Ayesha At Last(62)

“I don’t want to marry Hafsa,” Khalid blurted.

Farzana waved at him dismissively. “Of course you do. I think a simple floral arrangement is so classy for centrepieces, no? With a colourful spotlight on each table in green, red and yellow.”

“I don’t even know her,” he said, and his voice was mutinous.

“Khalid, what is going on? You told me you would be happy with whomever I chose. Did something happen to change your mind?” Farzana looked sharply at her son. “Hafsa Shamsi will be the perfect daughter-in-law. She is a pious, well-behaved girl from a prominent family. What more do you want?”

Khalid pictured Ayesha’s face yesterday. She looked tired. Maybe she’d been wondering how to tell him the truth. Or maybe she’d been laughing at how easy he was to fool. His jaw clenched.

“There is no such thing as love before marriage,” Farzana continued.

“Khadijah was attracted to Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, before she married him,” Khalid said.

“I’m sure her father arranged it all beforehand,” Farzana said.

“She was a widow fifteen years his senior, and she proposed to him.”

Farzana stared at her son. “Do you want to humiliate our family after we gave our word to Hafsa? How can you do this to me, after everything I’ve been through, after everything your sister put me through? She never listened either.” Her voice cracked.

Khalid couldn’t stand to see his mother cry, and he was still so angry with Ayesha. Either way, he didn’t see how he could win. “Ammi, I’m sorry. Of course, you’re right. I will marry Hafsa.”

Farzana’s face cleared. “She will make me so happy, Khalid. You’ll see. Your children will take care of me in my old age. If your sister had only listened as you do, she would still be with us.”

“I want her to come to the wedding.”

Farzana started tidying up the kitchen, her back to Khalid. “Invite who to the wedding?”

“Zareena. I want to send her an invitation and a plane ticket.”

Farzana picked up a cloth and started scrubbing the stovetop. “Don’t be ridiculous, Khalid. What would people say? She doesn’t belong here anymore.”

“She’s not dead, Ammi,” Khalid said. “You sent her to India.”

Farzana rinsed the cloth and wrung it in the sink. “As far as I’m concerned, I have no daughter.”

Khalid finished his breakfast in silence, but he was unable to silence the doubts sprouting like mushrooms on an old tree stump. It would be so easy to go along with what his mother declared. It would be so easy to get out of her way and let her plan the wedding of the year, filled with Sulaiman’s business acquaintances and his parents’ friends.

But did that mean he had to sacrifice himself in the process? Wasn’t he entitled to his own opinions about who he invited to his own wedding, or even who he married at his own wedding? Khalid felt an uneasy melancholy settle over his stomach, full now with the unhappy parathas. He remembered the flatbread he had made with Ayesha and Nani—light, crispy, soft. He remembered her tentative hand on his face, the soft expression in her eyes so different from the one that Hafsa—the real Hafsa—had worn during their engagement.

What should he do? Ammi had promised his hand in marriage; he was getting exactly what he said he wanted. Except now he didn’t want it anymore.

On the bus, Khalid checked his inbox, but there were no messages, and Zareena had said she was going on a trip. He wrote a quick email to her anyway.

Salams. My engagement was yesterday. Hafsa turned out to be someone else entirely. I had her confused with her cousin, Ayesha Shamsi. But Ammi is very happy and I know I will be too, eventually. Keep July free for the wedding. You’re invited and you’re coming. No arguments.

Write me back soon. I really need to hear from you.

—K

He pressed Send and looked out the window at the traffic speeding by, everyone in a hurry to get somewhere. His mother was right; the engagement was done. He had given his word that he would marry Hafsa, and it would be wrong to go back on a promise. Besides, Hafsa was the perfect wife for him. Young, attractive, religious, from a good family. What more could he want?

Khalid settled down in his seat and willed the bus to drive more slowly. It was only taking him to work, and from work back home, on and on, with no end in sight.

WHEN Khalid arrived at Livetech, Amir had just come out of the bathroom with a towel and toothbrush. When he smiled at Khalid, there was a little bit of toothpaste foam on the side of his mouth.

“K-Man!” he said, raising his hand for a high-five. “You look worse than me, and I was drinking and clubbing all night. I hope I’ve been a bad influence on you.” He eyed Khalid’s rumpled white robe and bloodshot eyes. “Let me guess—late-night study circle? Predawn prayer jam?”

Khalid ignored Amir and sat down at his desk. He rubbed his eyes and waited for his laptop to start. “I’m fine,” he said. “Just some issues at home.”

“What are you talking about? You live with your mom and she does everything for you.”

Khalid looked down at his hands. Was this how Amir saw him, as a weak-willed man tied to his mother’s every whim? He glanced at his phone. Zareena hadn’t emailed or texted. His stomach churned ominously. “Do you have anything to eat?” he asked Amir.