Page 23 of If I Loved You Less
“Humaira is upset because Rizwan could not come,” Naadia interjects. I whip toward her.
“Naadia!”
“You have to tell her she should lower her expectations of love,” Naadia continues, “to save her the disappointment.”
“But who can convince her the glasses she sees through are rose-tinted?” he replies, speaking as if I am not there. I do not appreciate his cavalier tone. He says it as if I am a rosy-eyed fool, as if I am nonsensical and cannot be made to see sense.
“I don’t mind being a romantic fool,” I say, voice icy, “if it means putting my heart on the line. Unlike someone who is resolved to be cold and unfeeling.”
He releases a mirthless laugh. My heartbeat quickens violently. I consider upending his plate all over his pristine white shirt and stupid tie.
“Yes,” he says, “and how glad I am for it, if it keeps me from making a fool of myself.”
He steps back, shaking his head. I curl my hands into fists, nails biting into my palms. I want to yell at him, but he seems to have already dismissed me, about to walk away.
“Just when I was beginning to think you were tolerable,” I say. “Thank you for the reminder of what a total ass you are.”
Something about Fawad makes me drop all facades and deal simply with truths and raw emotion. I detest being so out of control.
It’s as if the remark does not reach him. He does not even turn. He leaves without another word, as if what I said meant nothing.
I hate that! And he knows as much.
“Humaira!” Naadia scolds, grabbing my elbow. “You can’t talk to him like that!”
“Leave me alone,” I say, throwing her off me. I glare at her. “I’ll talk to him however I please.”
Naadia always did this, acted like the older sister when it suited her, not when it really mattered. But I don't let myself think further on that, or I will get really upset.
Instead, I walk away and go to the bathroom, focusing on the sound of my heels clicking on the tiles until I’ve reached my destination and shut the door. In the silence, I hear the sound of my own heavy breathing and look up in the mirror.
When I do, I am shocked by my appearance. My cheeks are flushed and there is a scowl curling my lips.
I flatten out my expression, doing breathing exercises to calm myself down. Running my hands under cold water, I let the sound of rushing water relax me. I undo my hijab and then my hair, shaking out the strands and massaging my scalp. When the pounding in my head has quieted, I redo my hair, then refasten my hijab.
There, everything is in place once more. I touch up my lipstick, then examine my reflection to find that my cheeks are no longer red, just lightly rosy from my makeup, and my expression is calm.
I am good-natured enough for company once more.
After a reassuring smile in the mirror, I go to check on Shanzay. She and Emad are sitting at the dining table together, eating and talking and laughing. Shanzay giggles often, and she keeps looking away, shy.
Aw.There’s something so magical about love: even witnessing others experience it fills me with joy.
“Shanzay,” I call. She looks up as if in a daze, then smiles at me.
“Oh, Humaira!” she says, waving.
“Come join us,” Emad says.
“Yes, I believe I will,” I reply. “I was just going to grab some food first.”
“You want me to get you something?” Emad asks, already pushing his chair back.
“No, no, thank you,” I say. “But, Shan, will you join me?”
She nods, then comes with me. Emad sends a dazzling smile our way, and Shanzay blushes.
“It’s already going so well!” I say to Shanzay, once we are out of Emad’s sight. I squeeze her arm, feeling buoyant. “He’s being most attentive … and the way he looks at you!”
