Ayesha At Last(51)

She felt light-headed even now, remembering the hungry way he had looked at her. She hadn’t felt this loose-limbed and powerful since the last time she’d performed her poetry, onstage at Bella’s. The night they had first met.

Ayesha parked her car in the driveway, a dreamy smile on her face as she walked up to her porch. Hafsa opened the front door.

“What are you doing here?” Ayesha asked. “Is everything okay?”

Her cousin enveloped her in a hug. “I have a surprise for you!” She led Ayesha into the living room, where the rest of her family was sitting. There was a festive air in the room, and boxes of sweets were being passed around. Sulaiman Mamu embraced Nana, and even her mother was smiling. Idris was videotaping everyone, while Nani sat in the back corner, her face inscrutable.

“What’s going on?” Ayesha asked.

Hafsa’s face glowed. “I’m so happy.”

Samira Aunty came up to them. “Hafsa is engaged!” she said. “The first wedding in the family!”

Ayesha smiled so broadly, her face hurt. She was happy for everyone tonight. “Who’s the lucky guy?” she asked.

“It is a good match,” Samira Aunty said. “He is twenty-six years old, works in computers and comes from a well-respected family. You don’t know him—his name is Khalid Mirza.”

Ayesha stopped breathing.

“Remember that crazy rishta with the two aunties who asked me all those questions?” Hafsa said. She had a smug, satisfied expression on her face. “Her son is Khalid. She called me a few days ago to apologize, and then she talked to Mom and Dad, and they really hit it off. When they showed me his picture, I just knew he was the one!”

Ayesha sat down beside Nana. “I don’t understand. You’ve never met him?”

“We’ll meet at the engagement party on Sunday. The most important thing is, I’m getting married!”

Ayesha’s mother sat down beside her, nibbling on a chum chum, a milky dessert dyed bright pink. She leaned over and whispered, “Khalid’s family is extremely wealthy. They own land in India, and real estate all over Canada.”

Ayesha’s head spun. Khalid was rich? He always wore the same three robes, and the car he drove was even older and rustier than her own. She stood up and walked into the kitchen.

Nani followed her. She silently filled a glass with water and handed it to Ayesha. “What did Nana tell you the other day?” she asked her granddaughter.

Ayesha shook her head, eyes filling with tears. “He said a lot of things.”

“What he said in the park: There is nothing worse than watching your loved ones suffer. Choose laughter over tears.” Nani was grim-faced.

Ayesha tried to laugh, but it turned into a sob. “It’s fine. I’m shocked, that’s all. I just saw Khalid, and he said . . . and then to come home and find out that he belongs to Hafsa—” her voice broke, and she buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking silently.

Nani placed one warm hand on Ayesha’s arm but otherwise made no move to comfort her. She waited until Ayesha had stopped shaking and passed her a slightly damp paper towel.

“Khalid does not belong to Hafsa. He does not belong to you either. He belongs to Allah, and Allah is the One who will determine your young man’s fate, as well as yours.” Nani looked determined, eyes unflinching. “Now you must do a very difficult thing. I know you can do it, because all your life you have done very difficult things. I want you to walk back into that room and congratulate Hafsa. Smile and hug her, as an older sister should.”

“I can’t,” Ayesha whispered.

Nani placed her other hand on Ayesha’s arm and gripped her, hard. “Allah kassam, I will find out what happened. I promise. Please, do as I say.”

Ayesha wiped her eyes and smiled, lips trembling. She tried again, and her smile looked slightly more genuine. She walked back into the living room, ready to greet her family, mask firmly in place.

AFTER Ayesha left the parking lot, Khalid stood staring after her car for a few moments, his heart light. He felt such an unfamiliar joy. He walked to where his car was parked, at the back of the lot, and pulled out the woven prayer rug that he kept in the trunk. Laying it flat on the grass beside the curb, he prayed two rakats, or units, of prayer. He felt the need to mark this moment. He needed to turn his face toward his Creator and give thanks for his life, and for the serendipitous series of events that had led him to Hafsa.

It was close to ten o’clock when Khalid pulled into the driveway of his house, and he cut the engine. He sat in the dark and relished the tiny ember of happiness in his chest.

Khalid had ignored the part of his life that others filled with relationships, biding his time until marriage to experience love, companionship and the other perks of coupled life. In the meantime, work and the mosque helped to distract him from his single existence.

Now Khalid considered an alternate possibility. He pictured Hafsa once more. Sitting beside him in the parking lot, her dark eyes shining in the dim evening, the gentle and sometimes not-so-gentle way she teased him. The way her voice had softened the longer they talked, so he had to move even closer to her. Her black hijab had been coming loose on one side and he wondered what her hair looked like, whether it was long and flowing and softly scented like the rest of her. She smelled like jasmine and coconut. The urge to touch her had made him dizzy.