Ayesha At Last(45)

Hafsa shifted, clearly uncomfortable. Khalid felt her glance at him, but he kept his gaze on the lamb biryani. “How are the conference plans progressing with your team?” she asked instead. “Have you found any more female speakers?”

“I knew Zareena in high school, but I haven’t seen her in at least twelve years,” Tarek said. “Actually, I think it’s been exactly twelve years.” Tarek looked at Khalid, who remained silent. “When was the last time you saw your sister?” he asked, taking a bite of spinach pakora. The happy flirt of a few minutes ago was gone, replaced by a wolf in their midst.

“I am in regular communication with my sister,” Khalid said. “Thank you for your concern. I will pass along your greetings, though I doubt if she remembers you. She has never mentioned your name before.”

Tarek dropped the spinach pakora. “Too spicy,” he whispered to Hafsa, who looked back and forth between the two men, confused. “Do you have friends that your parents don’t know about, Hafsa? Or do you only ever talk to people who meet with your family’s approval?” Tarek’s tone was genial, but his eyes were hard.

“I think people’s families are their own business,” Hafsa said evenly. Khalid felt a flare of gratitude at her words. He took a bite of the biryani—it was quite good, though heavy on the ghee.

“Butter chicken is popular with the goras, the white people,” Kamran offered helpfully. He spooned some onto their plates and then sat down, as if to watch what would happen next.

“I hate butter chicken,” Khalid said to no one in particular.

“How’s your mom?” Tarek asked him, leaning over Hafsa. “Your sister used to complain about her all the time.”

“Butter chicken is bland and boring and completely predictable,” Khalid said, ignoring Tarek.

“Do you know Khalid’s mother, Hafsa? He calls her Ammi. Isn’t that adorable?” Tarek turned to her. His smile was pointy.

“No,” she said shortly. “Eat your food.”

He glanced over at Khalid. “I haven’t seen your Ammi in twelve years either.”

“My mother is doing well, though she doesn’t approve of your conference. She thinks it will encourage mixing between the young men and women.” Khalid kept his voice even, but his heart was pounding. He didn’t know why Tarek was bringing up Zareena and Ammi, but every instinct screamed at him to be careful.

“Ammi didn’t approve of the company Zareena kept either,” Tarek said. “She doesn’t approve of anything she can’t control. That must be why she is so happy to have you around. I bet you don’t give her any trouble.”

Khalid saw Hafsa look helplessly at Kamran Khan, who was sipping a cup of tea. He watched as Kamran shook his head at her, as if to say: Girl, you don’t know the things I’ve seen. What happens at the caterer’s stays at the caterer’s.

“You seem to know a lot about my family,” Khalid said. He felt rattled, but his tone was calm.

“You know what they say about gossip.” Tarek leaned close. “Most of it is true, and whatever isn’t is wishful thinking.”

Hafsa smacked the table. “That. Is. Enough.” She glared at Tarek, daring him to say another word, but the spirit that possessed him had vanished. He put his arm around her plastic chair, easy once more.

“Relax, Sister Hafsa,” Tarek said, smiling his raffish Prince-Charming smile again. “I was just kidding.”

Khalid sat silently for a moment. Then he grabbed his jacket and, after thanking Kamran, left the restaurant. Hafsa jumped up and followed him.

Tarek and Kamran were left alone at the table. The caterer began to stack the half-full dishes. He gave Tarek a conspiratorial wink. “It won’t work, you know,” he said in Urdu. “I have seen enough couples to know. You will never get that girl.”

Tarek stared at Khalid through the restaurant window, a knowing, determined expression on his face. “I’m not worried about Hafsa,” he responded to Kamran in perfect Urdu. “Women always come around to me, one way or another.”





Chapter Nineteen

Khalid was at his car when Ayesha called his name. He looked back at her, his face tight with anger.

“I don’t need you to speak for me,” he said.

Ayesha stopped short. “You were like two boys wrestling in the mud.”

Khalid’s fists curled. “I know most women are taken in by a pretty face, but I thought you were different. Tarek is trouble.”

His accusations were unfair. As if Prince Charming could ever turn her head. She had been sticking up for him! “At least Tarek isn’t afraid to make eye contact when he talks to me. Have you really not seen your sister in twelve years? Why on earth not?”

Khalid’s expression hardened at her words. “You have no idea what is expected of me or how I feel about it. You can’t be bothered to look beyond the surface.”

Ayesha reeled back. “Me? What about you? You’re so afraid, you run away whenever things get real. You’re nothing but a coward!”

Khalid stepped closer, his eyes dark with anger. “At least I know what I want from my life. I know who I am. You can’t make up your mind about anything.”

His words struck harder than he could possibly realize. Ayesha thought of her mother, of Hafsa and Clara and even Khalid himself, and their utter certainty about everything. It was infuriating. She’d thought Khalid was different, but her first impression had been right after all: He was a judgmental conformist, content to bow mindlessly to tradition and the expectations of others.