Ayesha At Last(3)

She remained silent about the other two items—exploring the world, falling in love—the first as impossible as the second. She had no money, and falling in love would be difficult when she had never even held someone’s hand before. “Hafsa is getting married this summer,” Ayesha said instead. “She came over this morning to tell me, but I already knew. Nani and Samira Aunty have been talking about her rishtas for weeks.”

Clara, an only child, loved hearing about Ayesha’s large extended family. She was particularly intrigued by the traditional rishta proposal process, which Ayesha had explained in hilarious detail. Prospective partners were introduced to each other after being carefully vetted by parents and family. Ayesha had received a few rishta proposals herself, years ago, though they had never led to a wedding. She hadn’t really connected with any of the potential suitors, and they must have felt likewise because she’d never heard from them after the initial meetings.

“Hafsa can’t get married! She’s a baby!” Clara exclaimed.

Ayesha started laughing. “She’s got the entire wedding planned already. All she needs is the groom.”

“Your cousin is crazy. You’re the one who should be getting married. Or me. Rob still flinches whenever I mention weddings, after ten years together.”

Ayesha was starting to regret this topic of conversation. “If Hafsa wants to get married, I’m happy for her,” she said. She imagined twenty-year-old Hafsa reclining on an ornate chaise as she surveyed a parade of handsome, wealthy men. She pictured her cousin languidly pointing to one man at random, and just like that, the marriage would be arranged.

So easy, so simple, to find the one person who would cherish and protect your heart forever. Everything came easy for Hafsa.

Clara pressed her point. “When do you get to be happy? When was the last time you went on a date, or finished and performed a poem?” Clara thought Ayesha was afraid of love because of what had happened to her father and afraid to dream because of her family’s expectations.

Ayesha disagreed. “My family is counting on me to set a good example for Hafsa. I’m the eldest kid in the family. I want to set the bar high for everyone else. I can’t let Mom, Sulaiman Mamu or Nana down, not after everything they’ve done for me. All that other stuff can wait.”

Clara sighed. “Why don’t you come to Bella’s tonight?”

A long time ago, a different Ayesha had performed poetry at Bella’s lounge. Another reminder of the road not taken. She smothered a laugh that sounded like a sob.

“Ash, you got this,” Clara said, her voice softening. “Do all that teacher stuff. Send the troublemakers to the office. Make a seating chart. Stop hiding in the bathroom.”

There was a discreet knock on the stall door, and Ayesha ended the call with Clara.

“Miss Shamsi?” Mary said, sounding awkward. “Your class said you might be in here.”

They’re not my class, Ayesha thought. They need a circus trainer, not a teacher. She flushed, wiped sweaty palms on her pants and tucked the purple notebook back inside her bag. Mary stood outside, a look of pity on her face.

“There was an emergency, but I’m better now,” Ayesha said with dignity. “When does the class end?”

“You still have another forty minutes, honey.” Mary patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll send an assistant to help with your first class. She’ll keep an eye on them when your back is turned. Oh, and I forgot to give this to you earlier.”

Mary handed Ayesha an ID badge with STAFF written in bold letters at the top.

Ayesha stared at the official-looking badge. This was why she had attended teachers’ college, why she had worked so hard at her in-school placements. Her mother and grandparents had left behind so much when they immigrated to Canada. She wanted their sacrifice to mean something.

There was no turning back, not now.

Her thoughts drifted to the purple notebook in her bag. Maybe if she worked on the poem tonight, she could perform it at Bella’s sometime . . .

But no. All of that lay behind her. It was time to focus on the road in front.

“Everyone starts out right here. You’ll get the hang of it,” Mary said.

Mary meant to be kind, but Ayesha knew that not everyone started from the same place. Some people were always a little ahead. Or in her case, constantly playing catch-up.

The rest of the day was not as dramatic as the morning, yet Ayesha felt deflated when she drove home after school. Teaching was not what she’d expected and nothing like her training, where she’d had the comforting guidance of a mentor teacher. The entire experience had been nerve-racking, and she had felt perpetually caught in the bored tractor-beam stares of twenty-eight teenagers.

All she wanted now was to go home, drink a cup of very strong chai and reconsider her life choices.

She turned onto her street and spied a red Mercedes parked in the driveway.

Hafsa was back, and this time there was no escape.





Chapter Three

Khalid kept his head down as he walked through the narrow back hallway of Livetech Solutions, his employer for the past five years. He was dressed in his usual work attire—full sleeved white robe that skimmed his ankles, black dress pants, white skullcap jammed over dark brown hair that curled over his ears. His beard was long and luxuriously thick, contrasting sharply with his pale olive complexion.