Page 49 of If I Loved You Less
My jaw drops. He has no idea what he’s talking about. I won’t give him the satisfaction of a response. With one final dirty look, I leave.
The second I step outside, the wind blasts against my cheeks, freezing and wet. It has begun raining. Thunder rumbles above me, the sky a marbled gray and white.
Raindrops pitter-patter onto my shoulders, increasing in intensity until the drizzle has turned into a downpour. The steady fall beats in tandem with my heart. I cross my arms, pulling my coat close as I stalk away down the driveway.
A moment later, I hear him follow, the door slamming shut behind him.
“Men of sense do not want stupid wives!” he shouts above the rain.
“Well, she has made her choice now and must stick with it!” I shout over my shoulder. “I don’t have that much influence, really, so stop blaming me!”
“Your love of matchmaking blinds you,” he cries. He has not reached me.
I turn around and walk down the street toward him this time. His coat is open at the front, his white shirt translucent from rain to show the brown skin beneath. I shiver.
“So that is what this is about,” I say, voice calm. He stands so near that I can see the mist wetting his eyelashes. I lift my chin to meet his eyes.
Rain wets my face. I blink the water from my eyes angrily, breathing fast.
Droplets of rain fall down my lips and onto my tongue. His gaze moves to my mouth. He is standing very, very still, scarcely moving at all, as I step closer. “You gave your advice and I gave mine, and you are upset because you were wrong and I was right.”
He starts back. This wounded him, more than I intended. His dark eyes flash with hurt.
His voice is low when he speaks next. “If you truly think so little of me, there is nothing left to be said.”
He turns, walking away from me, the stiff line of his shoulders a slash of black coat that rain falls against.
Ugh! I hear the crunch of gravel as he recedes back into his home and I start the walk back to mine.
Then, the sound of footsteps reverses and becomes louder rather than lighter, and he is there when I turn around once more. He is breathless, cheeks red from the icy wind, dark hair drenched. His eyes are blazing.
“You would not dissuade her unless you had someone else in mind,” he says, “and if it is who I think it is, you should know Emad will never marry her. He thinks too highly of himself.”
I open my mouth to respond, but he holds up a hand.
“Shanzay and Huzaifa are not dolls, your little playthings, to set up and discard – they are people,” he says, his words barely a whisper, but he is close enough for me to hear the severe tone imbued in each word. “You will bitterly regret this.”
In his dark eyes, I see disappointment beyond anything I have seen before. He has never scolded me like this.
Without waiting for a response, he dismisses me, evenly walking home. Heart hammering fast, I watch him go, his hands tight fists at his sides.
A gust of wind pushes against me, and I turn to go home. Suddenly, my eyes flood with tears and they spill out, mixing with the rain. I hastily wipe them away, pressing my palms against my cheeks and eyes before entering the house.
“Are you coming from outside? It’s raining!” Papa immediately asks, mortified. His office is just by the front door, so one cannot enter or leave without his notice. “Why are you not wearing a neck scarf? Where did you go?”
“Papa,please,” I say, kicking off my shoes. I pull off my wet headscarf and throw it on the floor. Even my hair is damp. I am in no mood.
“It is no wonder your face is all red and your eyes are tearing,” he replies. “You really ought?—”
I walk away before I say something I regret, pushing my anger down. When I walk to the kitchen, Naadia is there making herself a latte with the vanilla syrup she made using the last of my vanilla extract. I set the vanilla extract down harshly and she cringes, making anoopsiesface.
I do not want to speak to her; I do not want to speak to anyone.
My throat is closing, so I rush upstairs and go to take a long, scalding shower, and I cry.
I do not know why I do, but I just cry and cry, Fawad’s scolding voice ringing in my ears over the rushing water, his hurt face before me even as I clench my eyes shut.
Why must he ruin everything?
