Page 45 of If I Loved You Less
“This looks like it does not have a hint of romance in it!” I exclaim, appalled. He closes the book to pay attention to me.
“None whatsoever,” Fawad confirms. I scrunch my face with revulsion, and he laughs, tapping my nose with the book. “Some people enjoy reading realistic fiction, rather than fanciful stories.”
“I don’t see why,” I say. “Is life not bleak enough for you? These books are so gray.”
“Yes, but therein lies the allure,” he replies, eyes animated. “Reading about others’ misery puts things into perspective.” He pauses. “And of course, it is comforting to have company in one’s loneliness.”
“I suppose.” I do understand that. “But I find life distressing enough and believe literature and other forms of amusement should be an escape. I prefer to live life in vibrancy.”
He smiles. “Yes, you would say that,” he says, more to himself than me. But before I can comment on that, he says something else, voice more clear. “Now that we have discussed our tastes, I think we should recommend something to one another.”
“Oh, yes!” I exclaim, sitting up with excitement. “Discussing books is so fun.”
I love recommending books to people. It feels like a game of how well you know that person and their tastes. Actually, it is quite an intimate act, though I do not think of it in such a manner when considering what to recommend Fawad.
With him, I will simply enjoy being right. I am also interested to see what he will recommend to me, and by extension, see how well he knows me. For all that I go on about loving romance, I really am particular in my tastes for novels.
“I recommendThe Secret Historyby Donna Tartt,” he says, after thinking for a moment. I have heard of it but haven’t read it because of the mention of murder. I am very easily spooked by such things. “It is not scary at all,” he adds, as if reading my mind.
“Is there—” I begin.
“Yes, there is a bit of that,” he says. “Not in the way you are used to, but in a manner I think you will appreciate all the same.” His eyes turn mischievous. “I am talking about romance, of course, not sex.”
I balk, cheeks heating. “I knew what you meant!” is all I can manage to say. He gives me a knowing smile, and I look away.
“I will recommend…” I have to think about this for a moment. For a second, I consider recommending a lurid novel, filled with sex scenes, just to unnerve him, but that would surely be crossing dangerous territory, and I want to give him a serious recommendation, like he’s given me.
I need something without too much romance, for I know he will not like it, and I need something sad and lonely but filled with hope and love all the same.
I’ve got it. Oh, this will be perfect for him!
“The Piper’s Sonby Melina Marchetta,” I say. “It’s one of my absolute favorites. I read it every year.”
“Is it—” he begins, but I cut him off. He’ll ask if it’s realistic, not fanciful.
“Yes, it is very raw,” I respond. This time, it’s my turn to be mischievous. “I mean the story, of course, not sex.”
He is shocked by my assertion and assessing glance. I know he does not read romance, but surely I must be allowed to get back at him.
“I do not read those types of books!” he sputters.
“Mmhm,” I drawl. “Sure you don’t.” But I cannot hold the face for long and let out a laugh. He laughs too, realizing I am joking.
A slow smile spreads across his face. I feel a potent flurry of excitement in my chest. I wonder if he will like it! I love discussing books with friends.
“Shall we—” he begins, but my focus is diverted when my phone rings.
It’s Shanzay.
“Sorry, I should take this,” I say. He nods.
“I’ll meet you back upstairs.” He exits, and after he’s gone, I pick up the phone.
“Shan, what is it?” I ask.
“Humaira!” Her voice is an octave higher than usual. “Thank goodness you picked up. There’s been anemergency! I’m at your house, and Uncle says you’re not home. I hate to pull you away from your plans, but can you please come? I need to speak with you urgently!”
“Woah, slow down,” I say, alarmed. “What’s happened? Are you okay?”
