Hani and Ishu's Guide to Fake Dating(34)

“Why … do you never curse?” I don’t know what kind of question I expected, but it definitely wasn’t this. I can’t help the giggle that escapes my lips. Ishu looks at me with a raised eyebrow and an amused glint in her eyes.

“It’s a serious question,” she insists. “I’ve been curious.”

“Well … because … I’m Muslim,” I explain once my giggles have died down.

“What?” Ishu actually looks a little taken aback. Considering everything that happened at the party just a few hours ago, I don’t think she should be.

“Yeah …” I say slowly. “It’s just something that’s important for me. Like going to the mosque for jummah during school holidays and reading the Qur’an every weekend.”

“I’m assuming your friends don’t know this stuff about you.” Ishu says it less like a question, more like a fact.

A feeling of shame blooms somewhere deep inside my chest but I try to push it down.

“No … they don’t need to know.” I shrug.

“Why?” She sounds genuinely curious. She even steps closer so our fingers are almost brushing against each other as we talk. Like she doesn’t want to miss a word that I say.

“Well … I don’t … want to be too much, you know?”

Ishu blinks at me slowly. “I can’t ever imagine you being … too much.”

I chuckle. “I mean, like … I don’t want to be too … Muslim. I don’t know where the line is that you cross over to be too much. Once you cross it people start acting like you’re different and weird, and then you’re the outsider.”

“Like what happened today?” Ishu asks. There’s a tinge of sympathy in her voice that fills me with discomfort. I rub my elbows with my hands, even though it’s not really that cold anymore.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You know, you should be able to be yourself with your friends. If being Muslim is important to you … you should be able to share that with them,” Ishu says.

“It’s not that easy.” I shake my head. Ishu doesn’t get it. Ishu is the type of person who doesn’t care what other people think of her. That’s why we’re here, pretending to date each other. Because Ishu needs to pretend she cares what other people think of her. But she’s never had to stretch herself, change herself, bend herself, to fit in where she doesn’t belong.

“Do you believe in God?” I ask instead. An easier thing to discuss than this somehow.

“God, no.” Ishu scoffs.

I have to laugh. “You see the irony in that, right?”

Ishu looks at me with that smile again. “You do?”

“Obviously.”

“I don’t really get it,” she says. “The whole believing-in-God thing … my parents have never been big believers. I think my nana, nani, dada, dadi … they all used to be big believers. We would always celebrate the big holidays with pooja when I was younger. Since we came here, though …” Ishu shrugs.

“It’s not for everyone,” I say.

“You can talk to me about it if you want …” Ishu trails off, like she’s not really sure about making me this offer. “I mean …” She glances at me quickly. “Since you can’t talk to your friends about it … yet.”

The idea of talking to anyone who isn’t Muslim about religion feels strange, but Ishu’s offer still sends a bloom of warmth through me.

“Thanks, I guess.”




I have never been to Ishu’s house before. It’s a narrow terrace house that feels sparse. The walls are a dull beige color, and there are very few things inside, other than the absolutely necessary furniture.

“This is … nice.” I walk around the place, peeking around the corners. I expect to see Aunty and Uncle pop out at any moment, but they’re nowhere to be seen. Inside the house is even quieter than the outside.

“Ammu and Abbu aren’t home,” Ishu says, watching me with amusement flickering in her eyes. I feel a flush working up my body at the way she’s watching me. “They’re at their own party.”

“Oh … there’s a dawat?”

“Yeah … it’s an Indian party, actually. Not a Bengali one. They don’t go to those as often but …” Ishu shrugs. “Come on, my room’s this way.”

Ishu leads me upstairs to her bedroom, and I’m not surprised to see that it is the image of perfection. There isn’t a single thing out of place. No clothes on the bed or the floor. No books that aren’t on the shelves. Her bed is perfectly made.

“Wow,” is all I can say as I take it in. “I knew you were a perfectionist but this is …”

“I’m not a perfectionist,” Ishu says defensively. She looks around the room like she’s seeing it for the first time. “I just … like things … organized.”

“Right.” I smile, stepping forward and flopping down on her bed with a thud. I actually see Ishu wince at that, and it makes me smile even wider. It’s actually kind of adorable how much of a sucker for perfection Ishu is. How meticulous she is. I mean, adorable when I’m not actually dating her, or her actual friend, I guess. I can imagine it gets tiring fast.