Hani and Ishu's Guide to Fake Dating(22)

After we’ve ordered, I tell Ishu to sit down on my side of the booth. Taking out my phone, I fix my hair in the camera.

“What?” I ask, when I notice her watching me with pursed lips.

“Nothing.” She shakes her head. “It’s just weird … pretending.”

“And we haven’t even started yet.”

She takes a deep breath and says, “It’ll be worth it,” and it sounds as if she’s trying to convince herself rather than me.

I settle into the crook of her arm and lift the camera above our heads. Ishu moves farther away from me the closer I get to her.

I turn to her with a frown.

“What?”

“We look like we barely even like each other,” I say. “Nobody’s going to believe we’re dating if you sit like that.”

“How do you want me to sit?” she asks, like she really imagines people in relationships have a gap the size of an ocean between them when they take a picture together.

“Well, for starters, you could actually sit next to me instead of having this gaping space between us.”

“This is barely any space!” Ishu’s voice rises a pitch.

“Another whole person could fit in here. Maybe even two.”

She rolls her eyes and slides a little closer.

“You could also look a little less disgusted at the prospect of being in proximity to me,” I offer.

“I have resting bitch face, I can’t help it.” She shrugs nonchalantly. I reach over and give her a light slap on her shoulder. It changes her expression from her usual dead and bored one to something a little more expressive—though it’s not exactly happiness.

“I’ve seen you smile,” I say. “I saw you smile a few minutes ago.”

She smiles like someone is pointing a gun to her head and making her.

“I guess I’ll just tell people I’m dating a robot who hasn’t learned human facial expressions yet?”

She groans and takes a deep breath. “Okay, okay. I’ll act like I’m in love or whatever.” She rolls her eyes as if being in love is the most preposterous idea she’s ever come across.

She does smile a little softer, and even snakes an arm around my shoulder.

Through gritted teeth she says, “Take the picture now before my smile muscles collapse.”

“That’s absolutely not a thing.” I roll my eyes, but lean closer. So close that I can smell the scent of her perfume—the earthy smell of jasmine mixed with the sweet scent of vanilla. I breathe it in for only a minute before clicking three consecutive pictures and pulling away. Putting as much distance between the two of us as I can.

Ishu smells as sweet as honey, and I have to remind myself that she’s anything but.

She gives me a questioning look, the hint of that smile still on her lips.

“What?” I ask.

“Can I look at the pictures or are they for your eyes only?”

“You can—”

Before I can show them to her, the waitress comes in, balancing three plates precariously in her hands. As she sets them down, Ishu goes back to her side of the table. After taking a few more pictures—of the food, the booth, Ishu looking like she wants to be anywhere but here—we both dig in.





chapter twelve


ishu


I CAN’T HELP BUT STARE AT HANI ALL THROUGH DINNER. At first, it’s because I’m afraid she’s going to hate all the food we’ve ordered. She might be Muslim, but Bengali people are not the most open to other cuisines. And Middle Eastern food is really different from Bengali food. But after I’ve decided that Hani is in love with the food, I mostly watch her because she’s the most expressive eater I’ve ever met. She makes a new facial expression after every bite, like each one is a new sensation.

“Have you never tasted food before?” I ask her as she’s midway through her meal, still savoring each bite like it might be her last. She puts her fork down and looks at me with something like a pout. But a self-conscious one.

“I just like to appreciate my meals,” she says. “I’ve never had Middle Eastern food before.”

“Seriously?” My voice goes a little high-pitched even though I don’t intend it to. “I mean … seriously?”

She sighs. “My parents aren’t really into eating out. They like ordering in pizza and fried chicken once in a blue moon. They don’t really have a wide palate or anything. And … Dee and Aisling don’t really like …”—she pauses, looking down at her plate like she’s considering her next words—”… ethnic food.”

I think about that for a moment, chewing a bite of my kabseh slowly. “Is ‘ethnic’ the word your friends use?”

Hani shoots me a glare. “Does it matter?”

I shake my head. “I don’t understand why you’re friends with Aisling and Deirdre.”

“They’re good people.” Hani’s voice is already defensive. “They’re my friends.”

“Friends who made fun of you because you’re bisexual?”

“They didn’t make fun of me.” There’s a slight whine to her voice. “It’s … complicated. But now, everything will be okay. They just needed … time. And perspective.”