Page 39 of If I Loved You Less
“What are you doing with Shanzay and Emad?” he asks, changing the subject. He succeeds in surprising me. “You keep pushing them together.”
“I’m not doing anything.” Now it is my turn to look away. I take a step back. “If they are interested in one another, that is their own business.”
“Interested?” He scoffs. “You must be mistaken, as you usually are.”
I give him a dirty look, taking another step backwards. My shoulders hit the door, and I rest my hands against the wooden panes.
When I do not respond, Fawad gives me a puzzled expression, stepping forward so he is right in front of me again. The space between us is treacherously thin. “From what I know, Shanzay is interested in someone else.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“From a ... credible source.” He must mean Huzaifa.
“Your tenant should not go around spreading horrible rumors!” I snap. His eyes blaze.
“It’s not a rumor,” he snaps back, “but something told to me in confidence.”
“Well, it’s not true.” I pause. “Shanzay feels nothing for him.”
A muscle in his jaw tics as he looks at me with both awe and horror. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“Of course it was. All the best things in life require a bit of work.”
He shakes his head. “Last I heard, she was very much interested in Huzaifa, and from what I saw this summer, I would confirm it.” He frowns. “I hope you haven’t persuaded her out of this.”
“Even if I had persuaded her, which I haven’t, she must not have had deep feelings for him to begin with, to be so easily swayed,” I reply, breathless.
“You know she looks up to you and is easily impressionable!” Fawad exclaims. “Yourdearfriend.” This he says with sarcasm, as if Shanzay and I are nothing but surface level friends and I merely project a closeness unto us. “Of course she would be swayed, and it would be no mark on her feelings if she was. Humaira, you must behave.”
“Make me!” I snap.
His eyes flash. “I might just have to.”
My pulse quickens.
“Please, stop this nonsense,” I say, holding up a hand. His gaze galls down to it, and then so does mine. I see how close we are standing. If I shift my hand even a few inches forward, it would be resting over his heart.
I bring my hand back down to my side. “She is older than me and has her own mind,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel.
Fawad runs an agitated hand through his hair. “You don’t understand just how easily you get into peoples’ heads.”
“Pity I could never get into yours!” I say. “Or I would make you less infuriating!”
“I thank God I still have my senses about me,” he says, voice hard. We are both breathing heavily, glaring at the other.
Despite how furious I am with him, something sharp turns in my stomach at our proximity, the scent of his cologne invading my senses. This close, I can see the curve of eyelashes, my own reflection in his dark eyes.
I turn around so I don’t have to face him.
“I’ve had enough of this.”
I pull open the door and leave. Behind me, he lets out an audible groan of frustration.
I join the others, hoping Fawad will get over his surly mood and join us as well, but he never does.
