Page 29 of If I Loved You Less
Despite being the “cool aunt”, she can be tactless at times.
It’s just Rizwan and I after she’s gone, and of course it isn’t inappropriate because she’s just in the next room, but even so, I feel my heart quickening nervously. His gaze is on me, and I muster up the courage to look back.
He smiles, hazel eyes warm. While I personally have no gripes with my dark brown eyes, I must admit his eyes are beautiful, all mixed in with gold and green. Pakistani men are usually blessed with nice eyelashes as well, and he’s no exception.
I smile back, feeling as though I must think of something clever to say at once. But just as Rizwan opens his mouth to break the silence, Phuppo is back.
“Mahmud Bhai is here to pick you up,” she says, giving me a sorry expression before leaving again to get the door.
Drat. Great timing, Papa!
I stand, and Rizwan does too, the sound of chairs scraping back filling the silence.
“You’re leaving?” he asks, voice disappointed. “So soon?”
“Yes, my father is here,” I reply, voice just as dispirited.
“But I have not yet been given an opportunity to make myself memorable.” He pouts, then recovers to say, “I’m here until Sunday. I hope we’ll see each other again?”
“Perhaps,” I reply casually, as if I couldn’t be bothered either way. I flash him a final demure smile before heading towards Phuppo at the front door.
“Allah hafiz,” Phuppo says, hugging me tight. We share a giggle, and then I’m out into the cold toward Papa waiting for me in the car.
ChapterSeven
“Where is your scarf?” Papa asks, just as I open the car door. Heat blasts onto my face as I sit down.
“I must have left it,” I reply, hand on the door handle. “I’ll just go grab it quickly.”
“No!” Papa cries, horrified at the prospect. “Do not go out into the cold again. There is an extra one in the glove compartment.”
I should have known as much. Papa is perpetually catching cold and is always fussing over us to stay properly warm. Even now, with the heat on full blast, he is sitting in his coat and neck scarf tied tight.
“You girls are so thoughtless, sometimes,” Papa huffs, looking at the rearview mirror as we back out of the driveway. “I cannot imagine how a twenty-three-year-old could be so careless. Honestly.”
I give Papa a curious glance. He is frowning as he drives, his face scrunched and crinkled. He must be in a mood. Usually when this occurs, it is best to act as if nothing is amiss.
“Why did you come so early?” I ask, ignoring his little comment. “Have you eaten breakfast yet?”
“Early!” he scoffs. “Ten in the morning is hardlyearly. Half the day is gone! Early, she says!”
Most definitely in amood, then.I want to point out the turn he must make, but while he is ordinarily awful at directions, this is one route he has memorized well. Once Phuppo got engaged, he mapped out various ways to reach Zeeshan Uncle’s house and even went as far as to practice driving back and forth.
Zeeshan Uncle would always tell Papa to come in for some coffee or fruit, since Papa had driven all the way, to which Papa would give him a bewildered expression and promptly refuse, as if he could not fathom wanting to spend one-on-one time with his dearest sister’s fiancé.
“Did you eat, then?” I ask. “We can get bagels on the way home.” Bagels always placate him.
“I had a banana,” he says, voice softening. “But if you want a bagel, we can stop.” Papa never says whathewants outright, but I know him enough to understand what I should say next.
“Yes, I desperately want a bagel. We must stop.”
“If you insist.”
When we get to the bagel shop close to our house, we stop to pick up our usuals, which is an everything bagel with light cream cheese for me, and a toasted cinnamon raisin bagel with butter for Papa. When Papa is out of earshot, I instruct the bagel-boy to put less butter on, for Papa’s health.
“Isn’t this nice, beta jaani?” Papa says, when we get home. “Now why would Naadia want to miss out on such fun?”
Ah.So this is about Naadia. I could have guessed as much, had my mind not been replaying every interaction and word I had with Rizwan in the past twelve hours.
