Ayesha At Last(57)

“It wasn’t because he wanted to be a journalist, or because he was poor,” Nani continued.

“It was so long ago. What is meant to be has already happened,” Nana said.

“I knew they weren’t right for each other from the beginning. Saleha loved him too much. Syed loved her as well, but not as she loved him.”

“What does that have to do with Ayesha? She was crying when she left. I saw her tears.”

Nani stood, her shoulders set back. “Nasir, you were right. We must let the young people sort things out on their own. If I say anything about what I have learned, I will be stepping between Sulaiman and Saleha, between Ayesha and Hafsa, and no good can come of that. Also, Ayesha needs to be sure of her feelings for Khalid, and this will help her decide. I know Khalid has already made his decision about her. I saw it on his face clearly, when they cooked together. Farzana’s wishes are already irrelevant. Nothing will change his mind now.”

“‘Love sought is good, but given unsought better,’” Nana quoted. “What if you are wrong?”

Nani didn’t answer. She was confident, but she also knew that nothing was certain. Right now, all she had was faith.

FOLLOW your heart. Ayesha expected that sort of romantic drivel from Nana, not her sensible Nani. She wiped her eyes, but the tears kept falling.

She had spent so long fighting against what she felt for Khalid. Now that it was too late, she could finally admit it: She liked Khalid. A lot. She’d thought he liked her too . . . but clearly not enough to defy his mother.

Follow your heart.

Ayesha looked out the upstairs living room window at the neighbourhood children playing basketball and skipping rope, blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding a few houses away. She grabbed her purse and car keys.

Five minutes later, she rang the doorbell of the Taj Mahal. Hafsa answered with a big smile.

“I was just thinking about you! Come help me pick out my engagement dress. I have it narrowed down to a long red shalwar kameez with gold embroidery and mirror work, or a white lengha skirt with lace and beadwork on the tunic. I’m getting a dress for you too—in pink!” Hafsa’s cheeks were rosy, her eyes shining with the excitement of a big purchase.

Ayesha didn’t move, and Hafsa’s face filled with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Why are you marrying Khalid?” Ayesha asked.

Hafsa’s eyes darted away from her cousin’s face and back. “I . . . He sent me a rishta and I accepted. Why, what did you hear?” Her cheeks flushed an even deeper red.

“You don’t even know him. Why are you doing this? What about Haris?” Ayesha stepped into the house, one foot in front of the other. Blood was thumping in her veins so loudly, she could hardly hear her cousin’s answer.

Hafsa lifted her hand as if waving away her cousin’s objections. “Happiness in marriage is a matter of chance. The less you know about the person, the better. What really matters is family and money.”

“You can’t believe that,” Ayesha said.

Hafsa tossed her head. “Khalid will do whatever his mom tells him, and Farzana Aunty and I understand each other. We both get something out of this arrangement. As for Haris, I’ll get rid of him after the wedding.”

Ayesha stared at her cousin. “That’s disgusting.”

Hafsa’s lip trembled. “This is hard for me too. Everything comes so easy for you, Ashi Apa. You’ve always done well at school, you have your poems, and you have Clara. Everyone looks up to you. Meanwhile, I’m just spoiled, silly Hafsa, who can’t decide what she wants to study at community college. The family screw-up. Sometimes I think my dad likes you better than me.”

Ayesha knew Hafsa was being manipulative, but still she wavered. “That’s not true.”

A single tear streaked down her cousin’s smooth porcelain cheek. “I just want to make my parents happy. Dad is thrilled with the engagement, and Mom is so happy to see me settled. They’ve both done so much for me. I owe them this. You understand—you owe them too.”

Ayesha was silent. You owe them too. If it hadn’t been for Sulaiman Mamu, she wouldn’t be here right now. She would be in India, along with her mother, Idris, Nana and Nani. She owed her uncle for the very life she led. He had rescued her family, had gifted them with the house they lived in, had taken Ayesha into his confidence and told her his worries for Hafsa. She had promised him she would keep an eye on her young cousin.

It was meant to be Hafsa all along, she realized with a jolt. Hafsa was supposed to be at all those planning meetings. Hafsa was supposed to meet Khalid and fall for him. Not her. Ayesha had been the placeholder, the understudy who had passed herself off as someone else because she was tired of being the boring, reliable saint.

It was time to gracefully exit the stage and let the real star shine.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” she asked carefully. “Are you sure Khalid is the one?”

Hafsa looked at her. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

“I’M going to kick her skinny ass. That bitch!” Clara stared at her friend in shock.

Ayesha’s face was puffy from crying. She had driven directly to Clara’s house after her confrontation with Hafsa.

Ayesha shook her head. Khalid was wrong for her. They didn’t want the same things. A shared love of Twinkies and parathas was no basis for a long-lasting relationship.