Love from A to Z(77)

The chapati was unbelievably fresh, having been made right in front of my eyes, the flaky, grilled part on the surface leading the way to the soft, steamy dough underneath.

So good.

I turned to Zayneb to see what she thought.

She was crying.

? ? ?

“I don’t get how I’m supposed to move on from my grandmother being murdered.” Her chapati lay uneaten as Zayneb finished telling me about her grandmother’s death. How the bread had reminded her of her daadi preparing this after-school snack for her every single day during the months she lived with them. “Like, I’m a person who feels things strongly. And I don’t know how to deal with my feelings. The way society tells me to. Which is mostly to ignore them.”

I wanted to console her, and it took my all not to reach out to her. I don’t know for what . . . to wipe those tears? Because I wanted them gone. “Maybe you’re not supposed to deal with them in that way. The way you’re told to. Maybe you’re meant to be the person you are.”

“That’s exactly what Auntie Nandy told me. That I’m supposed to feel things, then shake the world. Smartly.” She picked up her chapati, broke another piece off, and put it in her mouth. “I just don’t like the alone part of it.”

“You don’t have to be alone. I . . . can be there too.” I took the lid off my tea. “I’m not a shouter, but I’m a helper. And I’d love to help you, Zayneb. Because you care about the right things.”

“You’re making me cry again.” She covered her face, then drew apart her hands to peek at me, laughing through the tears. “Or maybe it’s the chapati. Maybe I can’t eat fresh chapati or roti or fresh bread ever again, because I’ll cry. Maybe I’ll be a breadless woman for the rest of my life. But . . .” Smiling, she let out a sad sob. “I just love bread so very very much.”

“Wait. Maybe you can try chewing the chapati with the hot karak. Maybe it will change the sensation, the feeling that you’re eating the bread your grandma made.”

She took a sip and chewed, the lights on the beach reflecting the dried tears still glistening on her moving cheeks. “Now I’m making a roti slushie in my mouth. To erase a sacred memory. Kinda ewww. And sad.”

“Look at the water, too. To make a new visual connection. Or . . .” I shrugged and smiled. “You can continue looking at me.”

“Astaghfirullah. I thought we were following the rules. You should be telling me to lower my gaze, brother,” she said, shaking her finger at me, a smile on her face. “And where’s your dad? If my sister, Sadia, were here, she’d say we weren’t following the rules.”

I looked behind us and, not seeing Dad, texted him.

“Okay, let’s both look at the water then.” I laughed and watched the waves some more. “Did I ever tell you the minute I saw the water, I was interested in it? In London? At the airport?”

“What color was the water?”

“It was deep blue. Azurite colored, like the rock I’d bought for Hanna.”

“Was that why you’d noticed the water? Because of its blue hijab?”

“Yeah. That’s exactly why. But also because the water was so busy. Like nonstop busy. So busy all her luggage fell over.”

“The water was dealing with online hate. The water was being mobbed by ruthless sharks.”

“I want to know all about the water. Every thing about it. ’Cause I . . . like the water. A lot.” I didn’t turn to her.

“Because you’re thirsty? Because you’ve never drunk water? Ever?” Her words were rippled with the hint of a giggle.

I cringed and shook my head, laughing. “Astaghfirullah. I thought we were following the rules. That’s crossing the line, sister.”

“Sorry. Maybe it’s because I’m thirsty too.” She didn’t say this in a joking way, just matter-of-factly.

We both looked straight ahead. Then Dad waved at us as he walked by our chairs, Hanna running to the water ahead of him.

Perfect timing.

“But what about if the water you’re looking at is . . .” I paused, trying to think of a good way to capture my insecurities about my MS future without soliciting sympathy. “Slightly contained. Not really free like the water ahead of us.”

“You mean what if the water I like is a tall, cool glass of the sweetest water?” She giggled hard now. “Sorry, this metaphor thing is driving me to break ALL THE RULES.”

“No, seriously, Zayneb.” I became quiet. “Are you okay with that? The MS part of me.”

“Adam, I finished falling for you the day I saw you with your IV. The day you opened up to me. I’m into openness in people. That’s what I’m drawn to. Well, one of the things.”

I nodded, so crazy-happy inside but, also, tainted with worry. “And what about your family. Would they freak out?”

“You’re lucky you’re looking at a girl—I mean at a water—that’s got super-chill parents in that department. Like, they’ve always told me they’re okay with me meeting someone. The vast ocean this water comes from is cool, okay?”

“No, I mean would they be okay with the MS part.”

“I think so? They’re not cruel.”