Ayesha At Last(50)

She checked her phone. It was eight thirty, and the parking lot was deserted. She sat down on the curb by the condo entrance.

When Khalid returned, he was holding two iced slushies and a box of Twinkies. “Blue watermelon or red raspberry?” he asked her.

Ayesha reached for the raspberry slushie. “Clara and Rob have been together since freshman year,” she said. “They met at a kegger during frosh week. Believe me, they don’t need to get married. It’s permanent.”

Khalid unwrapped a Twinkie and took a large bite, sprinkling his beard with golden-yellow crumbs that he brushed away absently. “If it is permanent, they should have married years ago,” he said.

“That’s their business,” Ayesha said.

“From the way Clara reacted, they are avoiding their business. The conversation is clearly overdue. This would never have happened if their parents were involved. Yet another example of the superiority of the arranged marriage process.”

Ayesha rolled her eyes. “Not this again.”

“They arranged the relationship themselves. There is no harm in letting their parents or their friends arrange the formality of a wedding.” Khalid finished the Twinkie and leaned back on his elbows, staring up at the dark sky.

Ayesha looked at his face in profile. A few crumbs still clung to his beard, and she fought the urge to brush them away, again. Instead she mirrored his position, leaning back and turning her face up to the dark night. She closed her eyes, feeling surprisingly at ease. “Tell me about your father,” she said.

Khalid was quiet at first, then he spoke, his voice soft. “He died suddenly last year, a heart attack. Afterwards, I dreamt about him every night for weeks. It was always the same dream. I was in the middle of a forest, somewhere in Algonquin Park. It was fall and the trees were red, yellow and orange, so bright they looked like they were on fire. He always appeared out of thin air and sat beside me for a few minutes, dressed in his white robe. He never said anything. The imam told me it was my father’s soul, visiting me in my sleep.”

“I’ve never dreamt about my father,” Ayesha said, wistful, her eyes open now. “He died so long ago, sometimes I can’t even remember his face.”

Khalid looked at her, and their eyes met.

“Why are you still single?” he asked. His question sounded like an accusation, and Ayesha looked away.

“Probably because I don’t know how to cook,” she said lightly. “Why do you want an arranged marriage?”

He hesitated. “I’m not sure I do anymore.”

Ayesha smiled at him. “Got your eye on someone?”

Khalid was silent, and she took a sip of her slushie. “Do you believe men and women can be friends?” she asked.

“I do not think that men and women should be alone together or spend time with each other. That would be inappropriate.”

“You’re sitting here with me.”

Khalid thought about this. “I probably shouldn’t be.”

“You can leave any time. Your car is right there.”

“I wouldn’t want to leave you alone in the dark.”

“I’m an independent woman.”

Khalid was silent again. “I don’t want to leave,” he said.

“You’re very honest.”

“I have been told it’s one of my worst qualities.” His smile was brief; his teeth shone in the semi-darkness.

“I don’t have anywhere I need to be right now either,” Ayesha said.

They sipped their drinks and shared the box of Twinkies in silence. Sitting under the dim lamps, their bodies angled toward each other, they stared up at the stars together.





Chapter Twenty-One

Ayesha mentally listed Khalid’s pros and cons.

Con: He was a self-confessed fundy with no fashion sense and a controlling mother, and something was definitely up with his absentee sister.

Pro: He was an excellent cook, and when he wasn’t trying too hard, he could be funny. Sometimes even on purpose.

Con: He wanted his mother to pick out his wife.

Pro: He said he wasn’t so sure about that anymore.

Con: His beard was probably itchy.

Pro: His lips looked soft; she wondered what it would feel like to kiss him.

Ayesha leaned back against the headrest of her car and gripped the steering wheel. This was not the way things were supposed to happen. Calm, clear, drama free. Nothing about Khalid was any of those things. Even thinking about being with him made her heart race and her palms break out in a sweat.

She thought about how comfortable and excited she had felt sitting next to Khalid in the parking lot, the occasional hum of a train leaving the station nearby a buffer from the rest of the world. Their voices low and soft, faces illuminated by a lone street lamp. After they had eaten the last Twinkie and drunk the last of their slushies, they had walked to her car. Even then they’d lingered, not wanting to leave.

“When will I see you again?” he asked, leaning on her car window.

Ayesha smiled up at him. “At the next meeting. We have a conference to plan.”

“And when the conference is over?”

“Then we’ll see,” she said. Their eyes locked and the air around them grew still.

“Inshallah,” he said, straightening. God willing.