creator of that ridiculous valentine card. My cheeks feel hot but he's talking so casually that I stop thinking about it.
He's talking about some football game. I should know this. I like sports. But I can't come up with anything clever to say so I just nod and agree.
And before I realize it, we're separated and we head off separately towards our class. Is this how it is? Talking only when the time and situation allows for it? School is an inconvenient place, interrupting conversations with discrete appointments to head to one class or another. But school is, after all, the only place where I can see Tariq five days out of seven. So I couldn't put much blame on it.
Walking home, I see a bus drive past me and I find myself smiling. So he had humor also. Only made things better.
Facebook alerts me that Tariq's birthday is in three days. Oh great. Now what?
The idea of getting him a gift is nonsensical. It would definitely show my desperation, which I really need to work on by the way. But it feels wrong to only wish him a birthday verbally and not accompany it with anything else. Even if we aren't exactly friends, I feel like it's heading that way.
Two days later, I head to the kitchen, remembering the day Tariq came over. My friends say that my crusty white chocolate chip cookies are the best. And so, with the spare ingredients in the cupboard, I set to baking a batch.
I'm already imagining the scene where I hand it to him, but I stop myself from daydreaming again. Ammi is already upset with me for not listening to her while she narrates some story she heard from work. Besides, I don't want her to get suspicious. I don't know how true it is, but some mothers can readily tell when their son or daughter "is in love."
Which I'm not, of course. Right? Love is an arbitrary word.
Anyway, the idea of giving him a card seems a little feminine. So I make do with the cookies, which I've wrapped in plastic. Of course I take some out for my friends before they start punching me for forgetting about them.
But I don't know how to do it. I can't just go up to him and hand it over to him like that, especially when he's surrounded by six other guys.
There are ten minutes left of my lunch period and the bag is still sitting in my backpack. Anum is busily texting someone on her iPhone and I wish she would stop. Farah looks miserable with the pain in her mouth. Laila is busy studying for some test in the library.
Suddenly, I hear his casual laugh and it's very close by. I don't turn around though, despite my natural urge to do so. Anum looks up from her phone and waves at Tariq. I envy her for it, but I don't have time to contemplate.
Suddenly, Tariq is swinging his long legs over the bench and sitting next to me. Sitting right next to me. I feel frozen in space and all I can do is shift my eyes nervously from Farah and Anum. Farah looks super confused. We don't usually have company from the guys. But Anum is a natural at this and starts chatting away with Tariq.
I take my time to get a sideway glance at him. He's wearing navy again. God, that must be his favorite color. At least he looks really good in it.
"What kind of cookie is that?" I hear him ask, but the question isn't targeted to me. It's toward Farah, who's biting away at my last cookie. She looks a little annoyed but Anum responds for her.
"It's Iman's specialty. Crusty cookies with white chocolate chips and raisins."
I glare at her for drawing the attention to me but I quickly remove the expression as Tariq turns his head towards me. God, he's so close--less than an arm's length away. If I shifted slightly, our shoulders would be grazing.
"So you bake too?" he asks. What is this? Is he making a mental note of all my capabilities?
"Yeah," I reply. And then something triggers me to pull the plastic bag from my backpack and slide it on the table in front of him. "Knock your socks off." Okay, maybe that is a dumb way to say it, but he's laughing and already opening up the plastic.
"Damn. These are good," he replies, already on his second cookie. I don't think my smile can get any wider and I just want to hug Anum desperately for giving me this chance. But she's already standing up to leave and nudging Farah to do so also. And then I realize what she's up to.
She wants Tariq and me to have some time alone. But the idea makes my heart churn. We're not alone obviously, we're in the middle of a cafeteria. But still, at the lunch table, we are our own pair.
There's an awkward silence before he starts talking again. I'm paying attention to the sound of it. His voice has a pleasant ring, a cheerful tone.
"How's your little brother doing?" he asks.
"Humza?" I ask idiotically. Where did he fit in the picture? "Oh, he's the same. Being the spoiled brat that he is."
He's smiling and I remember that he can relate to. "Is yours still nagging for chocolate all the time?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "No, surprisingly not. He's all about the newest video game now and those things aren't a dollar like chocolate is."
I agree, telling him what it's like to have a father who is frugal beyond belief, but it's what has helped us to finally pay our mortgage. He tells me that my father is pretty funny, recalling the time they spend together during the blizzard.
We continue the conversation until the bell rings. It always had to ring at the wrong time. He walks me to class and I feel like I'm floating in the air.
That night, I fall asleep with the conversation playing over and over again in my head. I sigh at the beauty of it all and only wish for tomorrow again because it holds another opportunity--another chance to see him and talk to him.
In the darkness, I find my voice softly humming the melody again, rocking me gently to sleep.
Late at night when all the world is sleeping.
I stay up and think of you.
