Page 104 of If I Loved You Less
“What is it?” he asks, stepping outside.
“Ask me!” I say, grinning. He furrows his brows, confused.
“What?”
“Ask me!” I scold, growing impatient, already.
“Ask you what?” He repeats, growing impatient, too.
I lift up my left hand, fingers splayed, prompting him, and the anger melts away. His eyes well with tears, and my mouth drops open.
“No, don’t cry!” I say, heart constricting. “Don’t cry!”
He lets out a little laugh, then says, “Marry me, Humaira, marry me, won’t you please?”
“Yes!” I cry. “Yes!”
Oh, how I wish I could be kissed now! But we do not touch, for fear of things getting carried away.
We simply look at one another, and even that is enough to make my heartbeat flutter and my cheeks heat.
Then I start to cry, realizing something, and blurt out, “But we can never marry!”
I turn and run. He immediately follows.
“Humaira!” he calls. “Humaira!” he cries, catching up to me at the end of his driveway. “Good God, woman, will you not rest until you’ve killed me?” he asks, holding a hand over his heart.
I start crying harder, and his voice softens.
“Beloved, why can we not marry?” he asks, drawing near. His hands fall to my shoulders, holding me steady.
“Papa,” I sniffle. “I cannot leave him.”
“Ah,” Fawad says, understanding. “Yes, I have given it some thought, and I believe I have found a solution.”
“There is no solution! I cannot leave him alone in that great big house.”
Fawad shakes his head.
“My heart is here, with you,” he says, face tender, “so what does it matter where I live, if my heart is with me?” He smiles. “I will move in with you – for however long is required.”
I gasp, looking at him. “You—You would do that? For me?”
“I will walk back to my own house a few times a day for my sanity, but yes.” His face is bright. “Yes, and I would do far more than that without a second thought.” I take in a shuddering breath. “Please stop crying now,” he says, giving me his handkerchief. “I cannot bear to see you upset.”
“I am sorry,” I say, wiping my tears. “I know you think I’m an ugly crier.”
He laughs out loud. “No—No you are beautiful, you are always beautiful.” He taps my nose. “It is your heart, etched onto your face.” He looks at me with open adoration. “I will love you until the end of my days.”
“And I will love you until the end of mine,” I swear.
Smiling, he leads me inside, where he makes me lemonade, then we go out and sit on the grass in the front, beneath the sun, eating strawberries from his garden.
It is only when Papa’s car drives by that we jolt back to reality.
“Let’s go tell him,” Fawad says, standing.
“Now?” I ask, alarmed. He grins.
