Ayesha At Last(44)

Ayesha knew she had potential. She could grow into a good teacher. Her thoughts travelled to Khalid and the way he spoke about his principles, about what he wanted. He was so sure of himself, so sure of the life he wanted to lead. She wanted to be that sure about something too.

She had told Khalid she wasn’t looking for a husband, and she meant it. But as she stood at the precipice of a permanent teaching job, she wondered if this choice was really that inevitable or if it only felt that way.

And what had Khalid been about to say before he’d caught himself at the door last night?

Ayesha thought back to the way his eyes had lingered on her face as they rolled out parathas, his uncertain reaction to that brief, forbidden caress. They were both so new at . . . whatever this was. Both inexperienced at relationships, at romance . . . and love? She mentally shook her head. This wasn’t love. He didn’t even know her real name. When they met at the caterer’s tonight, she would have to pretend to be Hafsa again. The thought made her even more tired, and determined to move on with the rest of her life.

“Thank you,” she said to Mr. Evorem, her voice firm. “I’m very interested in the position. It’s all I have ever wanted.”

The words were true, once. She just wasn’t sure if they were anymore.

KHALID had slept well the previous night, which was surprising. Today was the twelfth anniversary of Zareena’s banishment to India, an unmarked day of mourning on his calendar. Yet his memories of her today felt more like a dull ache, not the usual sharp pain of another year spent missing his sister.

Perhaps his optimism had something to do with Nani’s cooking lesson yesterday. Hafsa’s small house had been filled with shabby furniture, yet it had felt warm and inviting. He had been accepted and welcomed by her and Nani. The anniversary of his sister’s banishment seemed less distressing as a result. He had wanted to say something to Hafsa last night about what he was feeling, but he’d lost his nerve. He rehearsed the words galloping around in his mind while he drove to the caterer the imam had chosen for the conference.

Have you ever wondered, Hafsa, what it would be like to spend your life with someone like me? Have you ever wondered, beautiful Hafsa, what it would be like to open your heart to something unexpected, someone wholly unanticipated? Because I am starting to wonder. Actually, I am having a hard time thinking of anything else.

Perhaps he would find the words today.

KHALID met Hafsa in the parking lot of Kamran’s Superior Sweets at eight thirty that evening. As his eyes met hers, his courage failed him, and he politely asked after Nani instead. They walked into a restaurant with beige linoleum floors, greasy green wallpaper and dingy white Formica tables. The place was famous for its extensive and well-priced catering selection. Kamran himself had presided over many mosque events, and his restaurant had catered more than half of the community weddings.

Khalid was surprised to see Tarek sitting at a table, a plate of samosas in front of him.

“I did not know you would be joining us, Brother Tarek,” Khalid said, his hopes of having Hafsa to himself dashed.

“When the imam told me you were going to Kamran Khan’s, I had to come too,” Tarek said, smiling. “Best butter chicken in the city.”

They settled around the table and Mr. Khan entered the dining room from the kitchen, wearing a black apron and a white T-shirt that strained against his pot belly.

“Who’s getting married?” Kamran asked abruptly.

“The two of us, if Hafsa will have me,” Tarek said, putting his arm casually on the back of Hafsa’s chair.

Khalid stiffened.

“We’re here to discuss catering for the conference at the Toronto Muslim Assembly. Imam Abdul Bari sent us,” Hafsa said, moving her chair forward so Tarek’s arm was dislodged.

Kamran opened an unstained page in his black notebook. “I can do both. Wedding and conference—I’ll give you good price,” he said.

Tarek leaned forward. “I’m still working on her, Brother. Give me a few weeks and we’ll talk.” He winked, and Kamran grinned, revealing teeth stained red with betel nut.

“I thought you were here to help,” Hafsa said firmly to Tarek, but with a smile. “We need to focus.”

“How can I focus when you’re such a distraction?” Tarek asked. He turned to Khalid. “Don’t you find it distracting to work with Hafsa?” His words were playful, but the look in his eyes was shrewd.

Khalid cleared his throat. “Sister Hafsa is very easy to work with,” he said, avoiding eye contact with either of them.

Tarek laughed out loud. “I think Khalid just said he doesn’t find you attractive. Which is good for me. Less competition.”

Hafsa swatted Tarek’s arm. “What’s gotten into you?”

Tarek leaned in close. “Imam Abdul Bari isn’t around to disapprove. I guess Brother Khalid will have to keep me in line. He’s good at policing behaviour.”

Khalid clasped his hands tightly together. “Why don’t we concentrate on the purpose of our visit,” he said, indicating Kamran Khan, who was directing a waiter to set down plates of food and watching them with quiet amusement.

Tarek winked at Hafsa and offered her a plate of sizzling chicken tikka. “Don’t worry about upsetting Brother Khalid. We’re old friends. Did you know he has an older sister?”