Ayesha At Last(37)

Chapter Fifteen

Khalid was having a hard time concentrating at work, and not only because Sheila was breathing down his neck about the WomenFirst Design account. His conversation last night with Hafsa kept playing over and over in his mind. They had been talking easily, enjoying themselves, and then he had messed it all up. What was wrong with him?

And what was wrong with orange and green or yellow and purple background colours? His mother owned plenty of shalwar kameez with similar colour combinations.

When Clara dropped by during lunch, he was grateful for the distraction. Amir had gone out, and he was alone in the office.

“The word around the water cooler is you landed a very lucrative client. How did you manage that?”

Khalid looked sheepish. “I’m not entirely sure. I told them I hadn’t designed a website since high school, but Lorraine and Vanessa said honesty was endearing in a man. I don’t think Sheila is too happy about the situation.”

He felt comfortable confiding in Clara. There was something about her that reminded him of his sister, Zareena. She listened to him, and her eyes never rested on his clothes or his beard with condescension. She accepted him as he was, and that gave him the courage to open up.

“I met your friend at the mosque,” he said, careful to keep his voice nonchalant. “The poet from Bella’s. We are working together on a community project.”

Clara perked up at this, and he continued. “I annoyed her for some reason. I’m not sure what to do about it.”

Clara pulled Amir’s chair from his desk and sat down. “You like her,” she said, stating a fact.

“I don’t . . . I’ve never had a . . .” Khalid trailed off, but Clara’s eyes were full of understanding.

“Yes,” he said simply. “I like her.”

Perhaps she would have some suggestions that might help his situation; Allah knew he could use it. Khalid waited patiently for her advice.

I LIKE her. The words hung in the air between them as Clara took in his finger-raked hair, the cookie crumbs on his desk. Poor Khalid. He really had no idea about what was going on. Not about the anger he had generated in Ayesha, or the trouble this account had caused at work.

Sheila had been so irate after the ladies at WomenFirst Design dismissed her, everyone was walking around on eggshells. She had fired an assistant yesterday for sniffling too loudly. Khalid wouldn’t last two minutes if Sheila could figure out a way to fire him without Vanessa and Lorraine finding out.

And now this sudden, unexpected revelation about Ayesha. He clearly needed her help.

Clara had noticed the way her friend had looked at Khalid during her open mike performance—like she wanted to fry his beard with lightning bolts. No other man had ever roused that much emotion in Ayesha, ever.

“I told Sheila about your attempt to socialize with your co-workers, and she’s really, really pleased,” Clara lied. “Why don’t you come over for dinner sometime next week, and we can talk job strategy? My partner, Rob, makes a yummy pad Thai.”

Khalid appeared to consider the offer. “Will there be alcohol?”

“Only the finest non-alcoholic wine for you,” Clara promised. And my beautiful friend for dessert, she thought. “I’ve been hearing rumours about you. Your saag paneer and kofta kebab have become the stuff of Christmas party legend.”

“Cooking relaxes me,” Khalid said.

“Women love a man who can cook,” Clara said. “When Rob makes me an apology dinner, it’s hard to stay mad at him.”

She gave him a knowing look. Part of her mandate as HR manager was to make suggestions, plant ideas, and encourage her clients to add the water and sunshine necessary for them to blossom. Khalid was an intelligent man; she was sure he would put two and two together. And if he didn’t—well, then he didn’t deserve a chance with her friend.

She smiled her goodbye and left him to it.

KHALID furrowed his brows, thinking about Clara’s cryptic advice. His forehead cleared. He would cook Hafsa a meal! What a brilliant solution. Before he could change his mind, he texted her.

Salams. I’ve enrolled in AA—Apologizers Anonymous—and I’m working through the steps. The next one is to make amends to people I’ve wronged.

His phone pinged with her response a few minutes later.

Ok, I’m intrigued. How do you make amends for this very serious and completely not imaginary problem?

Khalid typed quickly, before he lost his nerve.

Your forgiveness for a kofta?

There was a long pause, and Khalid stared at his phone, feeling nervous and exhilarated. A tiny voice urged him to back down, but for the first time in his life, he didn’t pay it any attention.

His phone pinged with another message. 6 pm. Meet me in the parking lot of your favourite lounge.

AYESHA parked her car and walked toward Khalid, who leaned against his rusting Honda and waited for her. He passed her a plastic container filled with rice and peas, kofta meatball curry and a packet of homemade crispy papad lentil chips. The savoury scent of cinnamon, cumin, cloves, coriander and melted ghee enveloped her in a flavourful cloud when she lifted the lid. It smelled so good, she dug in right away, using the fork Khalid had packed. Teaching made her hungry.

“Your mom is a good cook,” she said, chewing.

“I made it,” he said absently. “Ammi is a terrible cook, actually.”