And I wish on a star, that somewhere you are, thinking of me too.
Cause I'm dreaming of you tonight...
Wonder if you even see me
And I wonder if you know I'm there.
If you looked in my eyes
Would you see what's inside?
Would you even care?
My gaze wavers towards Tariq, slouched in his chair and watching the movie like it's the most boring thing in the world. He is wearing a long sleeve navy colored fleece, the collars sitting comfortably on his shoulders. He doesn't seem to notice me, except for the occasional moments when our eyes meet during class or in the hallway. Even then, it's only a polite nod of the head.
I had expressed the slight pang of disappointment to Farah and Anum when Laila was not around. I am annoyed, much more exhausted actually, by her teasing and taunting.
"Well, that's the whole point of hijab. He's not gonna start chatting with you or go out with you suddenly. He respects you," Farah had explained the obvious. Even though I know this is the truth, I don't like to hear it. Anum's words had appealed to me more.
"He's not a mind reader and until you don't make it seem like you want his attention, he's not going to."
The words float in my mind again while Salena continues to sing in the movie. Spanish class is suddenly now my favorite, the one which I look forward to the most. This is despite the fact that Senora Gonzales is a hard-core Columbian who tries to spew as much information as she can from her mouth in the fifty minutes of class. For once, she allows us to take a break from conjugating verbs and watch a movie, though she makes sure it is entirely in Spanish.
Except for the song, of course.
The class ends and I linger in my seat, waiting to get up until Tariq does. It's no use though; I'm too nervous to initiate a conversation on my own. If he did, I wouldn't mind continuing it.
At home, I feel melancholy. Humza is having fun at a basketball game while I mull over trig problems. I suddenly freeze at the computer several hours later when I check my email.
Tariq Malik wants to be friends with you on Facebook.
My heart hammers though he's not even anywhere near me. But the thought--the realization that he initiated this. He wants to be friends with me, even in cyberspace, means that he had noticed me.
My fingers tap the mouse nervously as I wait for the page to load. In a matter of seconds, I'm browsing through his profile pictures. In some, he doesn't look so nice but in a few, he looks attractive. He's not exactly a hunk that I am swooning over. But he has that genuine sweet look to his face, and I already know from my previous encounter that his personality matches that look. I hesitate for only a moment before I accept his request.
There's nothing wrong with this, I think to myself. Why amI defending this simple act anyway? I don't write on his wall because I don't want to sound so desperate. Maybe he'll drop a line soon.
When he doesn't, I get impatient. But fortunately, Ammi calls me to the kitchen for dinner and my mind steers away from him.
The next day, I'm eager to see him. But in my bedroom mirror, I can't stand the sight of that pimple on my left cheek. I dig my fingernails into it to squeeze out the pus and carefully apply foundation to cover it. It stings a little but it's well concealed, and that's all that matters. The birds seem to be chirping loudly during my usual trek to school.
But,he doesn't wave, much less talk to me. By lunchtime, I'm so irritated by myself that I want to disappear into a corner and hate myself for thinking he likes me too.
Laila makes a joke over something, but I don't laugh. I just stare at my turkey sandwich like it's the most interesting thing in the lunchroom.
"Hey, what's wrong with you?" Laila pokes me in the ribs. I jerk a little backwards at the sudden contact, tilting my head away. In my peripheral view, I see him standing by the entrance of the cafeteria. I let out a deep breath and mumble something in response to Laila, looking down at my sandwich again.
My friends are chattering about something but I'm not paying attention. Why did he have to choose that very spot to stand with his friend? No, it couldn't be because he actually--
"Are you listening?" I hear Laila again. Maybe I really do need to disappear into a library corner so I can be left alone.
"Go talk to him. T-A-L-K." I look up at Anum and she gives me an encouraging nod. My eyes look towards the seat that Farah usually occupies, but she's not here today to give me any input. Darn that root canal for taking her away from me.
I stand up without a word, shoving my uneaten sandwich back into my backpack. I try to make it as natural as possible--to exit the cafeteria and brush right past him enough for him to acknowledge me.
"Hey Iman."
I can't help but smile. It's like magic. I love the way my name sounds when he says it.
Crap. This is really bad. Why am I thinking like this suddenly?
"Hey Tariq," I reply casually, not giving away the rapid thump of my heart beat.
"Chase any buses lately?" he asks me and I stare at him in confusion.
"What?" I stammer.
"Oh, sorry. Now I'm gonna sound like a stalker. But I saw you running after the bus that one day after school."
I swallow, remembering the day Abu told me to meet him at his office instead of going home. He needed some help and he didn't have the time to come pick me up.
"Uh, yeah," I say sheepishly. "I don't usually do that." But he had noticed? Well, duh, you can pretty much tell a hijabi running after a bus in broad daylight. But still. Gaaah. I need to stop having this crazy internal conversation in my head and instead pay attention to him.
