Hani and Ishu's Guide to Fake Dating(82)

“This my daughter,” Salim Uncle says.

“Hey, I’m Aisha.” She waves.

“I’m Hani.”

“Her bhalo nam is Humaira.” Salim Uncle beams, like he couldn’t be prouder of the fact that I’m called Humaira.

“Oh … like the nickname Prophet Muhammad gave to Aisha!” Aisha exclaims.

“Nobody really calls me Humaira though.”

“Her girlfriend is over there.” Salim Uncle points to where Ishu is standing by herself, looking a little lost and out of place. “I thought maybe Aisha could keep the two of you company.”

“Oh … sure,” I agree. “Come on over.” I turn and begin to lead Aisha toward where Ishu is standing.

“So … girlfriend,” she says thoughtfully. “Brave of you to bring her here.”

“Honestly, I didn’t think we were even telling people that,” I say. “I mean … not hiding it but not exactly showcasing it. But my dad must have told yours.”

“You know, when Leo Varadkar became Taoiseach I thought my dad’s head might explode—a gay prime minister: He couldn’t wrap his head around that. But I feel like he’s really come around to a lot of stuff since then,” she says. “I mean, he’s sort of had to, I guess, because my brother’s gay.”

“Yeah?” The thought of another queer Muslim in this community makes my heart fill up with joy in a way that I hadn’t quite expected.

“Yeah! And I mean, we wouldn’t go around advertising it to everyone, you know. But my dad really likes yours … and he must really like you too.” Aisha casts me an appraising look. “My brother is about your age, I’d say. He’s going to do his Leaving next year.”

“I’m doing my Leaving next year too!”

She grins. “Well, I’d introduce you if he were here, but he somehow managed to wrangle his way out of coming to this thing. I think he feels a little weird sometimes … he’s still figuring things out, being Muslim and gay.”

“Oh … well. Maybe we can talk sometime. I mean, I’m …” I trail off, unsure if I want to finish that sentence. The last time I told someone I was bisexual didn’t exactly go well. But back then, with my friends, I had so much to lose. I’ve only just met Aisha. “I’m bisexual, so maybe it won’t be the same, but …”

“Honestly, I know when I tell him about you, he’s going to lose his shit. He’s going to be so annoyed he didn’t come today.”

“Hey …” Ishu says hesitantly when we’re within earshot. She smiles at Aisha—and her smile doesn’t look constipated. She’s been working on that.

“Ishu … this is Aisha, Salim Uncle’s daughter,” I say. “This is Ishu.”

“Nice to meet you,” Aisha greets Ishu with a smile. “So, how long have the two of you been together?”

Ishu glances at me, like she’s asking permission to talk about us. I guess nobody’s really asked us this question before—everyone at school thinks we’ve been together since the time we started fake dating, Abba and Amma finally know the truth now, and Ishu’s parents still think we’re just friends.

“Well …” I hesitate, unsure of how to answer her question. “I guess we’ve only been together for about three weeks. But … technically we might have been together for much longer than that.”

Aisha raises an eyebrow at the two of us. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Hang on, let’s see,” Ishu mumbles, slipping her phone out of her pocket. She taps for a few moments, and I can see the fake dating guide open on her screen. “We technically started dating six weeks ago,” she says, looking at that first picture of the two of us on our “first date.” We both look horribly awkward. “But it was fake.”

“But our fake dating led to us realizing we liked each other for real,” I add. “And … we got together for real about three weeks ago.”

Ishu glances away from her phone and up at me, meeting my eyes. She smiles for real this time—that smile that I’m sure is what made me fall for her in the first place. The rare one she only seems to reserve for the special people in her life.

“Wow.” Aisha chuckles. “I thought that only happened in the movies.”

“The movies, and us, I guess.” I loop my arm through Ishu’s, and pull her close.





chapter fifty


ishu


DATING HANI FOR REAL IS WEIRD. IT’S DIFFERENT THAN dating Hani for pretend.

Maybe because I know when Hani holds my hand now, it’s because she wants to, not because she’s trying to prove something to her friends. Because I know that Hani cares about me in the same way that I care about her. She’s also forced me to spend less time shut up in my bedroom, poring over my books and exam papers this summer—even though I keep telling her this is our last summer before the Leaving Cert—and to spend more time hanging out with her in all of the places that I have never hung out before.

Which is how I’ve found myself at events like her parents’ mosque barbeque, and today I find myself in St. Stephen’s Green park with ice-cold bubble tea in my hand. We’re in the middle of a heatwave and there are way too many people around with their shirts off. Normally, this would annoy the fuck out of me, but with Hani in my arms, I don’t even care. I don’t want to sidle back home to the company of my books.