Page 22 of If I Loved You Less
Perhaps I am being punished for all the hearts I have broken. I never meant it, of course, but I know I have been callous with boys’ feelings. In my defense, I didn’t lead them on intentionally, I genuinely did think I might grow to like them, and then I never did.
And I am not proud of all the boys’ hearts I’ve broken. I could never be proud of hurting anyone.
Plenty of boys have confessed their feelings for me through the years, plenty of perfectly reasonable boys I am sure Phuppo and Papa would have been content to marry me off to. But I just didn’t love them, not as I should.
I did not wish to marry someone merelytolerable; I wanted true love. The grand, sweeping, all-consuming love.
Sometimes I feel like my heart is broken, not hurt, but in function, as if I am incapable of love. As if it will never happen.
But I cannot let my thoughts wander down that road, cannot let myself think that, or I will stop believing, and I believe in love with the whole of my heart. I believe in it as surely as I believe in God.
It is an extension, you see. There is love because there is God. So if I cease to believe in love, it means I no longer believe in God, and I will not allow that to happen. What would be the point of living without faith?
And I know plenty of people go through life without love, that it does not work out for most – I am not so naive as to not know this. But I believe there is love written specifically for me, because of the way I am wired.
It might not be written for everyone else, but I know that I have to have it, or I will not survive. Perhaps that is arrogant of me, to assume that I deserve it – but I just know I cannot do without it. I cannot.
I will not.
“Are you alright?” Phuppo asks me. I’ve lost myself in this train of thought, staring off into the distance. I shake the thoughts away, coming back to the clatter and clamor of the kitchen as people fill their plates with food from the buffet. I smile enthusiastically at Phuppo.
“Yes, of course,” I respond. Phuppo kisses my cheek.
“That’s my girl. Now, come and eat,” she says.
“In a moment. You go on.”
Phuppo goes to make sure everyone is properly taking food. I expect Naadia to go with her, but she lingers with me, frowning at the consternation on my countenance.
“You shouldn’t be so disappointed,” she says. “You don’t even know him.”
“I’m not,” I reply, voice indignant. I don’t like her tone. “Really, it’s fine.”
But Naadia keeps going, voice low as people pass us to grab plates. I don’t look at her. Instead, I smile at one of my cousin's kids, waving eagerly.
“You have to stop holding out hope for some magic mystery man who doesn’t exist,” Naadia says. “Real life and love are not like that. You make the best out of what is around you. Respect and companionship are much more important than whatever ridiculous notions you have of some great romantic love story.”
I am once again reminded of the astronomical levels of hatred I can feel for my sister. I turn toward her, eyes sharp.
“Don’t condescend,” I say, tone biting. “It doesn’t suit you.”
“Well, I am married and you are not, so I know about these things.”
I scoff. “The marriage card is getting old now.”
“It will never get old,” she says. “Besides, I knew more about these things than you did even before I was married.”
Because you were careless with your heart!I want to scream, but I hold my tongue, releasing a long, long breath instead. I have always been careful with my heart, which is why I have avoided such distasteful situations and never been as heartbroken as she had.
“You’re so pessimistic,” I complain.
“No, Humaira,” my sister argues, “I’m justrealistic.”
I’m about to respond when Fawad passes by with a plate of food. Seeing our pinched expressions, he stops.
“Are the sisters in need of a referee?” he asks pleasantly, dark eyes sparkling behind his glasses. I try to keep my eye from twitching. Just what I need!
“No, go away,” I say, not wanting to involve him. He steps closer, joining our little conference. “Really, it’s?—”