We end up walking together towards the stairwell. Suddenly, I'm caught in the fear that he has discovered I am the creator of that ridiculous valentine card. My cheeks feel hot but he's talking so casually that I stop thinking about it.
He's talking about some football game. I should know this. I like sports. But I can't come up with anything clever to say so I just nod and agree.
And before I realize it, we're separated and we head off separately towards our class. Is this how it is? Talking only when the time and situation allows for it? School is an inconvenient place, interrupting conversations with discrete appointments to head to one class or another. But school is, after all, the only place where I can see Tariq five days out of seven. So I couldn't put much blame on it.
Walking home, I see a bus drive past me and I find myself smiling. So he had humor also. Only made things better.
Facebook alerts me that Tariq's birthday is in three days. Oh great. Now what?
The idea of getting him a gift is nonsensical. It would definitely show my desperation, which I really need to work on by the way. But it feels wrong to only wish him a birthday verbally and not accompany it with anything else. Even if we aren't exactly friends, I feel like it's heading that way.
Two days later, I head to the kitchen, remembering the day Tariq came over. My friends say that my crusty white chocolate chip cookies are the best. And so, with the spare ingredients in the cupboard, I set to baking a batch.
I'm already imagining the scene where I hand it to him, but I stop myself from daydreaming again. Ammi is already upset with me for not listening to her while she narrates some story she heard from work. Besides, I don't want her to get suspicious. I don't know how true it is, but some mothers can readily tell when their son or daughter "is in love."
Which I'm not, of course. Right? Love is an arbitrary word.
Anyway, the idea of giving him a card seems a little feminine. So I make do with the cookies, which I've wrapped in plastic. Of course I take some out for my friends before they start punching me for forgetting about them.
But I don't know how to do it. I can't just go up to him and hand it over to him like that, especially when he's surrounded by six other guys.
There are ten minutes left of my lunch period and the bag is still sitting in my backpack. Anum is busily texting someone on her iPhone and I wish she would stop. Farah looks miserable with the pain in her mouth. Laila is busy studying for some test in the library.
Suddenly, I hear his casual laugh and it's very close by. I don't turn around though, despite my natural urge to do so. Anum looks up from her phone and waves at Tariq. I envy her for it, but I don't have time to contemplate.
Suddenly, Tariq is swinging his long legs over the bench and sitting next to me. Sitting right next to me. I feel frozen in space and all I can do is shift my eyes nervously from Farah and Anum. Farah looks super confused. We don't usually have company from the guys. But Anum is a natural at this and starts chatting away with Tariq.
I take my time to get a sideway glance at him. He's wearing navy again. God, that must be his favorite color. At least he looks really good in it.
"What kind of cookie is that?" I hear him ask, but the question isn't targeted to me. It's toward Farah, who's biting away at my last cookie. She looks a little annoyed but Anum responds for her.
"It's Iman's specialty. Crusty cookies with white chocolate chips and raisins."
I glare at her for drawing the attention to me but I quickly remove the expression as Tariq turns his head towards me. God, he's so close--less than an arm's length away. If I shifted slightly, our shoulders would be grazing.
"So you bake too?" he asks. What is this? Is he making a mental note of all my capabilities?
"Yeah," I reply. And then something triggers me to pull the plastic bag from my backpack and slide it on the table in front of him. "Knock your socks off." Okay, maybe that is a dumb way to say it, but he's laughing and already opening up the plastic.
"Damn. These are good," he replies, already on his second cookie. I don't think my smile can get any wider and I just want to hug Anum desperately for giving me this chance. But she's already standing up to leave and nudging Farah to do so also. And then I realize what she's up to.
She wants Tariq and me to have some time alone. But the idea makes my heart churn. We're not alone obviously, we're in the middle of a cafeteria. But still, at the lunch table, we are our own pair.
There's an awkward silence before he starts talking again. I'm paying attention to the sound of it. His voice has a pleasant ring, a cheerful tone.
"How's your little brother doing?" he asks.
"Humza?" I ask idiotically. Where did he fit in the picture? "Oh, he's the same. Being the spoiled brat that he is."
He's smiling and I remember that he can relate to. "Is yours still nagging for chocolate all the time?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "No, surprisingly not. He's all about the newest video game now and those things aren't a dollar like chocolate is."
I agree, telling him what it's like to have a father who is frugal beyond belief, but it's what has helped us to finally pay our mortgage. He tells me that my father is pretty funny, recalling the time they spend together during the blizzard.
We continue the conversation until the bell rings. It always had to ring at the wrong time. He walks me to class and I feel like I'm floating in the air.
That night, I fall asleep with the conversation playing over and over again in my head. I sigh at the beauty of it all and only wish for tomorrow again because it holds another opportunity--another chance to see him and talk to him.
In the darkness, I find my voice softly humming the melody again, rocking me gently to sleep.
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